onstructed of stouter material it might still be in the Winter
Palace.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Motor Driver_. "NAH, THEN, WHERE'S YOUR REAR LIGHT?"

_Countryman_. "NOW, THEN, YE OWD ZEPPERLEEN, DO YE THINK I'M GOING TO
SHOW YE WHERE I BE?"]

* * * * *

TO THE REGIMENT.

A CHRISTMAS MESSAGE.

So Christmas comes and finds you yet in Flanders,
And all is mud and messiness and sleet,
And men have temperatures and horses glanders,
And Brigadiers have trouble with their feet,
And life is bad for Company-Commanders,
And even Thomas's is not so sweet.

Now cooks for kindlewood would give great riches,
And in the dixies the pale stew congeals,
And ration-parties are not free from hitches,
But all night circle like performing seals,
Till morning breaks and everybody pitches
Into a hole some other person's meals.

Now regiments huddle over last week's ashes
And pray for coal and sedulously "rest,"
Where rain and wind contemn the empty sashes,
And blue lips frame the faint heroic jest,
Till some near howitzer goes off and smashes
The only window that the town possessed.

Yet somehow Christmas in your souls is stirring,
And Colonels now less viciously upbraid
Their Transport Officers, however erring,
And sudden signals issue from Brigade
To say next Tuesday Christmas is occurring,
And what arrangements have Battalions made?

And then, maybe, while everyone discusses
On what rich foods their dear commands shall dine,
And (most efficiently) the Padre fusses
About the birds, the speeches and the wine--
The Corps-Commander sends a fleet of 'buses
To whisk you off to Christmas in the line.

You make no moan, nor hint at how you're faring,
And here in turn we try to hide our woe,
With taxis mutinous, and Tubes so wearing,
And who can tell where all the matches go?
And all our doors and windows want repairing,
But can we get a man to mend them? No.

The dustman visits not; we can't get castor;
In vain are parlour-maids and plumbers sought,
And human intellect can scarcely master
The time when beer may lawfully be bought,
Or calculate how cash can go much faster,
And if one's butcher's acting as he ought.

Our old indulgences are now not cricket;
Whate'er one does _some_ Minister will cuss;
In Tube and Tram young l