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462 Business done.—Several War Emergency Bills advanced a stage.

House of Lords, Thursday.—K. of K. read brief paper on Military Situation in Flanders. In matter of picturesque detail it did not quite come up to pitch of "" despatches from the Front, which in the main it resembled. But it was as comforting as it was concise. Summed up in sentence the position to-day of Expeditionary Force: "Reinforcements have replaced our casualties, and the troops under Sir, now re-fitted, are in the best of spirits, confident of success under their Leader."

Touched lightly on rout of Germans in Poland with which the world is ringing; but said nothing about capture of cloak. suggests that this interesting robe should be put up for sale to highest bidder (as if it were the First £1 note), proceeds to be contributed to Fund for Relief of Belgians. This would give opportunity for remarking that having taken off his coat to devastate the homes of the Belgians, gave them his cloak also.

Suggestion worth thinking about. Certainly something attractive about it in way of poetic justice.

Business done.—In the Commons gave glowing account of the gallant deeds of Indian troops fighting in three continents.

Friday.—After heartening speeches by and, together going to show that "we 've got the ships, we've got the men, we've got the money too," Parliament adjourned till Tuesday, February 2nd, with promise that, if necessary, it can be specially summoned at any time on six days' notice.



Shopkeeper.

Mrs. O'Flynn.

"'The Germans did not even hesitate to bring up heavy artillery which quickly became embedded in the mud, some of which has since been found by our troops.' Press Association War Special."

From what we hear, our troops have found all the mud they want.

"'In reply to Mr., Mr. said:—Germans cannot land in the United Kingdom without the express permission of the Secretary of State.'"

New motto for Great Britain: " and the Navy our shield."



"Your King and country need You."

"Lor!"

Tilda Perkins, her cap awry and a smudge on her diminutive nose, came to a sudden halt, arrested by the staring blue type.

"Your King and country need you."

That personal appeal drove straight home. Tilda's heart swelled; a flush of excitement invaded her cheeks. "

"Bless 'em! They shall 'ave me," she vowed in a fervour of self-immolation.

Tightly clutching the newspaper containing her master's breakfast haddock she scudded off, ablaze with patriotic fire.

"There 'tis, Ma'am," she gasped breathlessly, plumping down her burden on the kitchen table. "An' now I'm goin'."

"Going! Where?"

"To, God bless 'im. The poster ses 'e wants me."

Her mistress shook a regretful head.

"No, Tilda. It's not you and I he wants."

Gloom unutterable descended upon Tilda as her mistress expounded the situation.

"Men 'as all the luck," she jerked out. "I ain't surprised them Suffera-jettes got sick o' things."

A pause.

"Still, I s'pose it ain't fault. I'll 'elp 'im out as well as I can," she announced.

It was a resolute Tilda who awaited her swain at the kitchen door that night.

"Take off yer shoes," she said abruptly.

Jem obeyed.

"'Old up yer 'ead. Don't loll," came the sharp command.

Jem drew himself up to attention, and Tilda manipulated an inch tape.

"Sixty-three inches an' a bit. Twelves into sixty go five. Five feet three an' a scrap. You'll jest do," she said with a complacent nod.

Jem, motionless, but turning a fine blush-rose under the touch of the busy fingers, levelled an enquiring gaze at the preoccupied face.

"I'm giving you to ," remarked Tilda. "I'm sorry you ain't taller, but he'll understand I've done the best I can for 'im," she added with a little sigh.

"But—but—" faltered Jem.

"There ain't no buts about it," broke in Tilda with swift asperity. "Think what you'd feel like if you was me."

"Why, it's you a-sendin' me," protested Jem. "I won't go if you don't want me to leave yer."

Tilda flung back her head with an impatient snort at man's obtuseness.

"You don't s'pose I'm whinin' cos you're goin', do you?" she demanded.

An abashed Jem diminished perceptibly.

"Well, why then?" he asked humbly.

"Cos I can't go, stoopid. It ain't fair."

 

 "'FIVE HOLES IN HULL.

—Star."

More news for Germans: "Successful bombardment of British towns."