I forgot to tell you another awful row there’s been. Hetherington who is a new chap sits next to Ferguson at dinner. Ferguson always bags his sausage at breakfast on Sundays. The other day the Matron found a letter in Ferguson’s drawer written by Hetherington to Ferguson saying, “Dear Mister Ferguson. May I please have my sausage next Sunday. I’m so hungry.” Ferguson was swished but he didn’t care a rap. The Head says he’s callus. I had an awfully good catty. I shot Hichens mi. in the back of his head by mistake and it bled awfuly. I thought I was in for it but the Head only bagged my catty for the rest of the term. We sent for a lot of snakes and green lizzards from Covent Garden and most of us bought some. I bought a Salamander but it died. Up to the Head one can’t keep a toad in one’s desk as we used to when we were in Colly’s div. We still have Hashed Cat and Dead Fly pudding on Thursdays and nobody eats it and Mac still asks us why we arnt hungry. But I’m in training now for the sports and don’t eat pudding at all. None of us do. Please write and tell me about the sort of things a chap ought to know before going to Eton. Yours ever, P. SMITH. I’m Smith ma. now because my minor’s here. He isnt bad. FROM SATURDAY TO MONDAY _Letter from a Frenchwoman to an English Friend in Italy_ HOTEL RITZ, LONDON. _Monday, June 1909_. My very dear Mary, Here is the second tome of my first impressions of your country and your compatriots, which I promised to share with you. After the town the country! After one day of the London season, the English country life, the home, the Sunday at home! I have spent what you call a Saturday week-end, or a Sunday over. I will relate you all my adventures, and tell you in all frankness the good and the bad.