It is the nature of the British Atkins to make a pet of anything, from a toad to a sucking pig—­he cannot help it.  The story about St. George, doyen of British soldiers, killing that dragon—­nonsense!  He would have spanked it, may be, until it promised to reform, then given it a cigarette, and taken it home to amuse the children.  To return to our ferrets, Burroughs and Welcome provided no exception to the rule; they were taught to sit up and beg, and lie down and die, to turn handsprings and play the mouth-organ; they were gorged with Maconochie, plum jam and rum ration; it was doubtful if they ever went to bed sober.  Times out of number they were borne back to the Officers’ Mess and exhorted to do their bit, but they returned immediately to their friends the Atkinses, via their private route, not unnaturally preferring a life of continuous carousal and vaudeville among the flesh-pots to sapping and mining down wet rat-holes.

Freddy was of opinion that, when the battalion proceeded up Unter den Linden, Burroughs and Welcome would be with it as regimental mascots, marching behind the band, bells on their fingers, rings on their toes.  He also assured me that if he ever again has to write an essay on the Fert, its characteristics, the adjective “noble” will not figure so prominently.

* * * * *

HERBS OF GRACE.

III.

SWEET MARJORAM.

  "Sweet Marjoram!  Sweet Marjoram!"
    (Sang an old dame standing on the kerb);
  “You may hear a thousand ballads,
  You may pick a thousand salads,
    Ere you light on such another herb.

  Sweet Marjoram!  Sweet Marjoram!
    (Let its virtues evermore be sung);
  Oh, ’twill make your Sunday clo’es gay,
  If you wear it in a nosegay,
    Pretty mistress, like when I was young.

  "Sweet Marjoram!  Sweet Marjoram!
    (Sing of sweet old gardens all a-glow);
  It will scent your dower drawer, dear,
  Folk would strew it on the floor, dear,
    Long ago—­long ago—­long ago.

  "Sweet Marjoram!  Sweet Marjoram!"
    (Sang the old dame standing on the kerb);
  "You may hear a thousand ballads,
  You may pick a thousand salads,
    Ere you light on such another herb."

* * * * *

    “The recipients [of the medals] were:—­Sergeant W.A.  Norris, D.C.M. and
    Military Private A. Trichney, M.M., andtootompPUF.  Medal ...” Daily
    Paper.

Private TRICHNEY’S second distinction was awarded presumably for something extra good in the bombing line.

* * * * *

“Lord Beauchamp, opening an Economy Exhibition at Gloucester on Saturday, said that among many interesting exhibits was one described as ‘Frocks for the twins from Uncle’s pyjamas.’  He hoped that the child who sent this exhibit would get the prize it deserved.”—­Daily Mail.

Uncle has probably seen to that.