ry large
buttons of vitrified brick which I hoped might break the mangle. These
buttons were emerald in colour and gave me a new idea. _Trimmings_.

"I want to look right if the house catches fire," I told Agnes. "Green
sateen collar to match the buttons--"

"And for the wristbands," said Agnes, catching my enthusiasm.

"And for the wristbands," I agreed; "but," I added, "not at the
ankles. That would make the other people in the street expect me to
dance to them, and I don't know how to."

And now the good work is complete. Toggle and cinch perform their
proud functions, and I sleep undisturbed by Arctic nightmares, for I
have substituted green ties for the stoneware buttons which reduced
my vitality by absorbing heat. My only trouble is my increasing
reluctance to rise in the morning. I don't like changing out of my
beautiful things so early in the day. I am beginning to want breakfast
in bed.

* * * * *

AT THE DUMP.

(_LINES TO THE N.C.O. IN CHARGE._)

Now is the hour of dusk and mist and midges,
Now the tired planes drone homeward through the haze,
And distant wood-fires wink behind the ridges,
And the first flare some timorous Hun betrays;
Now no shell circulates, but all men brood
Over their evening food;
The bats flit warily and owl and rat
With muffled cries their shadowy loves pursue,
And pleasant, Corporal, it is to chat
In this hushed moment with a man like you.

How strange a spectacle of human passions
Is yours all day beside the Arras road,
What mournful men concerned about their rations
When here at eve the limbers leave their load,
What twilight blasphemy, what horses' feet
Entangled with the meat,
What sudden hush when that machine-gun sweeps,
And--flat as possible for men so round--
The Quartermasters may be seen in heaps,
While you sit still and chuckle, I'll be bound!

Here all men halt awhile and tell their rumours;
Here the young runners come to cull your tales,
How Generals talked with you, in splendid humours,
And how the Worcestershires have gone to Wales;
Up yonder trench each lineward regiment swings,
Saying some shocking things;
And here at dark sad diggers stand in hordes
Waiting the late elusive Engineer,
While glowing pipes illume yon notice-boards,
That say, "No LIGHTS. YOU MUST NOT LOITER HERE."

And you sit ruminant and take no action,