It is a pity that the “New Oxford Dictionary” should have so nearly reached completion before the War and the emergence of hundreds of new words, now inevitably left out.  The Air service has a new language of its own, witness the conversation faithfully reported by an expert: 

SCENE:  R.F.C.  CLUB.  TIME:  EVERY TIME.

First Pilot.  Why, it’s Brown-Jones!

Second Pilot.  Hullo, old thing!  What are you doing now?

First Pilot.  Oh, I’m down at Puddlemarsh teaching huns—­monoavros, pups and dolphins.

Second Pilot.  I’m on the same game, down at Mudbank—­sop-two-seaters and camels.  We’ve got an old tinside, too, for joy-riding.

First Pilot.  You’ve given up the rumpety, then?

Second Pilot.  Yes.  I was getting ham-handed and mutton-fisted, flapping the old things every day; felt I wanted to stunt about a bit.

First Pilot.  Have you ever butted up against Robinson-Smith at Mudbank?  He was an ack-ee-o, but became a hun.

Second Pilot.  Yes, he crashed a few days ago—­on his first solo flip, taking off—­tried to zoom, engine konked, bus stalled—­sideslip—­nose-dive.  Not hurt, though.  What’s become of Smith-Jones?  Do you know?

First Pilot.  Oh, yes.  He’s on quirks and ack-ws.  He tried spads, but
got wind up.  Have you seen the new-----?

Second Pilot.  Yes, it’s a dud bus—­only does seventy-five on the ceiling.  Too much stagger, and prop stops on a spin.  Besides, I never did care for rotaries.  Full of gadgets too.

First Pilot.  Well, I must tootle off now.  I’m flapping from Northbolt at dawn if my old airship’s ready—­came down there with a konking engine—­plug trouble.

Second Pilot.  Well, cheerio, old thing—­weather looks dud—­you’re going to have it bumpy in the morning, if you’re on a pup.

First Pilot, Bye-bye, you cheery old bean.

[Exeunt.

[Illustration:  THE POLITICIAN WHO ADDRESSED THE TROOPS]

The Emperor Karl of Austria, by his recent indiscretions, is winning for himself the new title of “His Epistolic Majesty.”  His suggestion that France ought to have Alsace-Lorraine has grated on the susceptibilities of his brother Wilhelm.  But a new fastidiousness is to be noted in the Teuton character.  “Polygamy,” says an article in a German review, “is essential to the future of the German race, but a decent form must be found for it.”

May, 1918.

With the coming of May the Vision of Victory which had nerved Germany to her greatest effort seemed fading from her sight.  With its last days we see them making a second desperate effort to secure the prize, capturing Soissons and the Chemin des Dames and pushing on to the Marne.  This time the French have borne the burden of the onslaught, but Rheims is still held, the Americans are pouring in to France at the rate of 250,000 a month, and have proved their mettle at Cantigny, a small fight of great importance, as it “showed their fighting qualities under extreme battle conditions,” in General Pershing’s words, and earned the praise of General Debeney for the “offensive valour” of our Allies.