the recent additions to the franchise and its extension to women."
They have pleaded for the privilege of "franking" their answers. Could
perversity go further? What woman will continue to write to a Member who
satisfies her curiosity? And what of the unwritten, unstamped, unposted
letters of just indignation to friends and relations?

The P.M.G.'s laconic answer to this monstrous request, "I do not think
it would be expedient," was highly commendable as a feat of Ministerial
restraint. But the gloom that has settled on him is only too solidly
grounded. These afflicted Members are out to raise a sentimental
public opinion in support of their silly demand. Then, of course, the
Government will capitulate, and the country will go Bolshevik from
excessive taxation.

Will not all patriotic women constituents write at once to their Members
and point out the folly of this agitation?

* * * * *

[Illustration: "I SHALL NEVER FIND ANYONE ELSE LIKE YOU. YOU SEE, YOU'RE
SO DIFFERENT FROM OTHER GIRLS."

"OH, BUT YOU'LL FIND LOTS OF OTHER GIRLS DIFFERENT FROM OTHER GIRLS."]

* * * * *

OLD SOLDIERS.

They dug us down and earthed us in, their hasty shovels plying,
Us the poor dead of Oudenarde, Ramillies, Waterloo;
We heard their drum-taps fading and their trumpet fanfares dying
As they marched away and left us, in the dark and silence lying,
Home-bound for happy England and the green fields that we knew.

We slept. The seasons went their round. We did not hear the rover
Winds in our coverlets of grass, the plough-shares tear the mould;
We did not feel the bridal earth thrill to her April lover
Nor hear the song of bees among the poppies and the clover;
Snow-fall or sun to us were one and time went by untold.

We woke. The soil about us shook to the long boom of thunder--
War loose and making music on his crashing brazen gongs--
The sharp hoof-beat, the thresh of feet stirred our old bones down under;
Wheels upon wheels ground overhead; then with a glow of wonder
We heard the chant of Englishmen singing their marching songs.

Blood of our blood! We heard them swing a-down the teeming highways,
As we swung once. We heard them shout; we heard the jests they cast.
And we dead men remembered then blue Junes in Devon by-ways,
Star-dusted skies and women's eyes, women with sweet and shy ways.
These were their r