Scatheful the sky
  With no stars shining;
  Monstrous the mud
  That lay deep on the Duck Boards. 
  A weary while
  Wandered he on;
  No wit he wotted
  Of fate that followed
  Stalking his steps. 
  So passed he the posts
  All silent and sunken
  In mire and murk,
  Till fearful he felt for
  The doubtful Duck Boards
  No longer beneath him. 
  Then spake Sidni,
  Steward of Stores: 
  “Now know I well
  I have come to the Country
  That men name No Man’s;”
  And with woe his heart
  Waxed heavy within him
  For horror of Hun Folk
  Who crawl in the craters.

  Then there arose
  Dim in the darkness
  The face and form
  Of Heinrik the Hun
  With hand upheld
  Bearing a bomb. 
  But fear filled the heart
  Of Sidni the Storeman,
  And with force of fear
  Raising the Rum Jar
  Drave he adrad
  At the face of the foeman. 
  Down sank the Slayer
  Smitten asunder
  And over his face
  Unloosed ran the liquor. 
  Then Heinrik the Hun
  Sang he this Swan Song: 
  “Hero, I hail thee,
  Godlike who givest
  Fire and Sweetness
  Born of a blow. 
  Loki art thou,
  Or Wotan the one-eyed
  Coming to call me
  Away to Walhall. 
  Happy I haste
  To the Hall of the Heroes;
  Point thou the Path! 
  I come!  I come!”

  But fast with the force
  Of the fear that was in him
  Fled Sidni the Storeman
  Back to the Britons
  And came by chance
  Straightway to his section,
  Bearing the Rum Jar
  Now lacking the liquor. 
  Then, puffing with pride
  And the pace of his running,
  Told he a tale
  Of the Slaying of Seven;
  But little belief
  In the count of the killing
  Gat Sid from the section,
  Wrathy withal
  At the loss of the liquor. 
  And one thing Erb,
  Erb that erstwhile
  Hight his old Pal,
  Had for an answer: 
  “Bale hast thou brought
  And rede of bale
  Have I for thee.” 
  Then troth they took
  And oath swear betwixt them
  That for four years full
  Or the War’s duration
  He should draw and drink
  Sid’s ration of Rum. 
  So doom was decreed
  For the loss of the liquor. 
  But Sidni the Storeman
  Transferred to the Transport.

* * * * *

    “UNION OF DEMONCRATIC CONTROL.”

    Leicester Daily Mercury.

Is this a misprint or a criticism?

* * * * *

THE WATCH DOGS.

LXVIII.

My Dear Charles,—­I don’t know that I think so much of these alliances after all, and I’ll tell you why.

When I first heard that my old friend Italy was in trouble I paraded my officer at once.  “Stand to attention, George,” I said, “and tell me what we are going to do about it.”