A.A.,
And bombs, and beef, and officers' valises;
And I at eve have marked my wistful mare
By thronging dumps where cursing never ceases
And rations come, for oft she brings them there,
Patient, aloof; and when the shrapnel dropp'd
And the young mules complained and kicked and hopp'd,
She only stood unmoved, with one leg propp'd,
As if she heard it not or did not care;
Or heard, maybe, but hoped to get a Blighty;
For on her past she lately seemed to brood
And dreamed herself once more among the mighty,
By grooms beloved and reverently shoed;
But now she has no standing in the corps,
And Death itself would hardly be a bore,
Save that, although she carries me no more,
'Tis something still to carry up my food.
A.P.H.
* * * * *
THE WAR-NOTE IN EXAMINATIONS.
Extract from Smith Minor's Scripture paper:--
"And when Jephthah saw his daughter coming to meet him he was
very much upset. But he had to keep to his vow, so he gave her
two months' leave and then he killed her."
* * * * *
Quoting a European statesman, saying the war would be won by the
last 500,000 bushels of what, Mr. Hoover said."--_New York
Times_.
We trust Mr. HOOVER will hurry up with his peroration.
Pages:
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35