Meanwhile to-morrow's programme is less dashing. It consists of Church Parade. The Musketry Detachment is at some little distance from the main body, so the Padre has arranged for a private parade of our own. An officer is to read the lessons and has been instructed for the purpose. "The Party," as we call him for convenience, "will move two paces forward and, upon the word 'one,' will take the Book smartly in the left hand. Upon the word 'two' he will raise his right thumb to his lower lip and moisten the same, thus enabling it to turn over the page efficiently. When this movement is complete, he will cut away the right hand sharply and proceed to carry out his duties." Don't suppose we are irreligious--far from it; but always we are disciplinarians. I believe there is somewhere in the _Infantry Training_ a correct way laid down for blowing your nose to numbers. Yours ever, HENRY. * * * * * "TRADING WITH THE ENEMY BILL." We prefer to say (less familiarly), "Settling accounts with the KAISER." * * * * * A FOOD WAR. Some folk believe that wars commence From greed of gain or self-defence; But Austrian sages have divined Incitements of a different kind. The Servian Army (so 'tis said) Has run completely out of bread, And every day the hungry souls Fight Austria for Vienna rolls. The Austrian battles with the TSAR Because he dotes on caviare, And must that monarch's realm invade Because he likes it freshly made. The Russians cannot do without The soul-sustaining _sauerkraut_, And march their armies to the West Because Berliners make the best. The German confidently thinks That absinthe is the prince of drinks, And therefore must attack the land That keeps the most seductive brand. The Frenchman, tired of his _ragouts_, Covets the meat that Teutons use, And charges like an avalanche For German sausage, not _revanche_. The Briton, vexed by rules austere, Has heard the fame of German beer, And nought his onward march can stop While Munich holds a single drop. The bold Italian stands prepared With rifle loaded, sabre bared, And to a questioning world replies, "Who touches my _spaghetti_, dies!" * * * * * THE CATCH. I have a friend who is a Special Constable. He has had an experience which by no means casts any discredit upon him; but he would rather not write about it himself, he says; so I take up the pen on his behalf. My friend is an artist, and as such is accustomed to use his eyes. The other day he saw a smartly dressed man whom he conceived to be a German spy, for, besides wearing an alien aspect, he carried a walking-stick which tapered suspiciously on the way down, and near the top of it was an obvious little catch. "A sword stick!" said the Special Constable to himself.