January, 1916, will ever be remembered as the eventful month in which the oldest men in England turned aside from all their other pursuits and disregarded the state of Europe in order to take part in the Battle of Jobey. Their battle-ground was the columns of _The Times_, and no one was too proud or venerable to fight. Peers, bishops, deans, statesmen, baronets, knights--all rushed in, and still no one quite knows the result. How many Jobeys were there? we still ask ourselves. Did anyone really know the first Jobey, or was there only an ancestral Jobey back in the days of EDWARD VI.? How old was the dynasty? Was Jobey Levi? Was Jobey Powell? Was Jobey short and fat? Was Jobey tall and thin? What did Jobey sell? What did Jobey do? To begin with, what was the _casus belli_? No one can remember. But some old Etonian, reminiscing, had the effrontery to believe that the Jobey to whom, in his anecdotage, he referred, who sold oranges at the gate or blew up footballs or performed other jobicular functions, was the only Jobey. That was enough. Instantly in poured other infuriated old Etonians, also in anecdotage, to pit their memories against his. Everything was forgotten in the struggle: the KAISER'S illness, Sir IAN HAMILTON'S despatch, the Compulsion Bill, the Quakers and their consciences, the deficiencies of the Blockade. Nothing existed but Jobey. All the letters, however, were not printed, and some of those that escaped _The Times_ have fallen into our own hand. We give one or two:-- Sir,--Your Correspondents are wrong. Jobey was a fat red man, with a purple nose and a wooden leg. I am, Yours faithfully, NESTOR. Sir,--My recollection of Jobey is exact. He was a fat man with a hook instead of a left hand, and he stood at least six feet six inches high. No one could mistake him. I am, Obediently yours, METHUSELAH PARR. Sir,--JOWETT, though not an Etonian himself, was greatly interested in anecdotes of Jobey related to him by Etonian undergraduates in the "sixties," and on one occasion, when he was the guest of the Headmaster, he was introduced to the famous factotum, who instructed him in the art of blowing up footballs, and presented him with a blood orange, which JOWETT religiously preserved for many years in a glass-case in his study. In features they were curiously alike, but Jobey's nose was larger and far redder than that of the Master's. I have given a fuller account of the interview in my _Balliol Memories_, Vol. iii., pp. 292-5, but may content myself with saying here that the two eminent men parted with mutual respect. I am, Sir, Yours faithfully, LEMUEL LONGMIRE. Sir,--I wish to point out that "My Tutor's" is hopelessly wrong in thinking that his Jobey is the real Jobey. Looking through my diary for June, 1815, I find this entry:--