“The complete cessation of the exports of opinion from
    India to China is a distinct landmark in the moral progress
    of the world.”—­South African Paper.

This seems rather sweeping.  What about Sir RABINDRANATH TAGORE?

* * * * *

THE STEW.

FRAGMENT OF A SHAKSPEAKEAN TRAGEDY.

    ["There are many things with which a stew can be
    thickened.”—­Extract from Regimental Order.]

SCENE I.—­Battalion Orderly-Room.

Flourish.  Enter Colonel and Adjutant.

  Colonel. I do mistrust the soft and temperate air
      That hath so long enwrapped us.  No “returns
      Of bakers,” visitations of the Staff,
      Alarms or inquisitions have disturbed
      Our ten days’ rest.  Nothing but casual shells
      And airy bombs to mind us of the War.

  Adjutant. Oh, Sir, thy zeal hath mated with thy conscience
      And bred i’ the mind mistrustful doubts and fears,
      A savage brood, which being come to manhood
      Do fight with sweet content and eat her up.

  Colonel. Alas! it is the part of those who govern
      To play the miser with their present good
      For fear of future ill.  But who comes here?

    Enter Messenger.

  Messenger. So please you I am sent of General Blood
      To bid you wait his coming.

  Colonel. When?

  Messenger. To-morrow. 
      He purposes to visit your command
      About the dinner-hour. [Exit.

  Colonel. Now let th’ occasion
      Be servant to my wits.  “The dinner-hour.” 
      Twice hath he come; and first upon parade
      Inspected all the men; the second time
      The transport visited.  Surmise hath grown
      To certainty.  He will inspect the dinners! 
      Go, faithful Adjutant, stir up the cooks
      And bid them thicken stews and burnish pots.

  Adjutant. I take my leave at once and go. [Exit Adjutant.

  Colonel. Farewell. 
      Now with elusive Chance I’ll try a fall
      And on the fateful issue risk my all. [Flourish.  Exit.

SCENE II.—­A kitchen.  In the middle a dixie.  Thunder.

Enter Three Cooks.

  First Cook. Thrice the dreadful message came.

  Second Cook. Thrice the mystic buzzer buzzed.

  Third Cook. Sergeant cries, “’Tis time, ’tis time.”

  First Cook. Round about the dixie go;
      In the dense ingredients throw—­
      Extra bully, every lump
      Pinched from some forbidden dump,
      Biscuits crunched to look like flour,
      Cabbage sweet and onions sour—­
      Make the broth as thick as glue. 
      The General will inspect the stew.