I learn from reliable sources that one wing of our "contemptible little army" is resting upon ——. Dear old ——! How often have I wandered down your sleepy little High Street to the épicerie of our lively old Thérèse! But that was in the old days, before the black arts of Kaiserism transformed the peace of yesterday into the Armageddon of to-day. Next week I shall deal more intimately with life behind the scenes in German frontier towns; but you must wait with what patience you can for these further confidences.
"No, Sir, they wouldn't take our Fred, 'cos they said he'd a-got bellicose veins."
GREY GIBBONS.
With fingers too canny to bungle,
With footsteps too cunning to swerve,
They swing through the heights of the jungle,
These stalwarts of infinite nerve;