Since that time, though we have endured in silence, the lot of myself and my family has been a hard one. We have been fed and housed as usual, it is true, but when one has been accustomed to live on terms of the most privileged friendship with a household it is galling to find oneself suddenly treated by every member of it, from the butler downwards, as a prisoner of war. I am not even allowed now to bite the postmen; and I used to enjoy them so much, especially the evening one, who wears quite thin trousers. Our only consolation has been the hope that our misfortune might be an isolated instance. To-day, however, I learn that it is not so. I have discovered by my basket (and I have reason to think that they were conveyed thither by the malignant Macalister) three humorous (?) sketches depicting members of my race in situations which I can only describe as ridiculous, and obviously insinuating that they were to be regarded as aliens. I appeal to you, Sir, as a lover of justice and animals, to put this matter right with the public, for the life that a British dachshund has to lead at the present moment is what is vulgarly known as a dog's life. Yours to the bottom biscuit, FRITZ. * * * * * [Illustration: THE RIDDLE OF THE SANDS. TURKISH CAMEL. "WHERE TO?" GERMAN OFFICER. "EGYPT." CAMEL. "GUESS AGAIN."] * * * * * [Illustration: THE REFUGEE. "BOBBY DEAR, CAN'T YOU GET MARCELLE TO PLAY WITH YOU SOMETIMES?" "I DO TRY, BUT SHE DOESN'T SEEM TO CARE ABOUT IT--SHE'S ALWAYS KNITTING. I THINK, MOTHER, PERHAPS IT MIGHT BE BETTER IF, FOR THE NEXT WAR, WE HAD A BOY."] * * * * * HOT WATER. At the beginning of things I sat outside my tent in the early hours of the morning while a stalwart warrior poured buckets of cold water down my spine. I felt heroic. Towards the end of October I began to dislike my servant; I had a suspicion he was icing the water. Before November was in I had given up sitting outside my tent. My bathing I decided (one cold wet morning) should take place under cover, either at the Golf Club or at some kindly person's house. A few days later, not being on duty, I had arranged to dine with the Fergusons. In the late afternoon I strode into the Golf Club and had a hot bath. From there I wandered into town, where I met Mrs. Johnston. "Hello!" she said. "I'm just going home. Won't you come with me?" Mrs. Johnston is one in a thousand. "Rather," I agreed. "Forward--by the right." Tea over, my hostess turned to me brightly. "Now," she said, "I know what it must be in camp. I'm sure you'd like a nice hot bath," and she rang the bell. Somehow I didn't tell her I'd had one at the Club. You might have done differently perhaps, but--well, the little lady was beaming hospitality; was it for me to stifle her generous intentions? I thought not. I went upstairs and splashed manfully.