PATLANDER.
* * * * *
[Illustration: OWING TO PRESSURE FROM THE ALL-HIGHEST, HIS ORIENTAL ALLY IS FORMING A MAGIC-CARPET BOMBING SQUADRON.]
* * * * *
MORE SEX PROBLEMS.
From a stock-auction report:—
“THE BULL CALVES.
THE BULL CALVES.”
Glasgow Herald.
Notwithstanding the repetition of this statement we find great difficulty in believing it.
* * * * *
“SOLDIERS’ CHRISTMAS
GIFTS. POSTING DATES FOR EGYPT AND SALONIKA.”
Times.
It sounds a little like consigning coal to Newcastle.
* * * * *
“AIR RAIDS.—Peaceful country rectory, Hampshire, well out of danger zone, can receive three or four paying guests. Large garden, beautiful scenery, high, bracing. Simple life. L10 each weekly.”—The Times.
This enterprising parson seems to have borrowed his recipe for the simple life from GRAY’S Elegy:—
Along the cool sequester’d vale
of life
They kept the noiseless tenner
of their way.
* * * * *
BEASTS ROYAL.
IV.
KING HENRY’S STAG-HOUND. A.D. 1536.
Ten puffs upon my master’s toes,
And twenty on his sleeves,
Upon his hat a Tudor rose
Set round with silver leaves;
But never a hunting-spear,
And
never a rowel-spur;
Who is this that
he calls his Dear?
I
think I will bark at her.
The Windsor groves were fresh and green,
Dangling with Summer dew,
When my master rode with his Spanish queen,
And the huntsman cried, “Halloo!”
Now never a horn
is heard,
And
never the lances stir;
Who is this that
he calls his Bird?
I
think I will follow her.
To-night my master walks alone
In the pleached pathway dim,
And the thick moss reddens on the stone
Where she used to walk with
him.
When will he shout
for the glove
And
the spear of the verderer?
Where is she gone
whom he called his Love?
For
I cannot follow her.
* * * * *
SECOND CHILDHOOD.
I must make a confession to someone. I have wasted raw material which is a substitute for something else indispensable for defeating the Hun, and probably traitor is the right name for me. Let me explain.