Once upon a time, my dears, an aged man was standing on the top of a ridge overlooking a broad valley at one end of which lay a fair, shining city, while at the other end there stood out the outlines of the grim foreboding forest-clad mountains known as the Political Woods. As the old man shaded his eyes from the strong afternoon sun he saw emerging from the forest four figures which, on closer approach, revealed themselves as four Kernels. Now, these Kernels were important people, for were they not two-thirds of the Kernels' List? Or, what sounds more important still, 66 and two-thirds per cent, of the same? And remember, my dears, a Kernels' List is of much greater importance than a shipping list or a mere list to starboard. Bearing in mind that the Army fights on its stomach, these Kernels, as befits soldiers of much training and experience, had with them their mess-tin. Not an ordinary mess-tin, my dears, but one which, on the score of economy (and the keynote of their party's policy is economy), combined the functions of guide, councillor and publicity agent, scanning the horizon with the keen eyes of the frontiersman, whose name is legion. This functionary, an aged kernel himself, wore in keeping with his high and exalted rank, a uniform of the new Italian shade of bulldust, piped with grains of salt and having on the shoulderstraps thereof the sign of the Crown and Anchor, insignia of rank. Naturally, each kernel was somewhat nutty, and encased in a hard exterior, which lead to the mistaken belief of some folks that they were hard cases or knuts, though most recognised them as being just plain nuts. As with the other kernels, the mess-tin had an outer case also, but in his case the case was known as a casey, which is very much greater than an ordinary Ellell Bee, having a bill with a much bigger sting and using more honeyed words.

Things to Come.

Now, the fair and shining city, Utopia lived in mortal fear of an invasion of the fierce japrats, who had overrun the adjoining cities, stealing the food, breaking up the china, and frightening the citizens to their very deaths, so when the watchman on the city walls saw the approach of the four kernels, he called the guard from off the electric-multiple-unit, and closed the city gates, sending a messenger for the Mayor, who had gone out to Ngaurangha to investigate the charge that the smell from the abattoirs was responsible for the deterioration of the Gorge Road.

While the messenger is finding the Mayor let us take a peep inside the city walls. Among the children who lived in this happy Utopia were many who played at soldiers, some taking their game quite seriously, which was a good thing according to some formulas. Others, however, including some who played at officers, did it because it was the thing to do, like old school ties. 5 o'clock cocktail parties, and being late for the repertory shows. Like the kernels, these officers also had a list, known as the Active List, which is also a good thing, for those who take it seriously. With the rest, however, this list took the form of a leaning towards the right, technically known to the Meds as "salutitis." brought on through overdevelopment of the right arm by too much saluting of kernels; one of the symptoms being an overwhelming desire to join the [unclear: Nashl'ell] Party, and another a vague, unreasoning fear of the Savage Mayor.

Pre-Historic.

Now the citizens of this fair city lived in the days before professors, crime-waves and higher education, so the Mayor was still only in the primers. Having just learned how to put two and two together, he had passed on to the task of putting small groups of words such as "union, capital, labour" into simple sentences. Try as he would, however, "capital" wouldn't fit, so all he was left with was labour unions, which is what made him Savage. When he came to the city wall he was still Mighty Savage, and demanded of the kernels what they wanted. "Aha, Mr. Mayor," said they, "we will secure you against the fierce japrats. Let us call the tune and all you need do is dance." "Away!" shouted the Savage Mayor. "Begone! Retire!" So, crestfallen for the moment, the four kernels retired. Quick to size up the situation, however, the kernels, seizing a moment when the sergeant-major was partaking of his afternoon tea, stole the Army's mechanical band, and, putting on a record of "Kernel's Bogey." laughed and shook their fists at the Savage Mayor. "Now, Mr. Mayor," they cried, "we have you! Listen!" As the music swelled over the city the children stopped and looked from one to the other. Too late to rush off to N.S.W. with the first 5000, all the bright young innocents threw down their commissions and fled, joining the kernels in their retirement. "Come! Come, children." cried the kernels. "Come, see our pretty uniforms and the soldiers we will give you to play with." So, crossing the slough of depression on the planks of the party's platform, the misguided children entered the tangled undergrowth of the Political Woods. Glimpsing the beautiful uniforms and the toy soldiers there displayed before their eyes, they rushed happily forward, only to have them vanish chimera-like before them, like the rest of the party's promises.

—A.J.C.