manner by giving directions for the banging of large folding-doors at suitable (irregular) hours. Private individuals also, especially when returning home late at night, can do something in the way of supplying entertainment for nervous residents in the neighbourhood. Much is expected, too, of the large dairy companies, who, by their control of vast numbers of heavy milk-cans, are in a peculiarly favoured position. By the manipulation of these vessels on a stone floor a very complete imitation of a raid can be produced. A good deal, of course, can be done by any ordinary householder. "I have had great fun," one correspondent writes, "with a very deliberate and heavily-striking Dutch clock, which I have lately put against my party-wall. My neighbour's family frequently jump up and run for the basement. When they get used to the thing I shall give the other side a turn."

THE FIRE-DRILL.

Once a month, as laid down in "Orders for Auxiliary Hospitals for Officers," or some such document, we practise fire-drill. This consists of escaping from upper windows by means of precarious canvas chutes. The only people exempted from this ceremony are Mrs. Ropes—who watches with great delight from a safe distance—and Sister, who stands sternly at the top to make sure (a) that those patients who don't want to go down do go down, and (b) that those patients who do want to go down don't go down more than once. No excuses are taken. The fixed ration is one slither per chute per person.

We had this month's rehearsal last Tuesday. The patients were put through it first, Major Stanley—to his great disgust—being chosen to lead the way and set his juniors an example. He was told that it was possible, by sticking out his elbows, to go down as slowly as he liked; but he must have done it wrong somehow, for he disappeared with startling suddenness the instant he let go the window-sill, and almost simultaneously his boots shot out at the other end and doubled Dutton the butler up so badly that he had to be taken away and reinflated.

Haynes, who came next, insisted on first making his dying speech from the window, for, as he pointed out to Sister, when people allowed themselves to be inserted alive into machines of this type there was every likelihood of their reappearing at the other end in the form of sausages. Seymour handed Sister a bulky package labelled "WILL" before starting, and most of us managed to be mildly humorous in some way or other.

Mrs. Ropes, on the lawn, enjoyed it all immensely; and so did Ansell, who was standing beside her with an air of detachment. Sister's eagle eye singled him out.

"Come along, Mr. Ansell," she called. "I see you—your turn next. No shirking."

"I'm not in this, Sister," he answered loftily.

"Oh, indeed! And why not?"

"Because I sleep on the verandah. If there's a fire I simply get out of bed and step into the garden."

"Oh, no, you don't," put in Seymour. "That would be entirely contrary to regulations. The official method of escaping from burning buildings is down the official chute. In case of fire your correct procedure will be to double smartly upstairs, commend your soul to Providence in a soldier-like manner, and toboggan smartly down."

(Have I mentioned that Seymour is an Adjutant?)

"That's right, Captain Seymour," said Sister from above. "Bring him up under escort if necessary."

After the patients came Miss Ropes, and after her the domestic staff, beginning with the less valuable members and working up gradually to Dutton and Cook. It was possible to trace the progress of the younger and slighter maids by a swiftly-descending squeal, while that of the more portly was visible as a leisurely protuberance. At last Cook was the only one left—Dutton was not feeling quite up to performing the journey. She was a new cook, and very precious. She had all the generous proportions of her profession, and with them went a placid temper and a great sense of personal dignity.

"Oh, Cook," said Miss Ropes, "you needn't go down, you know, unless you want to."

There are times when official regulations must be sacrificed to diplomacy. But Cook was in high good humour, and quite determined on doughty deeds. Miss Ropes said no more.

The task of getting a wide cook into a narrow canvas tube proved quite unexpectedly difficult; and, when it was accomplished, so far from sticking out her elbows as brakes, she had to press them close to her sides in order to move at all. With the aid of a friendly pressure applied to the top of her head by Sister she got slowly under way. The chute bulged portentously. The bulge travelled a few feet; then it stuck and became violently agitated. Sister clutched at the top of the chute, while Dutton hung manfully on to the other end.

"Don't struggle," said Sister in a stern professional voice. "Keep your arms still, and you'll come down all right." A muffled screaming and a dangerously increased agitation of the chute was the only reply. Cook had quite lost her head and was having violent hysterics. Three or four of us raced upstairs to aid Sister in keeping the top end of the apparatus from jerking free, while several more went to the assistance of the flustered Dutton.

Cook ceased to struggle for a moment, but only through exhaustion; for when Sister seized the opportunity to repeat her advice a fresh paroxysm came on, and everybody "stood to" at their posts again. Miss Ropes conceived the idea of attaching a cord to Cook's armpits and hauling her up again by main force. She dashed into the house, and found a demoralised kitchen-maid calling incoherently for help down the telephone.

Meanwhile Cook had had her worst spasm. We hung grimly on to the chute, dismally confident that something would have to give way soon. Suddenly there was a rending sound; the seam of the canvas ripped open and a gaping slit appeared, through which Cook's freed arm flapped wildly. Then the arm disappeared as the body to which it was attached gathered momentum; and when Miss Ropes appeared with a length of cord she was just in time to see her retainer return to the world—alive, but practically inside out.

As soon as Cook recovered her breath it was apparent that her temper was no longer placid. Forgetting entirely that it was by her own choice that she had made the trip, she gave us all to understand that she believed the whole incident to have been specially arranged for her humiliation. She gave notice on the spot, and staggered indignantly to the house to pack her box, leaving her employer once again face to face with the Servant Problem.

THE ARTISETTE.

(An Engineering School for Women has been started in Scotland.)

Personal.

"Pat. Don't be disappointed. Nothing amis. Iris."—Calcutta Statesman.

Only a letter gone astray.

"Apartments (furnished and unfurnished) to be let, outside air radius."—Daily Telegraph.

A little suffocating, perhaps.