etic to observe that a year ago, and even
two years ago, _The Daily Mail_ was urging the Government then
in power to introduce compulsory rations. Thus on November 13,
1916, we said: 'Ministers should at once prepare the organisation
for a system of bread tickets. It took the diligent Germans six
months to get their system into action, and it will take our ...
officials quite as long. They ought to be getting to work on it
now, not putting it off.'"--_Daily Mail_.

We dare not guess what was the suppressed adjective that _The Daily
Mail_ applied to "our officials."

* * * * *

[Illustration: OUR UNEMPLOYED.

WAR OFFICE BRASS HAT (_to Volunteer, "A" Class_). "AND MIND YOU, IF
YOU DON'T FULFIL YOUR OBLIGATIONS YOU'LL BE COURT-MARTIALLED!"

MR. PUNCH. "THAT WON'T WORRY HIM. HIS TROUBLE IS THAT, WHEN HE DOES
FULFIL HIS OBLIGATIONS, YOU MAKE SO LITTLE USE OF HIM."]

* * * * *

SUGAR CONTROL.

"Good evening, Sir," said Lord RHONDDA'S minion (the man who does
his dirty work), moistening his lips with a bit of pencil. "You were
allocated one hundredweight of sugar for jam-making in respect of your
soft fruit, I believe?"

"How _did_ you guess?" I said. "I say, do tell me when the War's going
to end. Just between ourselves, you know."

"This being the case," he went on (evidently trying to change the
subject--no War Office secrets to be got out of _him_, you notice),
"I must request you to show me your fruit-trees and also your jam
cupboard."

"The latter," I said--for he had called just after tea--"is rather
full at present, but doing nicely, thanks. As you observe, however, we
think it wiser not to try to close the bottom button of the door."

"Perhaps your wife--" suggested the man tentatively.

"My wife does her best, of course. She often says, 'Dearest, a third
pot of tea if you _like_, but I'm sure a third cup of jam wouldn't be
good for you.' By the way, don't you want to see the tea-orchard too?
The Cox's Orange Pekoes have done frightfully well this year--the new
blend, you know; or should I say hybrid?"

At this moment my wife appeared, looking particularly charming in a
_mousseline de soie aux fines herbes--anglice_, a sprigged muslin. I
seized her hand and led her aside.

"Lord RHONDDA'S myrmidon is upon us!" I hissed. "'Tis for your
husband's life, child. Hold the minion of the law in check--attract
him; fas