"Wil Cox": For quaint sayings, will back a young Russian, who has camouflaged himself as a Billjim in a certain Queensland Regiment. Blanski's simple task was to pull, drag or otherwise coax a "Jacky" mule—which in Military vocabulary is termed a pack-horse—heavily laden with S.A.A., in the rear of the Squadron. On a recent occasion the Regiment struck an extra hot corner, and the order was givin to "imshi" to cover. During the short retirement a "whizz-bang" struck the said mule amidships, and exploding, deprived the "annoyance" of pack saddle and all else of military value and more or less covered the Russian with gore. Blanski, oblivious to the mule's condition, brought up the rear of the column—which had taken cover behind a friendly hill—and hauling with him the head and forequarters of the mule by the faithful bridle, shouted to his cheering comrades, "The dom mule, he no kom quick, and I the vind up me dit got."

* * * * * *

"Koala": Since we came to Pharaoh Land we have been doing the Aladdin stunt, with words instead of lamps: we have traded off "dinkum" and other new words, as it were, and received in exchange old Arabic terms. The Boer War enriched our language by such words as "commandeer" and "trek"; the Great War bids fair to increase the vernacular by scores of expressions. Future disciples of Sam Johnson will be

One To The Scorp.

worried by a mob of naturalised words. The new-old words that we take back to Australia and Maoriland will be adopted by the folk who stayed at home—no doubt of that. But it will be funny till everyone gets used to them; and there will likely be some embarrassing moments in Polite Society. Lady Vere de Smythe may be shocked if a Light Horse veteran, in a moment of abstraction, greets her "Saieda, ezzayak?"; and when, at 24.00, he says he must "imshi", she will not press her guest to linger. But these things will happen only in early days of the New Life; in time, Society will be babbling "saieda", "maleesh", and all the other adopted words, with the best of us. Henceforth, all that displeases us will be "misquoise", and all that's to our liking "quoise" or "quoise kateer". When a gharry—no, I mean cabman, demands more than his fare we may use an Arabic word beginning with r, or merely say "Mafeesh, feloos"—the same expression will be worn threadbare as a reply to impecunious persons requesting the "loan of half a quid". "Magnune", "iggery", "kalass", and a score of other words we have acquired will all be extremely handy. But the pick of the bunch is "maleesh": a whole philosophy in seven letters; a philosophy that we have tested and tried; better than Pragmatism or any other "ism" of the schools. From Plato to Bergson, not a philosopher who has invented a solace to compare with "maleesh". What do you think? It's a good philosophy for life's little ironies; only, don't apply it to greater matters.

* * * * * *

"F": Everyone knows of the harmony that enables the British and French armies to work together with such wonderful success on the West Front; but here, in Palestine, alas! to threaten the existence of the Entente Cordiale there arises the sinister figure of Jones, of the Umteenth Regt. On the unsubstantial foundation of two or three years' French at school, in Australia, buttressed by the ostentatious perusal of "La Bourse Egyptienne", in the Heliopolis tram, he presumes to transmit to certain French soldiers the profound and intricate thoughts of his medical officer. Now, to carry on an amicable conversation with a long-suffering, but patient, Frenchman, and to reproduce the terse eloquence and pathos of a routine order, are two entirely different processes. If the even flow of conversation flags, it is easy to fill in the gaps with "Vive la France"; and though the Frenchman probably regards the expression as somewhat trite, he seldom thinks it worth while to argue about it. To establish a reputation for close intimacy with the Gallic tongue, and to justify it afterwards, these also, Jones finds to be two entirely different processes. The number of combinations that can be concocted with, say, twenty words is known only to those who have tried. Jones has made the test, and a few sentences pronounced with impressive animation, with subtle alternation in reply of "oui" and "non", are sufficient to built up an apparently solid reputation, however flimsy its foundations. Nor is it difficult, with practise, to assume an intelligent expression, which corresponds remotely with one's grasp of the discussion; while the Frenchman, the soul of courtesy, may be trusted never to dispel the illusion. But when it comes to translating orders, the imposing structure is tried by the hard test of results; and Jones always has, at the back of his mind, the haunting dread that someone will come along who really knows the language.

* * * * * *

"Oreb": Ever see any bird in Aussie to lick the big brown hawks that knock around Moascar and similar places? When we were at Abbassia, thousands of them used to come about the mess huts at meal time; they knew the cook-house call as well as we did, if not better. I reckon they used to watch the "babbling brooks", and soon as they saw them getting a hustle on and the mess orderlies waking up, they flocked to the huts and circled and skimmed above them, ready to pounce on the first backsheesh mungar sighted. We tossed bits of meat into the air, and I never saw one hit the ground. A dozen or so birds would go for the prize; and when one got it in his claws, the others hustled him till he swallowed it, or got the wind up and dropped it; if the latter, the meat was snapped in a jiffey by one of the pursuers. It was great sport watching them.

"You'd Get Malaria, Would You?"

Tpr. "W": On a hot day in the Valley of the Jordan you will see two or three "Weary Willies" at once, swirling columns of rubbish and dust, often nearly two hundred feet high, slowly edging their stately way across the sunbaked plain. You don't take much notice of them, however; there's a special "Willie" you're watching for, and that is the big old man one, that always hops over at dinnertime to see what you've got. Having spread an oil sheet under a blanket-shade, fastened upon four rifles with baynots fixed, the section gathers round, and stews and teas are drawn from the cook. Then it is that the "Willie" appears. His long, slender body and arms stretch up to heaven. He skips and dances on the plain, going backwards and forwards, but ever creeping nearer. He gets close, stops and plays about in a little wadi; seems to pass, and then, with a bound and a swirl, is upon you. Away goes the shade; empty plates go up in the air, and tea billies and dixies are flying as everyone dives to cover the stew with bare hands, only to snatch them off again to grab furtively at restless hats. Then the whirlwind passes, leaving an awful wreck behind. All the food, that has not been spilt, is inches deep in dust. "Willie" strays on down the lines till some bivvy attracts his attention; then over he jumps and gathers it to his swirling bosom. Instantly up goes the bivvy, papers and clothes go in all directions, and from out the chaos appears the half-distracted owner, hatless, breathless, hair standing on end, and eyes crying with dust, the while he is rushing about chasing his valued letters and papers. The whirlwind moves forward, gathering force, and, with a roar like a blast furnace, springs among the horses, making them pull back and break their head ropes, then scatter in all directions.

* * * * * *

"Terbac": I've been making a study of issue fags, or "gaspers" as they are vulgarly termed, and I would be glad if somebody would enlighten me on a certain point, which has puzzled me a lot. Who named the different brands? That's what I want to know. They are good names, we must admit: ''Red Hussar", "Flag", "Ruby Queen", "Oro", "Three Sisters". "Lucana", "Rough Rider", "Kitchener", "Trumpeter", "Tabs", "Britannia", etc. Yes, I'd like to know who cristened them, so that I might take off my hat to him and offer a "Ruby Queen".

* * * * * *

"Tibbin": We were living "close to the ground" at the time—not because we loved the simple life; no, our affection for mother earth was due to the fact that "Jacko" was slinging ironmongery over our way as if he were really annoyed about something. In the thick of the storm, a little dicky bird hopped on to a rock close to our shelter and started chirping for all he was worth, short and long notes, interlarded with trills. My cobber became excited. "Strafe it!", he cried, "Strafe it! its signalling to 'Jacko' that we're here". The little bird flicked its tail and piped louder than ever, till Bert heaved a clod at it, then it did a bunk.

* * * * * *

"Peter": It was in "Y" ward of the 2nd. A.S.H., so well known to Billjims and Pig Islanders, that a discussion was taking place concerning what all "naice" people call limbs. One Newsie had been chipped a good deal about his spindle-shanks, and having had just about enough of it, he hopped in with: "You don't know the meaning ot the word thin. Mine thin! You should see our saddler sergeants's. Why he got into a row when we were camped alongside the Northland Jocks, for pinching a couple of their bayonet scabbards—he wanted to make a pair of leggings out of them".

* * * * * *

"Bomber": Owing to lack of flour and scarcity of water, "Con", the son of a professional pastry-cook, produced a duff, made of biscuits, spice, jam-custard, treacle, stale biead, and many other ingredients, including junks of bacon fat. After boiling the mixture for three hours in a wash-dish, he came to the conclusion that it ought to be baked. So he filled a couple of big jam tins with the stuff, which looked like bran-mash, and duly baked the "duff". Not feeling hungry—at least, that was the reason I gave—I declined to sample "Con's" dainty dish; and later I was informed that I had missed a bit of "all right duff".

"Bivvy Town"

"Ephraim Flaxstick": The subject was the vagaries of the climate in this Land of Promise, and "Main Body Mack", who came over with one of the latest editions of "Nat Goulds", and who actually had been with the Brigade for a spasm of time, was holding forth to a number of the lastest and lonliest reinforcements. "Rain!" he exclaimed, "it comes down in torrents; never stops for weeks at a time." "Yes", said an old hand, a silent and hitherto unnoticed member of the audience, "I believe it did rain the night you were at the front".

* * * * * *

"Secretary Bird": There was something doing at a certain base hospital one morning recently. An orderly woke up a patient at 5 o'clock, and, despite his protestation, insisted that he was too ill to look after himself. When said orderly had bathed the man and rubbed him over with Eau de Cologne, he discovered that he had wasted his unwelcome efforts on the wrong patient.

* * * * * *

"Peter": A sporting N.Z. trooper was on leave in Cairo, and staying at the—. Having spent all his cash but about twenty-five ackers, on the last day he found himself shy of the hotel bill. He wired an Aussie pal at Moascar, "Stuck; send fiver". Back came the explicit reply, "Stucker".

* * * * * *

"Lance Jack": Strolling along the bank of the canal at Ismailia one day, I met three chaps, fresh from Aussie, who were speculating on the meaning of the letters I.W.T., which are painted in white on the side of each big felucca. Said one: "They mean 'Independent War Traders'. I guess". "Not much" declared one of the others, "more likely' Italian Water Tramps'". The third man's solution was, "Itinerant Water Tugs". And the Inland Water Transport craft glided serenely on their way.

* * * * * *

"Kyma": It was "out there" in the early days. A recently arrived Camelier stood facing his mount, for a strap had come undone and he wanted the hoosta to barrak; but he had forgotten how to give the "command". My pal came along and sniffed the "S.O.S." signal. "What's wrong, cobber? "he enquired. "How the devil do you get these things to fold up?" asked the Camelier.

* * * * * *

"Detector": A word for the little donk. He is the king beast of burden, and proves it here in Palestine every day. Looking back to my arrival in Egypt, I recall the donkeys, loaded up with packs double their own size, with Gyppoes squatting on top, their legs swinging with the regularity of pendulums. One had a burning inclination to drag the riders off. Since then, however, I have developed a better understanding. I have come to realise what a wonder the donk is, and that the load he is capable of carrying cannot be judged by what a horse can bear on his staying power. He is the horse's master and has the natural advantage of meeting all comers on his own ground. Whether it is the open road, the trackless mountain, or the desert, the donk is called upon to traverse, he does it unconcernedly; and the Jordan heat, the rain of the plains and the snow of the hills alike leave him unperturbed. And what an economical, little fellow he is! He can live on the smell of an oil rag; and when he does feel inclined for food, he would just as soon chew your old clothes as corn! I have often dreamt of a Light Donkey Brigade as a means of reducing the demand for horses. Think, too, of the money that would be saved in saddles and harness! All that would be necessary would be an empty sack, into which one would put all his gear, sling it across the donk, and squat on it. And it is a squat, anyhow or anywhere, for the little chap, unlike the horse isn't particular whether the weight is on his shoulders, back or rump! And what lungs! At one time we had the misfortune to be camped alongside an enclosure of donkeys, in charge of Gyppoes. Well, it's easy to understand that we all developed the late-to-bed and early-to-rise habits. The sudden, deep throated HAW'. is followed in succession by the quick intake of breath, like the hissing of steam through a rusty pipe, and then the HAW! again.something akin to the deep rumble of a big limber's siren, only much worse and more startling to the ear.