I chant it loudly in my bath, I chant it when the sun is high, And when the moon pursues her path Noctambulating through the sky. And when the bill of fare at meals Is more than usually brief, Again I sing: “One pound of eels Is better than a loin of beef.” It is a charm that never fails When friends accost me in the street And utter agonizing wails About the price of butcher’s meat. “Cheer up,” I tell them, “creels on creels Are hastening to your relief; Cheer up, my friends, one pound of eels Is better than a loin of beef.” Then all ye fearful folk, dismayed By threatened shortage of supplies, Let not your anxious hearts be swayed By croakers or their dismal cries; But, from Penzance to Galashiels, From Abertillery to Crieff, Remember that “one pound of eels Is better than a loin of beef.” But these are only pleasant dreams Unless, to realize our hopes, Proprietors of ponds and streams Re-stock them, like the early Popes. Then, though we still run short of keels And corn be leaner in the sheaf, We shall at least have endless eels, Unnumbered super-loins of beef. A SONG OF FOOD-SAVING [Being a faithful effort to versify the article written by Dr. E. I. SPRIGGS, at the request of the FOOD CONTROLLER, on the food requirements of people of different ages and build.] Good people, who long for a lead On the paramount crux of the time, I pray you give diligent heed To the lessons I weave into rhyme; And first, let us note, one and all— Whether living in castle or “digs”— “Large people need more than the small,” For that’s the first maxim of SPRIGGS. Now, as most of the food that we eat Is wanted for keeping us warm, The requisite quota of heat Is largely a question of form; And the ratio of surface to weight, As anyone readily twigs, Is the root of the point in debate As sagely expounded by SPRIGGS. Hence the more we resemble a sphere Less heat on the surface is lost, And the needful supply, it is clear, Is maintained at less lavish a cost; ’Tis economy, then, to be plump As partridges, puffins or pigs, Who are never a prey to the hump, So at least I interpret my SPRIGGS. Next, the harder it freezes or snows The greater the value of fat, And the larger the appetite grows Of John, Sandy, Taffy and Pat. (Conversely, in Midsummer days, When liquid more freely one swigs, Less viand the appetite stays— This quatrain’s a gloss upon SPRIGGS.) For strenuous muscular work A larger allowance of grub We need than is due if we shirk Exertion, and lounge in a pub; For the loafer who rests in a chair Everlastingly puffing at “cigs” Can live pretty nearly on air, So I gather at least from my SPRIGGS.