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OF COURSE.—­A friend in the Guards tells me that the new food restrictions do not affect the men in the trenches very seriously.  Our brave soldiers are so inured to hardships by now that they willingly forgo seven-course dinners.

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NOT STARVING.—­While on the subject of food, the picture published on page 6 of to-day’s issue refutes the idea that the Hun is starving.  It represents the KAISER looking at some pigs.  The KAISER can be distinguished by a x.

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FASHIONS FOR MEN.—­Now that mid-winter is with us it is quite a common event to meet fur-clad denizens of the firing line.  Some of the new season’s coats are the last word in chic, one which I noticed yesterday made of black goat, having pockets of seal coney with collar and cuffs of civet.  The wearer’s feet were encased in the latest style of gum boots, reaching to the thigh and fastening with a buckle.  These are being worn loose round the ankle.  A green steel helmet, draped in sandbag material, completed the costume.  The field service cap was not being worn inside the helmet.

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NUMBER NINE.—­The Army doctors, so it seems, do not fully understand the delicate constitution of a friend of mine in the Blues, and sent him back to duty after dosing him with medicine, though he is suffering from pain in the foot.  The medicine generally takes the form of a “Number Nine,” the pill that cures all ills; but last time he went on sick parade they were out of stock, and he was given two “Number Fours” and a “Number One” instead.  Rough-and-ready pharmacy.  What?

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SPIRITED.—­Met my old chum, Sir William ——­, just back from the trenches.  Dear old Billy, what cigars he used to smoke in the good old days!  He tells me that when on a carrying fatigue the other night one of his men dropped the earthenware receptacle which contains Tommy’s greatest consolation in this terrible war, and every drop of the precious liquid was spilt.  Five minutes later a Jack Johnson landed beside him and put things right. It gave him a rum jar.  Good, eh?

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WHERE TO LUNCH.—­I am just off to lunch with my old pal, the Hon. Adolphus Lawrie-Carr, of the Motor Transport Section of the A.S.C.  I have never seen him look better than he does now, in hunting stock and field boots, crop and spurs.  He always gives one a first-class meal.

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THE NEXT PUSH.—­I had a most interesting conversation the other day with Alphonse, late of the Saveloy.  He is on the G.H.Q.  Staff in a position of high trust—­something to do with the culinary arrangements, I believe—­and is, of course, in the know.  From what he told me confidentially I can assure all my countless readers that there will be fighting on the Western Front during 1917, and, in the words of Mr. Hilary Bullox, “If it is not prolonged until next year, the present year will certainly see the end of the War.”  More I cannot divulge.