Temporary Colonel.  “I SAY—­ER—­SMITH—­IT’S SO UNCERTAIN HOW LONG WE SHALL BE OUT HERE—­DEMOBILISATION, YOU KNOW.  ER—­FACT IS—­DO YOU THINK IT WORTH MY WHILE GETTING ANOTHER PAIR OF BREECHES?”]

* * * * *

THE VISITOR.

  When yesterday I went to see my friends—­
    (Watching their patient faces in a row,
    I want to give each boy a D.S.O.)—­
  When yesterday I went to see my friends,
  With cigarettes and foolish odds and ends
    (Knowing they understand how well I know
  That nothing I may do can make amends,
    But that I must not grieve or tell them so),
  A pale-faced Inniskilling, tall and slim,
    Who’d fought two years and now was just eighteen,
  Smiled up and showed, with eyes a little dim,
    How someone left him, where his leg had been,
  On the humped bandage that replaced the limb,
    A tiny green glass pig to comfort him.

  These are the men who’ve learned to laugh at pain,
    And if their lips have quivered when they spoke
    They’ve said brave things or tried to make a joke;
  Said it’s not worse than trenches in the rain,
  Or pools of water on a chalky plain,
    Or bitter cold from which you stiffly woke,
  Or deep wet mud that left you hardly sane,
    Or the tense wait for “Fritz’s master stroke.” 
  You seldom hear them talk of their “bad luck,”
    And suffering has not spoiled their ready wit,
  And oh! you’d hardly doubt their fighting pluck,
    When each new operation shows their grit;
  Who never brag of blows for England struck,
    But only yearn to “get about a bit.”

* * * * *

    “The Allies had threatened to destroy the Dardanelles if the
    Medina garrison did not surrender.”—­Birmingham Mail.

So, being reduced to its last Straits, the garrison surrendered.

* * * * *

    “MATRIMONY—­Young Lady (21), good prospects, wishes to
    correspond with young man, similar age, with a view to above;
    no rebels need apply.”—­Irish Paper.

But we guess there will be one Home Ruler in the family.

* * * * *

“Replying to a query concerning the rumour that Messrs. Guinness were in treaty for the purchase of the National hell Factory, Parkgate Street, a representative of that firm said this afternoon:  ’We have no statement to make at all.’”—­Irish Paper.

We gather that the printer is a Prohibitionist.

* * * * *

“At Doncaster on Saturday, Messrs. ——­ sold for L7,100 the fully licensed house at Armthorpe known as the Plough Inn to the Markham Main Colliery Company, the proprietors of the colliery being sunk in the parish.”—­Yorkshire Post.

Not spurlos versenkt, we trust.  Perhaps it is hoped that the Plough will unearth them.