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somewhat more reconciled to Culloden and the Act of Union, would spend the rest of the day swabbing the Royal Likeness with a dampened cloth. Uncle Hamish insisted on a grand dinner at night, and when the capercailzie was brought in and carried round the table, he would insist that we all jump up on the seats of our chairs, put one foot on the table, and drink a largish glass of neat whisky, crying something which sounded like “Slachan!” at one another; then we all threw our glasses into the fire place. After dinner Uncle Hamish would tell us how, if everyone had his rights, some obscure Bavarianprince would be King of England and he (Uncle Hamish) would undoubtedly be a powerful figure at Court. It was all very exhausting, and cost a fortune in glass.
• G IVE M AMMON H IS D UE •
    I SPENT A LOT of time this afternoon wrapping parcels, using $1.58 worth of cord, tags and stickers (none of which would stick). All of this gaudy junk will be stripped eagerly from the parcels by the recipient of my gifts, but I do not grudge the expense. In honouring the birthday of the Prince of Peace one is expected also to make substantial sacrifice to Mammon, so as not to offend his many worshippers. The paper and string which I have laid on Mammon’s altar will, I trust, provide an agreeable scent in his nostrils.
• O F M ERRIMENT IN A M ONASTERY •
    T HE GENTLEMAN across the table was very much interested in my assertion before dinner that I hoped to spend the Christmas Season in a Trappist monastery in Quebec and asked me when I was going there. The fact is, I am not going at all. The Trappists won’t have me. I spent a Christmas with them a few years ago and made a rather painful mistake. As everyone knows, Trappists live under a vow of silence, which I do not. I tried to keep as quiet as I could, and on Christmas Eve I consoled myself in my room in the guest-house with a bottle of rum. At midnight there was a tap on my door and the guest-master, Brother Eustachian, and his assistant, Brother Fallopian, stood outside; they showed me a typewritten notice which said “All guests are invited to join the brothers in the Oratory.” I assumed (excusably, I still think) that an Oratorywould be a place where one could talk, and when we got there I opened a discussion on the subject of Jehovah’s Witnesses, and passed out a few pamphlets. In the ensuing hullabaloo, I only escaped with my life. When I wrote for a room this year, I got an immediate reply saying that they were completely booked up. After all, I was only trying to brighten their lives, and when I recited my limerick about the young maid of Madras, I was certain that some of them laughed—faint laughter like the unwrapping of tissue paper.
• A S YSTEM OF C ALISTHENICS •
    F ROM TIME TO TIME I am bothered by the thought that I ought to take some exercise. Usually I am successful in fighting down this ugly notion, but sometimes I toy with the idea of getting one of those machines which exercise a man against his will by rolling, hauling, squeezing and folding him. What I really want is a series of searching exercises which can be done while sitting in a chair. Years ago I read that caged lions and tigers keep themselves fit by stretching and for a while I used to stretch whenever I had a spare minute, straining my halliards and squirming my binnacle to the accompaniment of alarming cracks, creaks, and pops. But it is awfully easy to stop stretching. I think I shall re-examine this theory, and perhaps evolve Marchbanks Torso Tensions for the Sedentary. Advertisements will appear of me wrapped around my office chair, with the message: “Puny? Flabby? Torpid? In Thirty Days You can be like this Masked Marvel! No Costly Equipment! No Time Required! No Effort! Tear the Seat Off your Chair and send with Five Hundred Dollars for Trial Booklet! Be Muscular the Marchbanks Way!”
•O F S NOW R EMOVAL •
    I PERCEIVE THAT your city has no municipal arrangement for clearing the