"Then, Sir," said he, "I will tell you my unhappy story. At the beginning of this War I was approached by certain Railway magnates who shall be nameless. It appeared that they had realised, very rightly, that their official notices were couched in too cold and formal a style to reach the heart of their public. So they commissioned me to supply what I may term the human touch. As a poet, I naturally felt that this could only be effectively done through the medium of verse. Well, I rose to the occasion, Sir; I produced some lines which, printed as they were written, must infallibly have placed me at the head of all of my contemporaries. But they were _not_ printed as they were written. In proof of which I will trouble you to read very carefully the opening paragraph of those 'Defence of the Realm Regulations' immediately above your head ... Only the opening paragraph at present, please!" I was somewhat surprised, but, thinking it best to humour him, I read the first sentence, which was: "_In view of possible attack by hostile aircraft, it is necessary that the blinds of all trains should be kept down after sunset_," and gave him my opinion of it. "Whether," he said, with some acerbity, "it is or is not as lucidly expressed as you are pleased to consider, only the beginning of it is mine. This is what I actually wrote:-- "'In view of possible attack By hostile aircraft overhead, 'Tis necessary now, alack! Soon as old Sol has sought his bed, That those who next the window sit, Though they'd prefer to watch the gloaming, Should draw the blind, nor leave a slit, Keeping it down until they're homing, Else on the metals will be thrown A glowing trail as from a comet, And Huns to whom a train is shown Will most indubitably bomb it!' "That," he observed complacently, "is not only verse of the highest order, but clearly conveys the reason for such precautions, which the official mind chose to cut out. And now let me ask you to read the next paragraph." I did so. "_At night-time when the blinds are drawn_" it ran, "_passengers are requested before alighting to make sure when the train stops that it is at the platform_." "Which," he cried fiercely, "is their mangled and mutilated version of this:-- "'At night-time when the blinds are drawn (As screens against those devils' spawn, Which love the gloom, but dread the dawn), A train may be at standstill, Then we request 'twill not occur That some impatient passenger, Whose nerves are in a chronic stir, And neither feet nor hands still, Without preliminary peep Will forth incontinently leap, Alighting in a huddled heap To lie, a limp or flat form, In some inhospitable ditch, If not on grittier ballast, which (The darkness far surpassing pitch) He took to be the platform!'