WHITE MAGIC.
Blind folk see the fairies,
Oh, better far than we,
Who miss the shining of their wings
Because our eyes are filled with things
We do not wish to see.
They need not seek enchantment
From solemn printed books,
For all about them as they go
The fairies flutter to and fro
With smiling, friendly looks.
Deaf folk hear the fairies
However soft their song;
'Tis we who lose the honey sound
Amid the clamour all around
That beats the whole day long.
But they with gentle faces
Sit quietly apart;
What room have they for sorrowing
While fairy minstrels sit and sing
Close to their listening heart?
R.F.
Extract from a French account of the tanks in action in the battle for Cambrai:—
"Les chars d'assaut curent aussi leur cri de guerre. Peu avant l'attaque, le long de leur ligne courut un message répétant, en le modifiant légèrement, celui de Nelson à Trafalgar:
"'L'Angleterre compte que chaque tank fera aujourd'hui son devoir sacré.'"—Havas.
We had often wondered what the French was for "Do your damnedest!" Now we know.
GETTING AWAY FROM IT.
