s, tales of golden oil to tap.

Everywhere we go victorious
Over earth and on the blue;
More and more superbly glorious
Ring the deeds we dare and do,
Till they sound almost too splendid to be absolutely true.

Here and there, indeed, a sceptic
Mutters language rather rude;
Here and there a wan dyspeptic,
Yielding to a peevish mood,
Wonders why a winning nation finds itself so short of food.

When carillons rock the steeple
And the bunting's ordered out,
I have noticed several people
Ask themselves in honest doubt
Why the War-Lord's lifted finger fails to bring a peace about.

Yet, though England, crushed and quailing,
Kicks his dove-bird down the stair,
I shall trust, with faith unfailing,
In my KAISER'S conquering air
(Still I blame no man for thinking there must be a catch somewhere).

O.S.

* * * * *

RECOGNITION.

"Francesca," I said, "have you seen it?"

"It? What?"

"The announcement."

"What announcement?"

"I have been gazetted," I said.

"Did it hurt much?" she said. "Or were you able to bear it without a
murmur?"

"It's in _The Times_," I said, "and you shall read it, whether you
like it or not. It's in the place where I'm pointing my finger.
There--do you see it?"

"If you'd only take your finger away I might be able to. Thanks. My
hat! isn't it exciting? 'To be 2nd Lieutenant (tempy.) 1st Battalion,
Blankshire Regiment of Volunteers--' So it's come at last, has it?"

"Yes," I said, "it's come at last. They've recognised us."

"Well," she said, "it was about time, wasn't it? Here you've all been
form-fouring and two deeping and route-marching for two years or so,
and looking highly military in your grey-green uniforms, while the
authorities stood by and persuaded themselves you didn't exist; and at
last somebody comes along--"

"It was Lord FRENCH who came along--"

"Yes," she said, "Lord FRENCH comes along on a fine cold Sunday
morning and says to himself, 'Here are several hundred thousand men
who are panting to make themselves useful. Let's recognise them," and
from that moment you actually begin to exist. And then they bring down
your grey hairs with sorrow into the Gazette, and, instead of being a
Platoon Commander, you become a 2nd Lieutenant."

"'Tempy,'" I said; "don't forget the 'tempy.'"

"I won't," she said. "Wha