their way to the British lines.

But by this time the performance is drawing to a close. The alarm
has been communicated to the adjacent sections of the trench, and
preparations for the ejection of the intruders are being hurried
forward. That is to say, German bombers are collecting upon either
flank, with the intention of bombing "inwards" until the impudent foe
has been destroyed or evicted. As we are not here to precipitate a
general action, but merely to round up a few prisoners and do as much
damage as possible in ten minutes, we hasten to the finale. As in most
finales, one's actions now become less restrained--but, from a brutal
point of view, more effective. A couple of hand-grenades are thrown
into any dug-out which has not yet surrendered. (The Canadians,
who make quite a speciality of flying matinees, are accustomed, we
understand, as an artistic variant to this practice, to fasten an
electric torch along the barrel of a rifle, and so illuminate their
lurking targets while they shoot.) A sharp order passes along the
line; every one scrambles out of the trench; and the troupe makes
its way back, before the enemy in the adjacent trenches have really
wakened up, to the place from which it came. The matinee, so far as
the actors are concerned, is over.

Not so the audience. The avenging host is just getting busy. The
bombing-parties are now marshalled and proceed with awful solemnity
and Teutonic thoroughness to clear the violated trench. The procedure
of a bombing-party is stereotyped. They begin by lobbing hand-grenades
over the first traverse into the first bay. After the ensuing
explosion, they trot round the traverse in single file and occupy
the bay. This manoeuvre is then repeated until the entire trench is
cleared. The whole operation requires good discipline, considerable
courage, and carefully timed co-operation with the other
bombing-party. In all these attributes the Boche excels. But one thing
is essential to the complete success of his efforts, and that is the
presence of the enemy. When, after methodically desolating each bay in
turn (and incidentally killing their own wounded in the process), the
two parties meet midway--practically on top of the unfortunate
Hans Dumpkopf, who is still giving an imitation of a tortoise in a
corrugated shell--it is discovered that the beautifully executed
counter-attack has achieved nothing but the recapture of an entirely
empty trench. The birds have flown, ta