"Lost, on or about September 30 last, a Gold Bar Brooch, with
chaste Scotch terrier in centre."--_Manchester Evening News_.

We are glad to see that at least one of our dumb friends has not
been affected by the wave of bigamy that has been sweeping over the
country.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Old hand_ (_supplying desired information to new
arrival_). "THOSE THINGS UP THERE? OH, THEY'RE CANTEENS FOR THE
R.F.C."]

* * * * *

THE HUT.

As ordered, we marched the Battery to B 35d 45.25. Reader, have you
ever lived in, or on, an unfurnished map-reference in Flanders? If
not, permit me to inform you that this group of letters and numerals
represented a mud-flat pocked with ancient shell-craters, through
which loafed an unwholesome stream under a bilious-looking sky. The
Junior Subaltern, fresh from home, asked where the billets were. We
could but bless his happy innocence and remind him that as Army Field
Artillery we were nobody's children, the orphan bravoes of the Western
Front, and that for us a bunch of map co-ordinates was considered
ample provision.

The horses, having with proper pride sneered at the stream, were
silenced with their nosebags, and then we asked our cook what