The gem of the afternoon was certainly Hermione Shropshire's song and dance, "Sal of the Supper Club." She was coached by the famous Jenny Jolliwell, who's called "The Diva of the Dials;" and I hear that Jenny (who was one of our programme-sellers) said afterwards, "Lumme, duchess, you went one better than me, you did, straight! If I dared to give 'Sal' like that at the Syndicate Halls I'd have the Lord High What's-his-name down on me in two ticks!"
Wasn't that a triumph for dear Hermione?
Ever thine,
Blanche.
Judge. "Anything to say?"
Prisoner. "Well, not meself, me lord. But if you'll allow me little daughter here to recite a passage out o' 'The Merchant o' Venice'——"
Vaulting Ambition.
The Germans seem to have adopted a new method of hiding their losses. We read in The Edinburgh Evening Dispatch that the attack on the Mort Homme "has brought no kudos to the Crown Prince—only more catacombs."