24, 1914_]

Dance, since ye're dancing, William,
Dance up and doon,
Set to your partners, William,
We'll play the tune!
See, make a bow to Paris,
Here's Antwerp-toon;
Off to the Gulf of Riga,
Back to Verdun--
Ay, but I'm thinking, laddie,
Ye'll use your shoon!

Dance, since ye're dancing, William,
Dance up and doon,
Set to your partners, William,
We'll play the tune!
What! Wad ye stop the pipers?
Nay, 'tis ower-soon!
Dance, since ye're dancing, William,
Dance, ye puir loon!
Dance till ye're dizzy, William,
Dance till ye swoon!
Dance till ye're dead, my laddie!
We play the tune!

DESPATCHES
[Sidenote: _"Touchstone" in the "Daily Mail"_]

Swift as a bullet out of a gun
He passed me by with an inch to spare,
Raising a dust-cloud thick and dun
While the stench of lubricant filled the air.
I must admit that I did not like
The undergrad on his motor-bike.

I have seen him, too, at the wayside inn,
A strapping lad scarce out of his teens,
Grimy, but wearing a cheerful grin;
A young enthusiast, full of beans,
While his conversation was little better
Than pure magneto and carburetter.

Now he has got the chance of his life,
The chance of earning glorious scars,
And I picture him scouring a land of strife,
Crouching over his handle-bars,
His open exhaust, with its roar and stench,
Like a Maxim gun in a British trench.

Lad, when we met in that country lane
Neither foresaw the days to come,
But I know that if ever we meet again
My heart will throb to your engine's hum,
And to-day, as I read, I catch my breath
At the thought of your ride through the hail of death!

But to you it is just a glorious lark;
Scorn of danger is still your creed.
As you open her out and advance your spark
And humour the throttle to get more speed,
Life has only one end for you,
To carry your priceless message through!

BURGOMASTER MAX
[Sidenote: _H.B._]

Our children will sing with delight for all time
Of the Briton, the French, and the Russian,
But most of the man who with humour sublime
Pulled the goose-stepping leg of the Prussian.

NEWS FROM THE FRONT
[Sidenote: _C.E.B. in the "Evening News"_]

This so-remarkable letter on-a-battlefield-up-picked the real
feeling of the British private so