THE JOY-RIDER AT THE FRONT.
(Being a free version of Mr. BERNARD SHAW'S articles in "The Daily Chronicle" on his visit to the seat of War.)
"Since the good man, RAMSAY MACDONALD, while touring in the East
Went out to shoot the tiger, that homicidal beast,
The most electrifying humanitarian stunt
Has been my khaki joy-ride along the British Front.
"It wasn't my own suggestion; I went as the Government's guest,
Invited to see how the brass-hats were running the show on the West;
I've never been sweet on soldiers, but I only went for a week,
And it gave me heaps of chances of studying war technique.
"If they really thought to convert me by the loan of a khaki suit,
Or by conferring upon me the right to claim a salute,
It wouldn't at all surprise me, for dullards have always tried
To bribe true men of genius to take the popular side.
"Well, I went, I saw, I 'joy-rode,' and my verdict remains the same;
There's no use having a country unless she's always to blame;
For of all the appalling prospects that human life can lend
The worst is to be unable to play the candid friend.
"Men talk of France, the Martyr; of her precious blood outpoured;
Of the innocent helpless victims of the brutal Hunnish horde;
Presuming, insensate idiots, to label as beast and brute
The race that has always held me in the very highest repute!
"While France has failed completely, at least in those later days,
To show appreciation of my Prefaces and Plays;
It wouldn't be therefore worthy of a genuine superman
To show undue compassion for the sorrows of 'Marianne.'
"And as for the sheer destruction of noble and ancient fanes
Which the prejudiced Hun-hater indignantly arraigns,
The simple truth compels me in honesty to state
That the style of some ruined buildings was utterly second-rate.
"But to quit these trivial matters—let weaklings wail and weep,
The loss of a few cathedrals will never affect my sleep—
What lifts this Armageddon to an altitude sublime
Is the crowning fact that it gave me a perfectly glorious time.
"As an ultra-neutral observer I entered the battle zone
And emerged unmoved, unshaken, with a heart as cool as a stone;
No sight could touch or daunt me, no sound my soul untune;
From pity or tears or sorrow I still remained immune.
"I own that before my arrival I felt an occasional qualm
Lest the shock of the unexpected might shatter my wonted calm;
But it gave me the richest rapture to find I was wholly free
From the crude and vulgar emotions that harass the plain V.C.
"I inspected the great war-engine, and, instead of its going strong,
I saw that in each of its workings there was always something wrong;
In fact, with the old black powder and the obsolete Brown Bess
The chances of missing your target were infinitely less.
"The so-called arm of precision scores only by lucky hits,
Though the 'heavies' and high explosives may possibly blow you to bits;
I saw one corpse on my 'joy-ride,' the head had been blown away,
And the thought of this painless ending produced in me no dismay."
Now he's back in the finest feather from his holiday with the Staff,
And we're sure that no one will grudge him the meed of this epitaph:
"He went through the fiery furnace, but never a hair was missed
From the heels of our most colossal Arch-Super-Egotist."
"GREAT WHITE SALE.
UNREPEATABLE BARGAINS IN LINGERIE."—Daily Paper.
We respect this reticence.
"The public are responding but slowly to the appeal of the Post Office to facilitate the delay of correspondence in London by using the new numbered addresses."—Daily Mail.
If that is really the object, why hurry?
