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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[November 18, 1914.

Everyone knows that present condition of Navy, making it dominant on all seas, is mainly due to him. Recognized as fitting thing that he should be placed in charge of weapon that with patient endeavour, supreme skill, unerring foresight he had forged. Never yet in time of war have these Islands been in such safe keeping. With K. K. at the War Office and Jack Fisher at the Admiralty British householder may sleep in his bed o' nights unafraid.

By another happy concatenation of circumstance Admiralty is represented in both Houses. With Winsome Winston in the Commons and Jack Fisher in the Lords, the Navy will have a good show. Only doubt is whether First Sea Lord will think it worth while to devote to Parliamentary duties the measure of time exacted from First Lord of Admiralty. Essentially a man of action, he has little patience with custom of talking round a matter. Nevertheless well to know that, if occasion serve, he can make a speech far beyond average in respect of power and originality. Discovery made when, six or seven years ago, he fluttered the decorous dovecotes of the Royal Academy by delivering at its annual banquet a memorable speech on condition and prospects of Navy.

Unlikely, too, that Jack Fisher will take part in perfunctory performances, as when the House, meeting at 4.15, sits twiddling its noble thumbs till 4.30, the hour on stroke of which public business commences. There being none, or not any that occupies more than five minutes, they straightway adjourn. But, if serious debate on Naval affairs arises, First Sea Lord may be counted upon to be at his post.

Business done:—Address agreed to. House adjourned till Monday.

A DEBT OF HONOUR.

[The author would be very proud if his lines might bring in any subscriptions to the Belgian Relief Fund. Cheques, payable to "Belgian Relief Fund," should be sent to the Belgian Minister, 15 West Halkin Street, S.W.]

Old England's dark o'nights and shortOf 'buses; still she's much the sort Of place we always used to know.There's women lonely—hid away,But mills at work and kids at play,  And docks alive with come and go.
But Belgium's homes is blasted down;Her shops is ash-heaps, town by town; There's harvests soaked and full of dead;There's Prussians prowling after lootAnd choosing who they'd better shoot; There's kids gone lost; there's fights for bread.
It's thanks to that there strip of sea,And what floats on it, you and me And things we love aren't going sharesIn German culture. They'd 'a' triedTo spare us some, but we're this side. It's so arranged—no fault of theirs.
Them Belgians had the chance to shirk, And watch, instead of do, the work; But no! They chose a bigger thingAnd blocked the bully; gave us breathTo get our coats off. Sure as death They're Men—a King of Men for King.
Don't think they're beat with what they've got,And begging pennies, 'cos they're not. It's this—their job is good and done;They're fighting-pals; they're hundry, cold;We owe for blood that's more than gold— A debt of honour, or we've non.
They've stood for us; for them we'll standRight through; and so we'll lend a hand Until the foe's account is quit.That happy day is working through;But, meanwhiles, it's for me and you— Well, dash it, pass along your bit.

A PROMISING SLEUTH-PUP.

Nurse. "I wonder if that man's a German spy?"

Young Briton. "Oh, no, Nurse! He can't be. He hasn't got a gun!"

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