VICARIOUS REPRISALS.
I never countenanced the Hun in any sort of way—
He always does what isn't done and won't learn how to play—
But never have I felt estranged quite as I do to-day.
Till now I've strafed him like the rest, as natural and right,
But now my spirit is obsessed by bitter private spite;
And if he wants to know the cause—no mail came up to-night.
The sun must plod his weary course, the long night wax and wane,
To-day's strong rumours lose their force for others as insane,
The ration cart crawl up once more before we hope again.