e liked 'em or not. Same way with a
bottle of pickles to go among eleven men or a handful of raisins or
apricots. Or jam or butter or anything, except bully beef or
Maconochie. I never heard any one "argue the toss" on either of
those commodities.

Bully is high-grade corned beef in cans and is O.K. if you like it,
but it does get tiresome.

Maconochie ration is put up a pound to the can and bears a label
which assures the consumer that it is a scientifically prepared,
well-balanced ration. Maybe so. It is my personal opinion that the
inventor brought to his task an imperfect knowledge of cookery and
a perverted imagination. Open a can of Maconochie and you find a
gooey gob of grease, like rancid lard. Investigate and you find
chunks of carrot and other unidentifiable material, and now and
then a bit of mysterious meat. The first man who ate an oyster had
courage, but the last man who ate Maconochie's unheated had more.
Tommy regards it as a very inferior grade of garbage. The label
notwithstanding, he's right.

Many people have asked me what to send our soldiers in the line of
food. I'd say stick to sweets. Cookies of any durable kind--I mean
that will stand chance moisture--the sweeter the better, and if
possible those containing raisins or dried fruit. Figs, dates,
etc., are good. And, of course, chocolate. Personally, I never did
have enough chocolate. Candy is acceptable, if it is of the sort to
stand more or less rough usage which it may get before it reaches
the soldier. Chewing gum is always received gladly. The army issue
of sweets is limited pretty much to jam, which gets to taste all
alike.

It is pathetic to see some of the messes Tommy gets together to
fill his craving for dessert. The favorite is a slum composed of
biscuit, water, condensed milk, raisins, and chocolate. If some of
you folks at home would get one look at that concoction, let alone
tasting it, you would dash out and spend your last dollar for a
package to send to some lad "over there."

[Illustration: COOKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.]

After the excitement of dodging shells and bullets in the front
trenches, life in billets seems dull. Tommy has too much time to
get into mischief. It was at Petite-Saens that I first saw the
Divisional Folies. This was a vaudeville show by ten men who had
been actors in civil life, and who were detailed to amuse the
soldiers. They charged a small admission fee and the profit went to
the Red Cross.

Th