Though Christmas is only three weeks away, judging time as the crow flies, not even that fact enables one to escape from having to fill this column every now and again. Of course, it really is a trifle too early' to plead the Christmas spirit in an endeavour to escape this weekly Nemiesis, and here we are seated before "an uninspiring—typewriter, and, having got thus far, completely at a loss a8 how to proceed. The only subject that is tempting at the present moment is the French Club cat. That at least seems more attractive than the story about the boy and the motor car, but there is Just a chance that both will have except into this column by the time we have finished. What inclines us towards the latter subject is the fact that it has a moral, whereas it ie a well-Known fact that eats have no morals, not even when they happen to be on the staff of one of the principal clubs of Shanghai, But then do we want to fuss' round with morals on a Sunday? So many people can: not be bothered on a Sunday morning, especially when suffer: ing from that matutinal malaise which is entirely the sufferer's own fault. Parenthetically might be remarked, and the information may prove of some assistance to a certain section of our readers who deserve assistance quite as much as those of more sedate tastes, that a cure for the condition referred to, which is ardently sponse by the confirmed "mycophage," is a dozen ordinary mushrooms nicely peeled, sliced, drenched with Jemon juice, with salt and Pepper to taste, as dear Mrs. Beeton so illuminatingly remarks, and taken with a_ little thin brown bread and_ butter. No, we are not talking of oysters: we are referring to the subject which the geologist studies, There! We've got both those words into print, and we have been worrying this past week how we were going to do it. wee Anyhow, leaving mushrooms for the moment, and returning to our muttons, we had a pleasant conversation with the French Club cat the other night, He 4 tom of irremediable dirtiness.. If there is one clean spot about him, it must be immediately around his mouth, and even there only due tothe way which he licks his lips after scrounging titbits in the grill] room. Ina niore immaculate state' he would probably described as a rather tense tortoiseshell with white trimmings. His personally ferred description is titian and white, which would be true, except that, because of that neglectful quality of -his greatness, the latter adjective should be replaced with "an extremel dirty grey." His general ap-Peatance, and his deportment, which is full of character, reminds one of the stories of Dr. Johnson—he whom Boswell greatly admired. Though perhaps he is not so fat he gives the impression of slobbering over his food and spilling.the soup on his waistcoat.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.