his gallantry, was mooted; but the proposal, strange to say, found no
seconder. Meanwhile, he (the Colonel) was on the trail of the butcher
again. Prior to the promulgation of the eight-penny regulation the
butcher had been in his element, charging what he liked, and liking
generally a shilling. The small people in the trade had sold their
cattle to their richer brethren who now made hay in the "ample sunshine"
with great ardour. Their prices, it is true, had been limited by
proclamation; but they still catered for the wealthy classes, and the
"greater number" suffered much in consequence. Some people could get no
meat, and when the Colonel awoke to the situation he suddenly limited
the allowance of each adult to half-a-pound _per diem_. A howl of
indignation followed, and Kekewich was denounced as a "high-handed
vegetarian." To be limited to less meat in a day than a man was
accustomed to "shift" at one meal, was at once "too much" and "too
little." Even this restriction worked badly. Coaches and fours were
driven through the proclamation; the well-to-do got good weight, and the
toiler--shinbone! The system of meat distribution was a source of
trouble to the end.

Friday morning was one to live in our memories, it brought the execrable
hooters again. No pen-picture can be drawn of their effect on the
nerves; their unearthly melody must be heard. It sounded incidental to
carnage, and wailed forth that the enemy was at last about to grapple
with us. The shops were promptly closed; employers and employees rushed
off in carts, on bicycles, or on foot to their respective redoubts. It
was admirable: the readiness, the despatch with which every man hurried
to his place. Women and children--liable to arrest--hastened to their
homes. Soon the streets were completely deserted, save by the alert
constable who walked his 'beat'--ready wherever he saw a head (outside a
door) to crack it. All ears were strained to hear the first shot; and