Punch, or the London Charivari

e it seems quite a tame one. It hasn't as much as barked yet.

Just in our bit we aren't very well off for dug-outs; it isn't really what you'd call a representative sector from any point of view. But during a blizzard the other night a messenger who had mislaid himself took us for a serious trench. He made his way along, looking to right and left for some seat of authority until he came to a hole in the parados, two feet by one, where some fortunate fellow had ejected an ammunition box and was attempting to boil water on a night-light. The messenger bent low and asked huskily--

"Is this 'ere comp'ny edquarters?"

The water-boiler looked up. "No," he replied, "it ain't. It's G.H.Q., but DUGGIE 'AIG ain't at 'ome to no one this evenin'."

* * * * *

[Illustration: First Tommy. "The C.O.'s recommended you for a V.C"

Second Tommy (half asleep and thinking of C.B.). "Oh lumme! What 'ave I done now?"]

* * * * *

"GERMANS' TERRIBLE LOSSES