The weather has been so persistently wet that it looks as if this year the Channel had decided to swim Great Britain. A correspondent, in a list of improbable events on an "extraordinary day" at the front, gives as the culminating entry, "It did not rain on the day of the offensive." [Illustration: C.O. (to sentry): "Do you know the Defence Scheme for this sector of the line, my man?" TOMMY: "Yes, sir." C.O.: "Well, what is it, then?" TOMMY. "To stay 'ere an' fight like 'ell."] When Parliament is not sitting and trying to make us "sit up," and when war news is scant, old people at home sometimes fall into a mood of wistful reverie, and contrast the Germany they once knew with the Germany of to-day. A LOST LAND A childhood land of mountain ways, Where earthy gnomes and forest fays, Kind, foolish giants, gentle bears, Sport with the peasant as he fares Affrighted through the forest glades, And lead sweet, wistful little maids Lost in the woods, forlorn, alone, To princely lovers and a throne. Dear haunted land of gorge and glen, Ah me! the dreams, the dreams of men! A learned law of wise old books And men with meditative looks, Who move in quaint red-gabled towns, And sit in gravely-folded gowns, Divining in deep-laden speech The world's supreme arcana--each A homely god to listening youth, Eager to tear the veil of Truth; Mild votaries of book and pen-- Alas, the dreams, the dreams of men! A music land whose life is wrought In movements of melodious thought; In symphony, great wave on wave-- Or fugue elusive, swift and grave; A singing land, whose lyric rhymes Float on the air like village chimes; Music and verse--the deepest part Of a whole nation's thinking heart! Oh land of Now, oh land of Then! Dear God! the dreams, the dreams of men! Slave nation in a land of hate, Where are the things that made you great? Child-hearted once--oh, deep defiled, Dare you look now upon a child? Your lore--a hideous mask wherein Self-worship hides its monstrous sin-- Music and verse, divinely wed-- How can these live where love is dead? Oh depths beneath sweet human ken, God help the dreams, the dreams of men! The Norwegian explorer, Roald Amundsen, is preparing for a trip to the North Pole in 1918. Additional interest now attaches to this spot as being the only territory whose neutrality the Germans have omitted to violate. Apropos of neutrals, the crew of the U-boat interned at Cadiz has been allowed to land on giving their word of honour not to leave Spain during the continuance of the War. The mystery of how the word "honour" came into their possession is not explained. It is easier to explain that the Second Division, in which Mr. E.D. Morel is now serving, is not the one which fought at the battle of Mons. _October, 1917_.