Volume 152 — CO-OPERATIVE ADVERTISEMENTS.

In view of the restriction of the paper supply it has been suggested that advertisers should unite in cultivating the available space on a co-operative intensive system.

For example, the various proprietors of three popular brands of cigarettes, instead of having a page advertisement each, might combine in one single page, like this:—

THREE OF THE BEST.

You cannot consider yourself a connoisseur of cigarettes unless you are able to distinguish at one and the same time the individually exquisite flavours of "THE BRASS HAT" "THE OFFENSIVE." "THE GAS ATTACK."

THERE IS NO OTHER PERFECT BLEND.

These cigarettes are smoked in our patent "Trident" cigarette-holders.

Of all Tobacconists.

You see? Not only does each manufacturer still obtain the same sale for his cigarettes, but he actually gains a third share in the profits of a new accessory—the triple cigarette-holder.

Of course ingenuity of this sort is not required when the advertisers are not in any sense rivals. All that is then necessary is what we may call the economic common factor of appeal. For instance:—

ARE YOU ON OUR WAITING LIST?

The War Office Car. | | The Cricklewood Crematorium.

As soon as we are through with our urgent contracts we shall be happy to serve you.

Finally, we note that there are innumerable classifications of complementary trades which are, of course, eminently suited to co-operative advertising. We append two samples of what may be done in this direction.

I.

If you want to GET an Engagement as Mistress— Solicit an interview at the HOUSEWIVES' HOSTEL.

If you want to KEEP an Engagement as Mistress— Have the whole of your Servants' Suite CREATED BY THE CLASSY FURNISHING CO.

II.

As Omar Khayyam said:—

"A Loaf of Bread—"

"MONKEY-NUTTO-BRAN" Contains the whole of the husk.

"A Flask of Wine—"

A Wise Host PLUMES HIMSELF on his CHÂTEAU VINAIGRETTE.

"A Book of Verse"—

"PURPLE PIFFLE." By PERCIVAL DRIVEL.

"No submarines were sighted, but the vessel's commander steered a tortoise course through the danger zone."—Newfoundland Paper.

Far, far better than turning turtle.

"Metra laughed and deposited herself bewitchingly among the cushions on the davenport."—London Magazine.

Personally, we prefer a roll on the top of an American desk.

"By Regulation 35B of the Defence of the Realm Regulations, it is an offence for any person having found any bomb, or projectile, or any fragment thereof, or any document, map, &c., which may have been discharged, dropped, &c., from any hostile aircraft, to forthwith communicate the fact to a Military Post or to a Police Constable in the neighbourhood."—Scotsman.

Why this mistrust of Scottish policemen?

EARLIER FOOD PROBLEMS.

Peace, I remember, had her alimentary perplexities not much less renowned than war. At any rate I can think of two.

The first was some years ago, in Yorkshire, on one of those sultry and stifling days of August which in winter, or even in such a March as we have been suffering, one can view as something more desirable than rubies, but which in actual fact are depressing, enervating, and the mother of moodiness and fatigue. We had left Chop Yat early in the morning after a night of excessive heat in beds of excessive featheriness and were walking towards Helmsley by way of Rievaulx, all unconcerned as to lunch by the way, because the ordnance map marked with such cordial legibility an inn on the road at a reasonable distance. Moreover, was not Yorkshire made up of hospitable ridings, and had we not, on the previous day, found lunch in this cottage and tea in that, with no trouble at all, to say nothing of the terrific spread confronting us at Chop Yat? Why then carry anything?

But we soon began to regret the absence of sustenance, for this kind of weather makes for extreme lassitude shot through with rattiness, and under its influence nourishment dies in one with painful celerity.

The blessed word "inn" was however on the ordnance map, and since it was the one-inch scale that cannot lie we braced ourselves, mended and remended our tempers, and plodded on. The dales no doubt are gorgeous places, but under this grey humid sky anyone who wanted it could have had my share of Billsdale (as I believe it was). Scenery had become an outrage. There was no joy, no beauty; nothing was worth living for but that inn. As we laboured forward we cheered each other by word-pictures of its parlour, its larder and its cellar. A pork-pie ("porch-peen" I fancy the Yorkshiremen call it) would probably be there. Eggs, of course. A ham, surely. Bacon, no doubt. Yellow butter, crusty new bread, and beer. Indeed, let the rest go, so long as there was beer. But beer, of course, was beyond any question; an inn without beer was unthinkable.

Thus the miles wore away until, footsore, sticky and faint, we came upon the hostelry itself—only to find, instead of any grateful sign and the promise of delight, the frigid words, "Friends' Meeting House," painted on the board....

That was one experience, over which a veil may well be drawn. The other was not so long ago, in Sussex, a little before the War. This time we had not walked, but had done that much more hungrifying thing—we had been for hours in a motor-car, exceedingly engaged on the task of looking at houses to let. At last, utterly worn out, in the way that motoring can wear out body, soul and nerves, and filled with a ravening desire to tear meat limb from limb, we came to an inn of which our host had the highest opinion—so high, indeed, that, empty though we were, he had forced the car at full-speed past at least half-a-dozen admirable but less pretentious houses, where I, in my small way, had more than once been nourished and sustained.

When, however, at last we did arrive at his desired haven, late in the afternoon, when dusk was beginning to fall and blur with her gentle hand the sharp lines of hill and tree, we acknowledged his wisdom, for in the window beside the door, where we creakingly but joyfully alighted, were visible, although no longer distinctly, a vast ham as yet uncut and two richly-browned cold fowls. "There," said he, with a pardonable triumph, "didn't I tell you?" and so, our lips trembling with the anticipation of nutriment, we entered, flung off our wraps, and prepared, on the evidence, for such bliss as earth too rarely affords. But alas for hopes raised only to be shattered, for the host had nothing to offer us but bread and cheese. The ham and chickens were of papier-mâché.

Sentry. '"OO GOES THERE?"

Jock. "TWA SCOTCHES, AN' AWFU' UNDER PROOF."

"HOTEL. —— Sitting Waiter required, good experience."—Bournemouth Daily Echo.

The inclusion of the functions of a waiter among "sedentary occupations" explains a good deal.

Ex-Proprietor of a Cokernut Stall (who has just had his helmet shot off). "WHAT'LL YE 'AVE, FRITZ—NUTS OR A SEEGAR?"