ews to the enemy must not be
overlooked. Many German soldiers, we hear, are under the impression
that it is still August, and that they will be in Paris by the
beginning of September.

* * * * *

"In the early hours of Wednesday morning, what is supposed to
have been a traction engine when proceeding southward, struck
the west side of the parapet with great force."--_Alnwick
Gazette._

When proceeding northward it has more the appearance of a sewing-machine.

* * * * *

THE WATCH DOGS.

X.

MY DEAR CHARLES,--I write on Christmas Day from a second-grade
Infants' School, the grade referring obviously to the school and not
to the infants. We sit round the old Yule hot-water pipe, and from the
next classroom come the heavenly strains of the gramophone, one of
those veteran but sturdy machines which none of life's rough usages
can completely silence or even shake in its loyal determination to go
on _and keep on going on_ at all costs. Having duly impressed "Good
King Wenceslas" upon us, it is now rendering an emotional waltz, of
which, though now and then it may drop a note or two, it mislays none
of the pathos.

It was a present to the Mess; intended for our entertainment in the
trenches, though I cannot think who was going to carry it there. The
tune serves to recall the distant past, when we used to wear silk
socks and shining pumps, to glide hither and thither on hard floors,
and talk in the intervals, talk, talk, talk with all the desperate
resource of exhausted heroes who know that they have only to hang on
five more minutes and they are saved. Suppose we had by now been in
those trenches and had been listening to this obstinate old box slowly
but confidently assuring and reassuring us that there is and was and
always will be our one-two-three home in the one-two-three,
one-two-three West! I can see the picture; I can see the tears of
happiness coursing down our weather-beaten cheeks as we say to
ourselves, "Goodness knows, it's uncomfortable enough here, but thank
heaven we aren't in that ball-room anyway."

In a corner of this room is a bridge-four. The C.O. is sitting in an
authoritative, relentless silence. His tactical dispositions have been
made and they are going to be pushed through to the end, cost what it
may to the enemy or his own side. His partner is Second-Lieutenant
Combes, deviously thinking to himself with all th