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.