The Times, and how could that be done if there was no ink? Some people doubtless could use pencil; but he personally could not. Others had typewriters or dictated to typists, but that was beyond him. To him there were few delights more complete than to dip his pen in the forbidden fluid and begin, "Sir." (Applause.)

The Rev. R. Trampbell said that not during his whole career as a clergyman of the Church of England could he remember a more monstrous proposal than this one to reduce the supply of ink. To him ink was more precious than radium, for it enabled him to express his thoughts and thus come into intimate relationship with his fellow-beings. It might be within the knowledge of the meeting that he was in the habit of contributing every week an article on the War to the Sunday papers. It was not on tactics, but on some subject of spiritual interest connected with the War, and he had reason to believe that thousands, he might say millions, of his fellow-countrymen and fellow-countrywomen found it helpful. Was that to cease? England had too few inspired teachers for this article to be lightly disposed of. He felt sure that he had the great weight of his beloved Church of England at the back of him when he uttered this protest.

Mr. Chester Gilbertson said that neither the restriction on ink or paper would worry him. There was nothing he couldn't write with, and nothing he couldn't write on. He had written many of his best articles with a piece of chalk on one of his black coats, and many of his worst on cab and railway-carriage windows with a diamond ring which he had compelled a commercial traveller to relinquish. (Cheers.) Rather than not express an opinion on whatever was forward, he would carve his views on a rock and himself carry the rock to the printing office. (Loud cheers.) The Runcimen of this world were created purely in order to be defied.

Mr. Bernard Jaw said that of course for the Government to pretend that the cargo space now occupied by ink was needed for something else was rubbish. The Government's real reason was that they were terrified of the critics and thought to muzzle them in this way. But he for one—and he knew for a fact that the Government dreaded his genius acutely and would give much if they could still the blistering accuracy of his pen—he for one would not be daunted.

At this point a special messenger arrived bearing a letter for the Chairman, who, after reading it, asked leave to put the meeting in possession of its terms, as it somewhat altered the situation. It was, in fact, from the Board of Trade, and stated that, owing to a misprint, the recent decision concerning ink had been misunderstood. It was not ink that was to be restricted, but zinc. (Cheers.) In the circumstances perhaps they might adjourn.

The meeting then broke up peaceably, although Mr. Bernard Jaw did his best to collect an audience for a new speech on the monstrosity of interfering with zinc.

"Count Bernstorff finds that the Washington Government has left him in the air. Seemingly he is at sea."—Morning Post.

As was said of a nobler character, "the elements are so mixed up in him."

Jones (left at home to mind the children). "If the paper's anything to go by, we married men will all be in the Army by July. It seems a long time to wait."

THE EXPERT ADVISER.

I met him near the entrance of the Institute, where I was waiting to see the Superintendent. He approached with light, nervous steps, and his haggard eyes met mine questioningly.

"A fine morning," I remarked.

"It is," he agreed; "and if you would be good enough to tell me the day of the week—"

"It's Saturday," I said, wondering a little.

"I—I feared so," he said and clutched me by the arm. "Listen. This is the day when I have to make up my five columns—seven hundred lines, brevier type. It is my destiny to give advice, and you can have it without the asking. Take, for example, the Rhode Island Rabbit—a noble strain and rich in phosphates. Plant out at the beginning of April in a mixture consisting of two parts road-grit, two parts table-scraps, and a deed of assignment, and by the end of October they will be throwing up magnificent clusters of yellow blossom. The Magellan Lop-eared is also hardy and prolific, though pugnacious if reared under glass. In the absence of a specified agreement a dose of tartaric acid that has been well stewed with the mutton left over from Sunday will usually put matters straight. Snip off shoots that show signs of becoming broody, and give a mash of middlings at quarter-day.

"We now come to the Light Sussex Long-furred Goatlings. These can be kept in hutches, which may be obtained at any oil-shop at about fivepence per pint. Grasp firmly by the wings when lifting, and explain the matter to your solicitor. Short-haired Pouters should be housed in kennels which have been thoroughly disinfected with peat-moss, cod-liver-oil emulsion and a good face-powder. A little boracic ointment rubbed well into the roots before breakfast is also to be commended. With regard to the Squirrel-tailed Borzois, during the period of weaning try bicarbonate of soda, one scruple; sal volatile, one drachm; to be taken every calendar month from date of contract."

A large, genial man, with an official manner—he was, I discovered, the under-superintendent—approached, and the haggard man moved rapidly away.

"A painful case," I observed.

"Very," said the large man. "Journalist of the name of Criddle—Jabez Wilberforce Criddle. He used to run the Gardening section of The Sunday Helio. Then the chap that was responsible for the 'Legal Advice' was called up, and Criddle got his column as well as his own. Next, the 'Poultry Gossip' man went, and they gave Criddle that, and when a week later the 'Cookery Notes' woman took up V.A.D. work he got her share too. He struggled along gamely enough until 'Auntie Gladys,' who ran 'Our Baby' column, became a tram-conductress; but, when they passed him that, his mind went, and the proprietors sent him here."

I inquired as to the possibilities of recovery.

"There is hope," said the large man, "that the trouble may not last beyond the duration of the War. But we shan't feel that we've made a fair start until we've cured him of getting up in the night and tapping his artificial teeth with a button-hook. He fancies he's dictating 'Answers to Correspondents.'"

Clerical Candour.

"In order to satisfy my mind I spent over two hours in a certain cinema ... Frankly I was disappointed. I saw nothing which could in any way be called indecent."

The Rev. F. H. Gillingham, in "The Weekly Dispatch."

AN UNEASY CONSCIENCE.

"Well, I'm off to my dressmaker's. I can't sit here any longer being economised at by that girl's clothes."

THE WORLD SET FREE.

(An awful prospect.)

Long, long ago, when I had not attested,
I prized the liberties of this proud race,
The right of speech, from haughty rulers wrested,