Tired by the City's ceaseless roaring I fly to Great or Little Snoring; When crowds grow riotous and lawless I seek repose at Stratton Strawless; When feeling thoroughly week-endish I hie in haste to Barton Bendish, Or vegetate at Little Hautbois (Still uninvaded by the "dough-boy"). The simple rustic fare of Brockdish Excels the choicest made or mock dish; Nor is there any _patois_ so Superb as that of Spooner Row. PETT-RIDGE'S lively _Arthur Lidlington_ Might possibly be bored at Didlington; And I admit that it would stump SHAW To stir up a revolt at Strumpshaw. The spirits of unrest are wholly Out of their element at Sloley; But even the weariest straphanger Regains his courage at Shelfanger. No taint of Bolshevistic snarling Poisons the atmosphere of Larling, And infants in the throes of teething Become seraphical at Seething. Nor must my homely Muse be mute on The charms of Guist and Sall and Booton, Shimpling and Tattersett and Stody (Which, be it noted, rhymes with ruddy), And fair Winfarthing, where KING TINO Would seek in vain for a casino Or even a flask of maraschino. For here, far from the social scurry That devastates suburban Surrey, You find the authentic countryside; Here, taking Solitude for bride, The wanderer almost forgets The jazzing crowd, the miners' threats. * * * * * "UNAPPROACHABLE FAMILY ALES & STOUT." _Advt. in Provincial Paper._ This should please Mr. "PUSSYFOOT." * * * * * [Illustration: THE NEW SPIRIT IN WEDDING GIFTS.] * * * * * ON THE WESTERN FRONT. Once again we are "for it." It is that heavy hour between five and six when the vitality is all too low for the ordeal that awaits us. On either side the far-flung battle line of clustering figures stretches away into the gloom. It is an inspiring sight, this tense silent crowd of men of every class and vocation, united by a common purpose, grimly awaiting the moment when as one man they will hurl themselves into the fray. Is it the mere lust for fighting that has brought them here? Or is it the thought of the home that each hopes to return to that steels their courage and lends that _elan_ to their resolution without which one enters the struggle in vain? In the dim half-light I furtively scan the set faces around me and find myself wondering what thoughts those impassive masks conceal. Are they counting the cost? Most of them have been through the ordeal before. Pale faces there are--small wonder when one thinks of what lies before them. Here and there a man is puffing at his beloved "gasper" with the nonchalance that marks your bull-dog breed when stern work is afoot.