draft:—"There are in the famine camps in my area some toothless old people who cannot eat the ordinary ration. What shall I do about it?"

"The gist of the letter is all right," I said, "but the style wants polishing. Higgins's education will be gauged by our style. Cross out 'some toothless old people' and write 'certain edentulous persons.' Put 'masticate' instead of 'eat.' Then you must not say, 'What shall I do about it?' That sounds too helpless. You, or rather Higgins, must appear as a man of unbounded initiative and resource. You must write, 'I suggest that a special ration of soft food be issued to such persons.' That will help the Government of India to solve a very difficult problem, and Higgins will earn its eternal gratitude."

The amendments were passed unanimously. Higgins copied out the letter in his best handwriting and sent it off through the long and winding channels by which subalterns on famine duty communicate with the heaven-born ones who sit on the far-off hills.

We separated next day, and I forgot all about the matter until three weeks later, when, going through my official mail, the name Patrick Aloysius Higgins caught my eye. There was our letter printed in full, and below it was the epoch-making decision of the Government: "A special ration of soft food may be issued to edentulous persons in famine camps."

Higgins's success evidently provoked Mackenzie to emulate it. Some time later I received another printed document. After the usual official opening, with its reference numbers, etc., it ran as follows: "There are in the famine camps in this area certain persons who, though not edentulous, are yet unable to masticate the ordinary ration. Though they have some teeth, the teeth are all in one jaw. May such persons be considered as edentulous for the purposes of the decision referred to above? Signed, JAMES DOUGLAS MACKENZIE." The Government was again pleased to record its approval.

The letter roused my jealousy. Higgins and Mackenzie, by the use of my distinguished literary style, had both got well along the road to fame, whilst I was still languishing in obscurity. Something must be done about it. I took a pen and wrote: "There are in the famine camps in this area certain persons who, though they are not edentulous and though they have some teeth in both jaws, are yet unable to masticate the ordinary ration because the teeth in the upper jaw correspond with the gaps in the lower, and vice versa. May such persons be considered as edentulous for the purposes of the two previous decisions?"

I sent the letter off to the Government of India. The reply came by return of post:—

"The Government of India, in response to representations, has authorised the issue of a special ration of soft food to edentulous persons in famine camps. In the interpretation of the term 'edentulous' considerable latitude may be permitted, and is indeed desirable, so that it may in practice be applied to many individuals who, according to meticulous physiological standards, should not be so classified. The determining factor in the application of the term should be the inability of the individual concerned to extract sufficient nutriment from the normal ration, owing to imperfect mastication. Such persons will invariably exhibit symptoms of mal-nutrition or cacotrophy.

"The Government is confident that the foregoing general ruling will enable junior and inexperienced officers, temporarily employed on famine duty, to classify appropriately and with facility as denticulate or edentulous all individuals afflicted with dental hiatus, mal-conformation and labefaction, without further reference to higher authority."

As I read the letter with the help of a dictionary, it dawned upon me that the Government of India had won the game beyond all doubt and peradventure.

TO SAINT VALENTINE.

THE DRUG HABIT—ALARMING

DEVELOPMENT.

"The old-fashioned doctor is scandalised at the trade union movement in the profession. In extreme cases he is said to be taking his own medicines."—Provincial Paper.

Extract from The London Customs Bill of Entry, January 25th:—

"Import, s. @ Rotterdam, of Holland, 175 bdls baskets containing 700 strikes."

We always suspected they were of foreign origin; and here we have "manifest" proof.

From a report of Col. F.B. MILDMAY'S speech:—

"Just as an accomplished horseman exercised ideal control over the strongest horse with the lightest hand, so Mr. Lowther had shown such tactful skill in handling them that those who had sat under him had bus-consciously been disposed to accept his guidance."

Provincial Paper.

A praiseworthy effort of the printer to keep up the metaphor.

THE VICTIM.

THE PATRIOT PIG.

Last Spring I was discussing food with our local doctor. Last Spring it was quite a favourite topic.

"Now," I said, "we can manage to scratch along somehow. But next year . . ."

The Doctor, a hearty man, gave me a smashing blow on the shoulder. "I have it!" he trumpeted. "We'll start a Patriot Pig Club."

Before he left I found myself an important pillar of the scheme. Pillars, you know, are the parts of an edifice that bear the weight. Their function is to be sat upon by the arches. In this case the arches were Jones the doctor and Perkins the butcher.

The Committee began sitting. I put five pounds into the preliminary pool and promised them all my pig-swill. I know I did, because the Doctor came straight from the meeting to my house to tell me I had, and to collect the cheque.

The pigs arrived. I myself and a number of other enthusiasts turned out to welcome them. The Doctor, I remember, made a happy little speech, and we all laughed a lot. The Committee were very pleased with themselves. They were dear little chaps—the pigs, I mean—very small, of course, but that gave me the opening for what was undoubtedly the most successful sally of the afternoon. Someone said they weighed five pounds apiece. "One pound per pound," I remarked.

A week later the Doctor called for my second instalment. "Pig going strong," he chattered gaily while I wrote out the cheque; "best of a good litter—bust its pink ribbon yesterday; twice the weight it was when it came."

It was on the tip of my tongue to repeat my witticism, which was still true, but I refrained.

I paid the first dozen five-pound instalments without comment. Up till then I had been fully occupied in studying how FOCH was getting on with the other sort of pig over there. But now I began to think.

I was thinking heavily when I put on my hat, but when I reached the premises of the Patriot Pigs I was thinking things that