E LONGWIND.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Resident at Boarding House_ (_to waiter_). "DO YOU CALL
THIS STUFF MARGARINE OR MARJARINE?"

_Mike._ "SURE, SORR, IT'S HERSELF WOULD SLING ME OUT IF I CALLED IT
ANNYTHING BUT BUTTHER."]

* * * * *

FORE AND AFT.

The A.S.C.'s a nobleman; 'e rides a motor-car,
'E is not forced to 'ump a pack, as we footsloggers are;
'E drives 'is lorry through the towns and 'alts for fags and beer;
We infantry, we does without, there ain't no shops up 'ere;
And then for splashin' us with mud 'e draws six bob a day,
For the further away from the line you go the 'igher your rate of pay.

My shirt is rather chatty and my socks 'ud make you larf;
It's just a week o' Sundays since they sent us for a barf;
But them that 'as the cushy jobs they lives in style and state,
With a basin in their bedrooms and their dinners on a plate;
For 'tis a law o' nachur with the bloomin' infantry--
The nearer up to the line you go the dirtier will you be.

Blokes at the base, they gets their leave when they've bin out three
munse;
I 'aven't seen my wife and kids for more 'n a year, not once;
The missus writes, "About that pass, you'd better ask again;
I think you must 'ave been forgot." Old girl, the reason's plain:
We are the bloomin' infantry, and you must just believe
That the nearer up to the line you go the less is your chance of leave.

* * * * *

"We cussed at Grosvenor House and some steps in this direction may be
expected if the demands of retailers become more rapacious."--_Daily
Mail._

It is no good abusing the FOOD CONTROLLER, however, or prices would long
ago have been down to zero.

* * * * *

MAB DREAMS OF MAY.

The day-dim torches of chestnut trees stand dreamily, dreamily;
In myriad jewels of glad young green, smooth black are the broad beech
boles;
The fragrant foam of the cherry trees hangs creamily, creamily,
And the purpling lilacs and the blackthorn brakes are singing with all
their souls!

The pinky petals of lady's-smocks peer maidenly, maidenly;
Meadow-sweet, donning her fragrant lace, is daintiest friend of the
breeze;
Hyacinths wild, blue-misting the woods, hang ladenly, ladenly,
And tiniest bird's-eye burns deep blue in thickets of tall grass trees