(_Very Latest War-Office Version. See Mr. Stanhope's After-Dinner Speech at the Holborn Restaurant (Oct. 17), and Letter in "Times" (Oct. 21) on "Pangloss at the War Office."_) [Illustration] _Secretarial Pangloss sings:_-- Late, upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, tired but cheery, Over many an optimistic record of War Office lore; Whilst I worked, assorting, mapping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of someone rudely rapping, rapping at my Office-door. "Some late messenger," I muttered, "tapping at my Office-door-- Only this, but it's a bore." I remember--being sober--it was in the chill October, Light from the electric globe or horseshoe lighted wall and floor; Also that it was the morrow of the Holborn Banquet; sorrow From the Blue Books croakers borrow--sorrow for the days of yore, For the days when "_Rule Britannia_" sounded far o'er sea and shore. Ah! it _must_ have been a bore! But on that let's draw the curtain. I am simply cock-sure--certain That "our splendid little Army" never was so fine before. It will take a lot of beating! Such remarks I keep repeating; They come handy--after eating, and are always sure to score-- Dash that rapping chap entreating entrance at my Office-door! It is an infernal bore! Presently I grew more placid (Optimists should not be acid.) "Come in!" I exclaimed--"con_found_ you! Pray stand drumming there no more." But the donkey still kept tapping. "Dolt!" I muttered, sharply snapping, "Why the deuce do you come rapping, rapping at my Office-door? Yet not 'enter' when you're told to?"--here I opened wide the door-- Darkness there, and nothing more. Open next I flung the shutter, when, with a prodigious flutter, In there stepped a bumptious Raven, black as any blackamoor. Not the least obeisance made he, not a moment stopped or stayed he, But with scornful look, though shady, perched above my Office-door, Perched upon BRITANNIA's bust that stood above my Office-door-- Perched, and sat, and seemed to snore. "Well," I said, sardonic smiling, "this is really rather riling; "It comports not with decorum such as the War Office bore In old days stiff and clean-shaven. Dub me a Gladstonian craven If I ever saw a Raven at the W.O. before. Tell me what your blessed name is. '_Rule Britannia_' held of yore," Quoth the bird, "'Tis so no more!" Much I marvelled this sophistic fowl to utter pessimistic Fustian, which so little meaning--little relevancy bore To the rule of me and SOLLY; but, although it may sound folly, This strange fowl a strange resemblance to "Our Only General" wore, To the W-LS-L-Y whose pretensions to sound military lore Are becoming quite a bore.