And flares shoot upward with a startling hiss And fall, and flame intolerably close, So that it seems no living man could miss-- How huge my head must look, my legs how gross!--
Or the live air is full of droning hums And cracking whips and whispering snakes of fire, And a loud buzz of conversation comes From Simpson's party putting out some wire.
Or else--as when some soloist is done And the hushed orchestra may now begin-- A sudden rage inflames the placid Hun And scouts lie naked in a world of din.
The sullen bomb dissolves in singing shapes; The whizz-bang jostles it--too fast to flee; Machine-guns chatter like demented apes-- And, goodness, can it _all_ be meant for me?
It can and is. And such are small affairs Compared with Tompkins and his Lewis gun, Or eager folk who play about with flares, And, like as not, mistake me for a Hun;
Compared with when some gunner, having dined, To show his guest the glories of his art 'Poops off a round or two,' which burst behind, But fail to drown the beating of my heart
Sweet to all soldiers is the rearward view; To infanteers how grand the gunners' case! And I suppose men pine at G.H.Q. For the rich ease of people at the Base.
To me is sweet this mean and noisome ditch, When on my belly I must issue out Into the night, inscrutable as pitch-- _I wish to Heaven that I was not a Scout!_
"Good Donkey for Sale: musical."--_Louth Advertiser_.
THE KAISER (_to his People_). "DO NOT LISTEN TO THOSE WHO WOULD SOW DISSENSION BETWEEN US. _I WILL NEVER DESERT YOU_."]
_Orderly (to Colonel)_. "CAN I GET YOU A TAXI, SIR?"
Everyone must have observed a phenomenon of the London streets which becomes continually more noticeable. And not only must they have observed it, but have suffered from it.
At one time the omnibuses, which are rapidly becoming the only means of street transport for human beings, had regular stopping-places at the corner's of streets, at Piccadilly Circus, at Oxford Circus, and so forth.
The corner was the accepted spot; the crowds gathered there, and the omnibus, stopping there, emptied and refilled. But there has been a gradual tendency towards the abandonment of the corners, causing the omnibuses to pull up farther and farther from them, so that it seems almost as if a time may come when, instead of Piccadilly Circus, for example, the stopping-place for west-bound omnibuses will be St. James's church.