_
We thought this sort of thing only happened in the geyser-region.
* * * * *
"Home offered delicate person on small farm; partner pig, poultry,
dairy."--_Observer._
This ought to cure any delicacy he might start with.
* * * * *
TO LORD RHONDDA.
DEAR LORD RHONDDA,--When you were an unassuming undergraduate at Caius
College, spending your leisure-time in an eight-or a pair-oar, and
stirring up the muddy shallows of the Cam, as you did to some purpose, I
cannot believe that any premonitions of the heights of celebrity to
which you would some day attain disturbed your mind. And yet here you
are, a survivor from the foul and murderous shattering of the
_Lusitania_, a coal-owner, a member of the Government, a peer, and the
Food-Controller of a whole nation at war.
Your predecessor, Lord DEVONPORT, had no very happy experience of the
post you now hold, and I can well understand that his life during his
tenure of it cannot have been a pleasant one. Every crank with an
infallible recipe for catching sunbeams in cucumber-frames and turning
them into potatoes, or whatever might be the fashionable food at the
moment; every grumbler who imagined that every rise in prices must be
entirely due to the malignity of men and not to the scarcity of the
article; every politician with a grudge to satisfy or an axe to
grind--all these pounced upon Lord DEVONPORT as a victim made ready to
their hands, and gave him a time which can only be described as a very
bad one.
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