[Illustration: IN RESERVE
GERMAN EAGLE (to German Dove): "Here, carry on for a bit, will you I'm
feeling rather run down."]
Well may the Berlin _Tageblatt_ say that "the war stares us in the
face and stares very hard." When a daily paper announces "Half Crown
Prince's army turned over to another General," we are curious to know how
much the Half Crown Prince thinks the German Sovereign worth. But the end
is not yet. Our pride in the achievements of our Armies and Generals, in
the heroism of our Allies and the strategy of Marshal Foch does not blind
us to the skill and tenacity with which the Germans are conducting their
retreat. Fritz is a tough fighter; if only he had fought a clean fight we
could look forward to a thorough reconciliation. But that is a far cry for
those who have been in the war, farthest of all for our sailormen, who can
never forget certain acts of frightfulness.
Hans Dans an' me was shipmates once, an' if 'e'd fought us clean,
Why shipmates still when war was done might Hans an' me 'ave been;
The truest pals a man can have are them 'e's fought before,
But--never no more, Hans Dans, my lad, so 'elp me, never no more!
Austria has issued a Peace Note, and the German Chancellor has declared
that Germany is opposed to annexation in any form. The German Eagle, making
a virtue of necessity, is ready to give the bird of Peace an innings.
[Illustration: ALARMING SPREAD OF BOBBING]
The two Emmas, Ack and Pip, are naturally furious at the adoption of the
twenty-four hours' system of reckoning time, which means that their
occupation will be gone, and that like other old soldiers they will fade
away. Amongst other innovations we have to note the spread of "bobbing,"
the further possibilities of which are alarming to contemplate.
Ferdinand, Tsar of Bulgaria, great grandson of Philippe Egalité, finding
Sofia unhealthy, has been recuperating at Vienna. His future plans are
vague, but it is thought he may join the ex-Kings' Club in Switzerland.
Lenin, the Bolshevist Dictator, has recently experienced an attempt on his
life, and retaliated in a fashion which would have done credit to a
mediaeval despot. England still refuses to indulge in joy bells or bunting,
but the London police have seized the occasion to strike on the home front.
Their operations have been promptly if inconsistently rewarded by the
removal of their chief and his elevation to the baronetcy.
Parliament is not sitting, and the voice of the Pro-Boche and the Pro-Bolsh
is temporarily hushed. We have to note, however, a most welcome
_rapprochement_ between Downing and Carmelite Streets--the _Daily
Mail_ has praised the Foreign Office for an "excellent piece of work,"
and the scapegoat, unexpectedly caressed, is sitting up and taking
nourishment.
The harvest has been a success, thanks to the energy of the new
land-workers, the armies behind the army:
All the talent is here--all the great and the lesser,
The proud and the humble, the stout and the slim,
The second form boy and the aged professor,
Grade three and the hero in want of a limb.
Four years of war have brought curious changes to "our village":
Our baker's in the Flying Corps,
Our butcher's in the Buffs,
Our one policeman cares no more
For running in the roughs,
But carves a pathway to the stars
As trooper in the Tenth Hussars.
The Mayor's a Dublin Fusilier,
The clerk's a Royal Scot,
The bellman is a brigadier
And something of a pot;
The barber, though at large, is spurned;
The Blue Boar's waiter is interned.
The postman, now in Egypt, wears
A medal on his coat;
The vet. is breeding Belgian hares,
The vicar keeps a goat;
The schoolma'am knits upon her stool;
The village idiot gathers wool.
[Illustrations: FARMER AND THE FARM LABOURER