I have been reading a lot about Polynesia lately, and the conclusion has been forced upon me that dining out in that neighbourhood might be rather confusing to a stranger.

Imagine yourself at one of these Antipodean functions.  Your host is seated at the head of the table with a large fowl before him.  Looking pleasantly in your direction he says:—­

“Will you have a little moa?”

Not being well up in the subject of exotic fauna you will be tempted to make one of the following replies:—­

(1) (With Alice in Wonderland in your mind) “How can I possibly have more when I haven’t had anything at all yet?”

(2) “Yes, please, a lot more, or just a little more,” as capacity and appetite dictate.

(3) “No, thank you.”

The objection to reply No. 1 is that it may cause unpleasantness, or your host may retort, “I didn’t ask you if you would have a little more moa,” and thus increase your embarrassment.

No. 2 is a more suitable rejoinder, but probably No. 3 is the safest reply, as some of these big birds require a lot of mastication.

In the event of your firing off No. 3, your host glances towards the hostess and says—­

“Oo, then” (pronounced “oh-oh").

To your startled senses comes the immediate suggestion, “Is the giver of the feast demented, or is he merely rude?”

Just as you are meditating an excuse for leaving the table and the house, your hostess saves the situation by saying sweetly, “Do let me give you a little oo,” playfully tapping with a carvingknife the breastbone of a winged creature recumbent on a dish in front of her.

It gradually dawns upon you that you are among strange birds quite outside the pale of the English Game Laws, and that you will have to take a sporting chance.

While you are still in the act of wavering the son of the house says, “Try a little huia.”

If you like the look of this specimen of Polynesian poultry you signify your acceptance in the customary manner; otherwise, in parliamentary phraseology, “The Oos have it.”

For my own part I fancy that, unless or until some of these unusual fowls are extinct, I shall not visit Polynesia, but rest content with Purley.  Our dinner-parties may be dull, but at least one knows one’s way about among the dishes.

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[Illustration:  Fed-up Owner (to holiday Artist).  “CHARMING, MY DEAR YOUNG LADY—­CHARMING—­WITH ONE IMPORTANT OMISSION.  YOU’VE FORGOTTEN TO PUT IN THE NOTICE ON THE TREE.”]

* * * * *

A BALLAD OF THE EARLY WORM.

  The gentle zephyr lightly blows
    Across the dewy lawn,
  And sleepily the rooster crows,
    “Beloved, it is dawn.”

  The little worms in bed below
    Can hear their father wince,
  While, up above, a feathered foe
    Is busy making mince.