I do not ask, when back on Blighty’s shore
    My frozen frame in liberty shall rest,
  For pleasure to beguile the hours in store
    With long-drawn revel or with antique jest. 
  I do not ask to probe the tedious pomp
    And tinsel splendour of the last Revue;
  The Fox-trot’s mysteries, the giddy Romp,
    And all such folly I would fain eschew. 
  But, propt on cushions of my long desire,
    Deep-buried in the vastest of armchairs,
  Let me recline what time the roaring fire
    Consumes itself and all my former cares. 
  I shall not think nor speak, nor laugh nor weep,
  But simply sit and sleep and sleep and sleep.

* * * * *

    “Wanted, Ladyhelp or General, for country, no bread or butter.—­Apply
    ‘Gay,’ ‘Dominion’ Office.”—­The Dominion (Wellington, N.Z.).

We congratulate the advertiser on her cheery optimism.