Why children need plentiful food He nextly proceeds to relate: Their capacity’s larger than you’d Be disposed to infer from their weight; They’re growing in bulk and in height, They’re normally active as grigs, And exercise breeds appetite— This stanza is absolute SPRIGGS. Last of all, with an eloquent plea For porridge at breakfast in place Of the loaf, and for oatcake at tea A similar gap to efface; For potatoless dinners—with rice, For puddings of maize and of figs, Which are filling, nutritious and nice— Thus ends the Epistle of SPRIGGS. A QUEUE SONG A jocular burden rings in my ear Of _Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_; It tells of good cheer ere food was dear, Of a time of plenty and peace and ease. With bread thrown in there was ample fare In _Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_ For men to repair all the wear and tear Of bodily tissue, though busy as bees. Carnivorous folk might ask for more Than _Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_, But that was before the stress of war Had simplified meals with a steady squeeze. For butter has almost fled from our ken, And eggs are fetching enormous fees, And the laying hen is on strike again, And my grocer has run clean out of cheese. So I’m bidding good-bye to the old refrain— It isn’t attuned to times like these— And I sing this strain as I stand in the rain, _Margarine, rice and potatoes, please_! THE IMPERFECT ECONOMIST “I wear my very oldest suits, I go about in shocking boots, And (bar potatoes) feed on roots, And various cereal substitutes For wheat, and non-imported fruits. No meat my table now pollutes, But, though I spare warm-blooded brutes, I sometimes sup on frogs and newts. I often spend laborious days Supported by a little maize; And rice prepared in divers ways My appetite at luncheon stays. From sugar I avert my gaze; Unsweetened tea my thirst allays; I never go to any plays Or smoke expensive Henry Clays.” _Our excellent Economist_ _His pet extravagance forgets,_ _Which rather spoils his little list—_ _His fifty daily cigarettes._ THE WAR PIG: A PALINODE Much obloquy was thine in days of yore, O Porker, and thy service manifold (Save for a casual mention, curt and cold) Ungrateful man continued to ignore; Nay worse, he ceased not daily to outpour Abuse upon thy breed, to sneer and scold, Till every porcine trait, in days of old, We learned to ridicule or to abhor. But now the days of calumny are past, These cruel innuendoes we disown, And epithets designed to blame or blast Take on a new and honorific tone; For England needs thee, blameless Porker, now, And PROTHERO salutes the sovereign sow. VARIA BATH (_With grateful acknowledgments to the anonymous but urbane author of “Bath in History and Social Traditions._”)