's thanks to that there strip of sea,
And what floats on it, you and me
And things we love aren't going shares
In German culture. They'd 'a' tried
To spare us some, but we're this side.
It's so arranged--no fault of theirs.

Them Belgians had the chance to shirk,
And watch, instead of do, the work;
But no! They chose a bigger thing
And blocked the bully; gave us breath
To get our coats off. Sure as death
They're Men--a King of Men for King.

Don't think they're beat with what they've got,
And begging pennies, 'cos they're not.
It's this--their job is good and done;
They're fighting-pals; they're hungry, cold;
We owe for blood that's more than gold--
A debt of honour, or we've none.

They've stood for us; for them we'll stand
Right through; and so we'll lend a hand
Until the foe's account is quit.
That happy day is working through;
But, meanwhiles, it's for me and you--
Well, dash it, pass along your bit.

* * * * *

Illustration: "WHY, JACOB, WE THOUGHT A STURDY CHAP LIKE YOU WOULD
HAVE ENLISTED. THERE'S NOT A SOUL GONE FROM THE VILLAGE."

"BAIN'T THERE, THEN? THEY'VE GOT VOWER O' MAISTER'S 'ORSES!"

* * * * *

A TRAGIC MISTAKE AT POTSDAM.

(_In the manner of the Spy Books._)

At about half-past ten this morning I took my little black bag and
walked to the Palace. Presenting my pass, I was about to enter by the
side door reserved for civilians when I felt a heavy blow on my shoulder
and, turning, beheld an officer. Forbidding me to apologise he led me
into the palace by another door, and, placing me in a small room and
enjoining strict silence upon me, he left me alone. This was so
different from the procedure adopted on former occasions that I took
stock of my surroundings. The room was obviously a waiting-room,
containing as it did a pianola, a gramophone and a photograph album of
German generals. I was aroused from my slumbers about two and a-half
hours later and beheld before me an elderly bespectacled officer. I knew
him at once from the picture postcards as Bluteisen, head of the secret
service. He examined me minutely, omitting, however, to look into my
little black bag, which clearly escaped his notice. I began to explain,
but he ordered silence and beckoned me to follow. He led me up three
flights of stairs, along a corridor, down four flights, and so on for
about three