[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ENEMY.

_Horrid Boy to newly-appointed Volunteer Major, (who finds the military seat very awkward_). "Sit further back, General! You'll make his 'ead ache!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: AUTUMN MANOEUVRES.

No, this is not heroism; this is simply discretion. Little Plumpleigh has just given "Charge!" and taken one look behind to see if his men are "backing him up, don't you know," and he is now making for safety!]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _War-office Genius._ "Now _this_ is another of my brilliant ideas, the shelter trench exercise. Of course, I _know_ the trench is the wrong way about, and that, when they have finished it, they have to fire into the wood they are defending, and then turn about and charge away from the wood, but, THEN! _we_ get a capital bank and ditch made round our plantations, with practically _no_ expense!"

_Mr. Punch._ "And this is what you call instructing the Volunteers?"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _First Bluejacket._ "Well, matey, wot 'appened?"

_Second Bluejacket._ "Lieutenant, '_e_ reports as 'ow I were dirty, an'

my 'ammick weren't clean, an' captin, '_e_ ses, 'Wash 'is bloomin' neck, scrub 'is bloomin' face, an' cut 'is bloomin' 'air, every ten minnits!'"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Volunteer Captain (acting Major first time)._ "Now then!

What are you boys staring at? Did you never see a war-horse before?"

_Boys (who had followed expecting a "spill.")_ "Aye--we've whiles seen a waur horse, but never a waur rider!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: AD VALOREM.

_(Energetic Sub has been pursuing runaway mule)._ "Well done, old chap!

You deserve the D.S.O. at least. What is it? Ammunition?" "Ammunition!

D.S.O.!! V.C., you mean!!!! Why, it's bottled beer!!!!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MONEY "TIGHT."

_British Subaltern._ "By-the-by, Smith, can you lend me that sovereign I gave you this morning for a Christmas-box?!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR RESERVES.

_Captain of Rural Corps (calling over the roll)._ "George Hodge!" _(No answer.)_ "George Hodge!--Where on earth's George Hodge?"

_Voice from the ranks._ "Please, sir, he's turned dissenter, and says fighting's wicked."]

THE BUSY BISLEY

SCENE--_Within measurable distance of Woking. Enter lounger and marksman R. and L._

_Lounger (heartily)._ Why, I _am_ glad to see you! And how are things going on?

_Marksman (cordially, but abruptly)._ Capitally! Good-bye!

_Loung._ But I say, what a hurry you are in! Can't you stop a minute for a chat?

_Marks._ Another time, but just now moments are precious.

_Loung._ But I say, you see I have found myself here--it doesn't take much longer than getting down to Wimbledon.

_Marks._ Of course it doesn't--whoever said it did? But there, old chap, I _must_ be off!

_Loung._ You are in a hurry! Ah, we used to have pleasant days in the old place?

_Marks._ Did we? I daresay we did.

_Loung._ Why, of course! Grand old days! Don't you remember what fun it used to be decorating your tent; and then, when the ladies came down--which they did nearly all the day long--what larks it was getting them tea and claret-cup?

_Marks._ Very likely. But we don't have many ladies now, and a good job, too--they _are_ a bore.

_Loung._ Well, you _are_ a chap! Why, how can there be any fun without your sisters, and your cousins, and your maiden aunts?

_Marks._ We don't want fun. But there, good-bye!

_Loung._ But I say, I have come all this way to look you up.

_Marks. (unbending)._ Very kind of you, my dear fellow, you have chosen rather an unfortunate time.

_Loung._ Why, at Wimbledon you had nothing to do!

_Marks._ Very likely. But then Bisley isn't Wimbledon.

_Loung. (dryly)._ So it seems. Everyone said that when they moved the camp further away from home, they would ruin the meeting.

_Marks._ Then everyone was wrong. Why, we are going on swimmingly.

_Loung._ It must be beastly dull.

_Marks._ Not at all. Lovely country, good range, and, after it rains, two minutes later it is dry as bone.