And now the fell decree by post went out
  That all the world might understand and know
  How that our Volunteers henceforth must live
  A quite unkhaki’d and civilian life,
  Stripped of their rifles, bared of bayonets too. 
  Ah, many a time had we passed by to drill
  And scorned the loafer who hung round to see,
  The while, with accurate swift-moving feet
  And hands that flashed in unison, we heard
  The Sergeant-Major’s voice in anger raised
  Because we did not mark it as he wished;
  Or uttering words of praise for them that knew
  To act when rear rank got itself in front. 
  And ah, we knew to mount a gallant guard,
  To fix our sentries, and to prime them well
  With varied information that might serve
  To help them in their duties and to make
  Them glib and eloquent when called upon
  In all the changes of this martial life. 
  And we could march in line and march in fours,
  And bear ourselves ferociously and well
  When the inspecting officer appeared. 
  And, one great day—­it was our apogee—­
  When volunteers for France were called upon,
  A forest of accepting hands went up;
  But nothing further ever came of it. 
  At any rate it showed a right good will
  And stamped our Volunteers as gallant stuff
  To serve their country should the need arise. 
  And now their rifles have been ta’en away,
  Their side-arms are removed, and they themselves
  Are mocked in obloquy and sunk in scorn.

* * * * *

THE LINGUIST.

Nancy is eleven and thinks I know everything.  I never could resist or contradict her.

“Now tell me about animals in Africa,” she said.  “Tell me lots.”

This was better than usual, for I possess a heavily-mortgaged and drought-stricken farm in some obscure corner of that continent and have spent much time disputing with beasts who refused to acknowledge my proprietary claims.

So I told Nancy tales of lions that roared till the stars tumbled out of the sky with fright, and, when she crept very close to me, of the blue monkeys with funny old faces who swung through the trees and across the river-bed to steal my growing corn.  I told her of the old ones who led them in the advance and followed in the retreat, chattering orders, and of the little babies who clung to their mothers.  I told her that monkeys elected not to talk lest they should be made to work, but that there were a few men living who understood their broken speech and could hold communion with them.

She led me on with little starts and questions and—­well, I may all unwillingly have misled her as to my general intelligence.

“We’ll go to the Zoo to-morrow,” Nancy commanded, “and you can talk to the monkeys and find out what they think.  Let’s.”

* * * * *

Nancy shook her curls and turned her back on the patient-looking bear.