Lampy's "Less" Number Clever

We ascetics who observe Mr. Hoover's regulations should worry now. The Lampoon today unleashes a special number in commemoration of the wheatless, lightless, heatiess and generally lifeless days that food and fuel administrators have seen fit to decree. If it is still within the law to laugh and grow fat, the meatlessness of the current day ought not to cut down the undergraduate avoirdupois.

With strictly no offence to Mess. Hoover, Garfield, Endicott or Storrow, the Lampoon proceeds to have fun with the "--less" status to which our dally bread is now confined. In poetry, prose and picture Lampy finds life quite askew, and not so terribly boring as a result of enforced economies.

The Lampoon's prologues in all special numbers are invariably striking, and that for the "--Less" number runs true to form. The three editorials, though constructed according to the approved formula, fall a trine short. The celebrated punch that every editorial needs is parried in each, and the three dissertations therefore miss their mark. But the worst is all over when those pages are passed.

Of the interior decorations of this special number, something should be said about the Strehlke drawing of the Boston family at dinner. You instinctively look to see McCutcheon's signature in the lower corner, only to find the name of a very clever imitator of the Chicago adept.

The "Ballad of the Bounding Billows" is a clever things, too. Its anonymous author imposed a racking task on himself in electing to write his rhymes in their jagged form, but he won out in the last stanza.

The Lampoon can be certain that its present number is neither mirthless or worthless.