programme.

From the evidence in a juvenile larceny case:—

"The Father: Devils seem to be getting into everyone nowadays, not only in boys, but in human beings."

Devon and Exeter Gazette.

A delicate distinction.

Win-the-War Vice-President of our Supply Depot (doing grand rounds). "HERE AGAIN IS A FIFTH GLARING EXAMPLE. THE HEM OF THIS BAG IS AN EIGHTEENTH OF AN INCH TOO WIDE. GET THEM ALL REMADE. WE CANNOT HAVE THE LIVES OF OUR TROOPS ENDANGERED."

A MIXED LETTER-BAG.

(Prompted by "Thrifty Colleen's" letter in "The Times" of September 12.)

CRUELTY TO VEGETABLES.

SIR,—May I be allowed to protest with all the vigour at my command against the revolting suggestion that, with the view of making cakes from potatoes they should be first boiled in their skins. I admit that this is better than that they should be boiled without them, but that is all. The potato is notoriously a sensitive plant. Personally I regard it more in the light of an emblem than a vegetable. That it is not necessary as an article of food can be conclusively proved from the teaching of history, for, as a famous poet happily puts it—

If, however, the shortage of cereals demands that potatoes should be used as a substitute for wheat, I suggest that, instead of being subjected to the barbarous treatment described above, they should be granted a painless death by chloroform or some other anæsthetic.

I am, Sir, yours truly,

POTATOPHIL.

ERIN'S INCUBUS.

SIR,—A great deal of fuss is being made over Irish potato-cakes. Why Irish? The tradition that the potato is the Irish national vegetable is a hoary fallacy that needs to be exploded once and for all. It is nothing of the sort. The potato was introduced into the British Isles by Sir WALTER RALEIGH, a truculent Elizabethan imperialist of the worst type, transplanted into Ireland by the English garrison, and fostered by them for the impoverishment of the Irish physique. The deliberations of the National Convention now sitting in Dublin will be doomed to disaster unless they insist, as the first plank of their programme, on the elimination of this ill-omened root. If ST. PATRICK had only lived a few centuries later he would have treated the potato as he did the frogs and snakes.

I am, Sir, Yours rebelliously,

SHANE FINN.

A DANGEROUS DISH.

SIR,—May I put in a mild caveat against excessive indulgence in potato-cakes, based on an experience in my undergraduate days at Trinity College, Cambridge, when WHEWELL was Master? One Sunday I was invited to supper at the MASTER'S, and a dish of potato-cakes formed part of the collation. WHEWELL was a man of robust physique and hearty appetite, and I noted that he ate no fewer than thirteen, considerably more than half the total. Whether it was owing to the unlucky number or the richness of the cakes I cannot say, but the fact remains that the MASTER was seriously indisposed on the following day and unable to deliver a lecture on the Stoic Philosophy, to which I had greatly looked forward. I cannot help thinking that PYTHAGORAS, who enjoined his disciples to "abstain from beans," would, if he were now alive, be inclined to revise that cryptic precept and bid us "abstain from potatoes," or, at any rate, from over-indulgence in hot potato-cakes.

I am, Sir, Yours faithfully,

CANTAB.

WANTED—A NEW NAME.

SIR,—If a thing is to make a success a good name is indispensable. The potato has been handicapped for centuries by its ridiculous name, which is almost as cumbrous as "cauliflower" and even more unsightly to the eye. It is futile to talk of a "tuber" since that means a hump or bump or truffle. No, if you are to get people to eat potato-cakes you must devise a more dignified and attractive name; and it would be good policy for the FOOD CONTROLLER to offer a large prize for the best suggestion, Mr. EUSTACE MILES, Mr. EDMUND GOSSE and Mr. HALL CAINE to act as adjudicators.

I am, Sir, Yours obediently,

EARTH-APPLE.

"HULLO! WHERE'S BABY? I THOUGHT HE WAS WITH YOU." "SO HE IS, AUNTIE; BUT HE THOUGHT YOU WERE COMING TO FETCH HIM IN, SO HE'S OVER THERE, CAMMYFLAGING HIMSELF WITH A TOWEL."

THOROUGHNESS.

It is generally agreed that the War has given women great chances, and that women for the most part have taken them. Where they have not, but have preferred frivolity, it is not always their own fault, but the result of outside pressure. Such a paragraph, for example, as the following, by "Lady Di," in The Sunday Evening Telegram, is hardly a clarion call to efficiency:—

"This recurrence of night raids has made business brisk in the lingerie salons, especially among flatland dwellers, for it's quite the thing now to have coffee and cake parties after a raid, with brandy neat in liqueur glasses for those whose nerves have been shaken. And such parties do give chances for the exhibition of those dainty garments that usually you have to admire all by yourself. Which reminds me. Don't forget an anklet and a wristlet of black velvet—the wristlet on the right and the anklet on the left!"

Since "Lady Di" is out for making the most of every opportunity, and since even she might forget something, I am minded to help her, two heads being often better than one. Air raids are not the only unforseen perils. Surely some such paragraph as this would be useful and indicate zeal:—

The escape of German prisoners being of almost daily occurrence, it would be well for all women who wish never to be taken unawares to be prepared to look their best should one of these creatures meet them. For nothing is lost by looking nice; indeed it is one's duty to be smart, lest dowdiness should give him the impression that England really is suffering from the War. A costume which I have designed to be seen in by escaping German prisoners is a "simple" one-piece (not peace) frock—which, when built by a real artist, can be so intriguing. Of ninon, for choice, with a Duvetyn hat. Carry a gold purse and lift the skirt high enough to show the finest silk stockings.

THE CROSSBILLS.