with you Australians, Brother Orton. I only say they ain’t like us or any one else that I know.” “Well, do you want us to be?” said Orton. “No, no. It takes all sorts to make a world, as the sayin’ is. And now”--Bevin pulled out his gold watch--“if I don’t make a move of it I’ll miss my last train.” “Let her go,” said Orton serenely. “You’ve done some lorry-hoppin’ in your time, haven’t you--Sergeant?” “When I was two an’ a half stone lighter, Digger,” Bevin smiled in reply. “Well, I’ll run you out home before sun-up. I’m a haulage-contractor now--London and Oxford. There’s an empty of mine ordered to Oxford. We can go round by your place as easy as not. She’s lyin’ out Vauxhall-way.” “My Gord! An’ see the sun rise again! ’Haven’t seen him since I can’t remember when,” said Bevin, chuckling. “Oh, there was fun sometimes in Hell, wasn’t there, Australia?”; and again his hands went down to tighten the belt that was missing. WE AND THEY Father, Mother, and Me Sister and Auntie say All the people like us are We, And every one else is They. And They live over the sea, While We live over the way, But--would you believe it?--They look upon We As only a sort of They! We eat pork and beef With cow-horn-handled knives. They who gobble Their rice off a leaf, Are horrified out of Their lives; And They who live up a tree, And feast on grubs and clay, (Isn’t it scandalous?) look upon We As a simply disgusting They! We shoot birds with a gun. They stick lions with spears. Their full-dress is un--. We dress up to Our ears. They like Their friends for tea. We like Our friends to stay; And, after all that, They look upon We As an utterly ignorant They! We eat kitcheny food. We have doors that latch. They drink milk or blood, Under an open thatch. We have Doctors to fee. They have Wizards to pay. And (impudent heathen!) They look upon We As a quite impossible They! All good people agree, And all good people say, All nice people, like Us, are We And every one else is They: But if you cross over the sea, Instead of over the way, You may end by (think of it!) looking on We As only a sort of They! ON THE GATE A Tale of ’16 ON THE GATE A Tale of ’16 If the Order Above be but the reflection of the Order Below (as that Ancient affirms, who had some knowledge of the Order) it is not outside the Order of Things that there should have been confusion also in the Department of Death. The world’s steadily falling death-rate, the rising proportion of scientifically prolonged fatal illnesses, which allowed months of warning to all concerned, had weakened initiative throughout the Necrological Departments. When the War came, these were as unprepared as civilised mankind; and, like mankind, they improvised and recriminated in the face of Heaven.