“Kitchy,” I think I have heard them say;
    What shall I make it kitch? 
  “Bo” I believe in a mystic way
    Frightens or soothes, but which? 
  Didn’t I see one once reversed,
    Patted about the spine? 
  Is it the way they should all be nursed? 
    Will it agree with mine? 
  Surely its gums are strangely bare? 
    Why does it dribble so? 
  Will reason dawn in that glassy stare
    If I dandle it briskly?  Oh!!! 
  Grandmothers!  Mothers! or Instinct, you! 
    Haste with your secret lore! 
  What, oh what shall I, what shall I do? 
    Baby has crashed to the floor!

* * * * *

    “They adjourned to the Village Hell, where each child was
    presented with a parcel of suitable clothing.”—­Tonbridge
    Free Press.

Asbestos, no doubt.

* * * * *

A prancing Prussian.

    (Showing how Colonel VON REUTER, late of Zabern, appealed to
    his regiment to defend the honour of the Army.  The following
    speech is based upon evidence given at the Strassburg trial.)

  My Prussian braves, on whom devolves the mission
    To vindicate our gallant Army’s worth,
  Upholding in its present proud position
    The noblest fighting instrument on earth—­
  If, in your progress, any vile civilian
    Declines the homage of the lifted hat,
  Your business is to paint his chest vermilion—­
      Kindly attend to that.

  Never leave barracks, when you go a-shopping,
    Without an escort loaded up with lead;
  Always maintain a desultory popping
    At anyone who wags a wanton head;
  If, as he passes, some low boy should whistle
    With nose in air and shameless chin out-thrust,
  Making your scandalised moustaches bristle—­
      Reduce the dog to dust.

  I hear a sinister and shocking rumour
    Touching the native tendency to chaff. 
  If you should meet with specimens of humour
    See that our soldiers get the final laugh;
  Fling the facetious corpses in the fountains
    So as the red blood overflows the brink;
  Keep on until the blue Alsatian mountains
      Turn a reflective pink.

  Should any female whom your shadow touches
    Grudge you the glad, but deferential, eye;
  Should any cripple fail to hold his crutches
    At the salute as you go marching by;
  Draw, in the KAISER’s name—­’tis rank high treason;
    Stun them with sabre-strokes upon the poll;
  Then dump them (giving no pedantic reason)
      Down cellars with the coal.

  Be on your guard against all people strolling
    In ones or twos about the public square
  Hard by your quarters; set your men patrolling;
    Ask every knave what he is doing there;
  And, if in your good wisdom you determine
    To view their conduct in a dangerous light,
  Bring the machine-guns out and blow the vermin
      Into the Ewigkeit.