THE NORTH SEA PERIL.
"By Jove, I pity the Germans if she gets hold of 'em!"
EN PASSANT.
Loud swells the roar of traffic in the street,
The motor-buses rumble on and wind
Their plaintive warnings as they come behind
Faint folk who dally, dazed by summer heat;
The reckless taxis seem a deal too fleet
To country cousins nervously inclined,
And raucous news-boys fret the curious mind
With spicy rumours of the foe's defeat.
But suddenly a hush falls everywhere:
Stopp'd is each taxi with its languid load,
And, as the City's silence deeper grows,
Only a barrel-organ churns the air
While Peggy (in the middle of the road)
Pauses to put some powder on her nose!