l around
That beats the whole day long.
But they with gentle faces
Sit quietly apart;
What room have they for sorrowing
While fairy minstrels sit and sing
Close to their listening heart?

R.F.

* * * * *

Extract from a French account of the tanks in action in the battle for
Cambrai:--

"Les chars d'assaut curent aussi leur cri de guerre. Peu avant
l'attaque, le long de leur ligne courut un message repetant, en
le modifiant legerement, celui de Nelson a Trafalgar:

"'L'Angleterre compte que chaque tank fera aujourd'hui son devoir
sacre.'"--_Havas_.

We had often wondered what the French was for "Do your damnedest!" Now
we know.

* * * * *

[Illustration: GETTING AWAY FROM IT.

CAPTAIN BROWN, HOME ON LEAVE AND VERY WAR-WEARY, DECIDES THAT AT ALL
COSTS HE WILL SPEND AN EVENING WHERE KHAKI IS NOT.

HE HAS PLEASANT RECOLLECTIONS OF A VISIT, IN TIMES OF PEACE, TO A
DELIGHTFUL BOHEMIAN CLUB OF WHICH ROBINSON WAS A MEMBER.

SO HE RINGS UP ROBINSON, WHO WILL BE DELIGHTED TO SEE HIM.

BROWN EXPERIENCES A DISTINCT SHOCK ON MEETING ROBINSON,

AND A STILL GREATER SHOCK ON ENTERING THE CLUB.]

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Head Waiter_. "SORRY, SAIR--CAN'T HELP IT. FULL UP!
NO ROOM FOR A LONG TIME. AFTER ALL, DERE IS A WAR ON."]

* * * * *

TO MY BUTCHER.

O butcher, butcher of the bulbous eye,
That in hoarse accents bidst me "buy, buy, buy!"
Waving large hands suffused with brutish gore,
Have I not found thee evil to the core?
The greedy grocer grinds the face of me,
The baker trades on my necessity,
And from the milkman have I no surcease,
But thou art Plunder's perfect masterpiece.
These others are not always lost to shame;
My grocer, now--last week he let me claim
A pound of syrup--'twas a kindly deed
To help a fellow-townsman in his need,
Though harsh the price, and I was feign to crawl
About his feet ere I might buy at all.
But thou--although a myriad flocks may crop
By Sussex gorse or Cheviot's grassy top,
A myriad herds tumultuously snort
From Palos Verdes eastward to Del Norte,
Or where the fierce vaquero's bold bravado
Resounds about the Llano Estacado;
Though every abattoir works overtime
And every stall in Smithfield groans with prime
Cuts, from thy lips the ready lie falls pat,
How