And that, I am persuaded, is why everybody else carries theirs. But this is a very serious conclusion. It will be a terrible thing if everyone is going to carry the tools of his trade about with him to show that he has a trade; the barrister his briefs, the doctor his stethoscope or his shiny black bag; the butcher his chopper; the dentist--but no, we cannot have that. There must be other ways. We might wear badges, as we did in the War, only they would be office badges and trade badges, instead of regimental badges or discharged badges. Then we should have again the dear old war-game of trying to read what was on them without being rude. That is what one really misses in public places in these days of Peace--that and the uniforms. It was easy to make conversation in a restaurant in the old days, when people kept on coming in in curious uniforms, and the ladies wondered what they were and the men pretended they knew all about them. But all that is dead now, and I think these sweat-badges would supply a serious want. But what will the author wear? And who will believe that he ever breaks into beads of perspiration at his labour? A. P. H. [Footnote 1: February 24th, col. 1638.] * * * * * [Illustration: _Butler_ (_in service of the Earl of Kyloes_), "IS THAT YOU, MY LORD?" _Burglar_ (_full of guile_). "YUS, MATEY."] * * * * * "CAN EUROPE BE SAVED? By LOVAT FRASER." _Daily Mail._ We don't know; but there can be no harm in his trying. * * * * * Commercial Candour. "Your Soil needs a tonic. Send 2s. 6d. for 40 lb. Ground Lime in a Government twill bag, worth half the money."--_Local Paper._ "Antique Copper Fire-irons and Dogs, almost new."--_Local Paper._ * * * * * THE PACKET RAT. "When I leave this Western Ocean, to the South'ard I will steer, In a tall Colonial clipper far an' far enough from here, Down the Channel on a bowline, through the Tropics runnin' free, When I'm done with this 'ere ocean ... an' when it's done with me. "An' I'll run my ship in Sydney, an' then I'll work my way To them smilin' South Seas Islands where there's sunshine all the day, An' I'll sell my chest an' gear there as soon's I hit the shore, An' sling my last discharge away, an' go to sea no more. "It's a pleasant time they have there--they've easy quiet lives; They wear no clothes to speak on; they've a bunch of browny wives; They're bathin' all the day long or baskin' on the sand, With the jolly brown Kanakas as naked as your hand. "An' I'll lay there in the palm-shade, an' take my ease all day, An' look across the harbour at the shippin' in the bay, An' watch the workin' sailormen--the bloomin' same as me In the workin' Western Ocean afore I left the sea.