Thursday.—­Sorry to find rations very unsatisfactory.  Complained to the Officer of the day, who reported the matter to the Captain.  Captain said he would have asked the entire company to dine with him at his Club had he not been engaged.  He then passed us on to his Subs.  The latter most obligingly gave us some food at a Restaurant. Chateaubriand excellent, Sole a la Normande decent, but Potage a la bisque too rich.  Mistake to order the latter, as one can never get it really good, except on the Continent.  Wine tol-lol.  Pol Royer of ’84.  However, spent a very pleasant evening.  Both Subs, when you know them, not half bad fellows!

Friday.—­Rather a head, and felt generally out of sorts.  Warned for Kit-inspection.  Couldn’t stand this, so called upon General Commanding District.  Not at home, but was asked would I see his locum tenens?  Replied in the negative, as I don’t believe in go-betweens.  Didn’t return to barracks, as I thought I might get a breath of sea-air at Southend.

Saturday.—­Arrested and conveyed to the Guard-room.  Suppose I shall be released with a caution.  At any rate, for the present, diary confiscated.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE GARDEN OF SLEEP;

OR, “PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT!”

Miss India.  “EVICT ME?  WITH PLEASURE, SAHIB.  BUT HOW ABOUT ‘COMPENSATION FOR DISTURBANCE?’”]

* * * * *

  In the heart of fair Ind, which JOHN BULL hopes to keep,
  Trade planted a Garden—­a Garden of Sleep;
  ’Neath the hot Eastern sky—­in the place of good corn—­
  It is there that the baneful white Poppy is born,—­
  Chinese Johnny’s desire, lending dreams of delight,
  Which are his when the poppy-juice cometh in sight. 
  Oh! the Mart hath no heart, and Trade laugheth to scorn
  The plea of friend PEASE, where the Poppies are born.

  In this Garden of Sleep, where white Poppies are spread,
  Fair INDIA plucketh the opiate head. 
  JOHN BULL says.  “My dear, PEASE’s tales make me creep. 
  He swears it, fills graves with ‘pigtails,’ who seek sleep!”
  Fair INDIA replies, “That may possibly be;
  But they Revenue bring, some Six Millions, you see! 
  Turn me out if you will, smash the Trade if you must;
  But—­you’ll make up the money somehow, Sir, I trust!”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  WANTED—­A LOCAL HABITATION.

(Commended by Mr. Punch to the Patrons of British Art.)

English Art (to Sir James L-nt-n, Messrs. T-te and Agn-w), “NOW, GENTLEMEN, THE GOVERNMENT HAS GIVEN THE SITE FOR MY HOUSE,—­IT ONLY REMAINS FOR YOU TO BUILD IT.”

[The CHANCELLOR of the EXCHEQUER announced that the Government had assigned a site for the new Gallery of Modern Art, as he thought it would be unwise to risk the failure of the gift of L80,000 which had been offered to erect a building.]]