_
The soldiers sing about their beer;
The wretched road goes on and on;
There ought to be a turning here,
But if there was the thing has gone;
Like some depressed automaton
I ask at each _estaminet_;
They say, "_Tout droit_," and I say "_Bon_,"
_But I believe I've lost the way._
I dare not tell the trustful men;
They think me wonderful and wise;
But where will be the legend when
They get a shock of such a size?
And what about our brave Allies?
They wanted us to fight to-day;
We were to be a big surprise--
_And I believe I've lost the way._
* * * * *
The Dawn of Peace?
"The Commissioners of H.M. Works, &c., are prepared to
receive tenders for the supply of:
(a) Floor polish during a period of six or 12 months from
1st August, 1917.
(b) Arm chairs."--_Daily Telegraph_.
* * * * *
From an interview with an eminent playwright regarding a new farce:--
"Has my face a war object? Certainly it has, a very
definite though an indirect one."--_Liverpool Echo_.
If it hadn't been so old a joke, we should have guessed that the
author has a strong cast in his eye.
* * * * *
"A Chaplain Wanted, for private chapel in the Highlands.
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