_Sec. of S._ Suppose food costs the same in most places. Besides, isn't TOMMY ATKINS supposed to purchase his own victuals? _Mil. A._ Yes, theoretically I suppose he is; but practically he-- _Sec. of S._ Oh, bother practice! Of course he must, somehow; he must pay for the Commissariat out of his own pocket. _Mil. A._ Well, then there is the question of transport. Of course, many regiments have their own waggons and carts, but for a special occasion I think it would be advisable if-- _Sec. of S._ (_interrupting_). What nonsense! Why, of course we will make them all walk. It will do them a world of good! _Mil. A._ Well, as we want to bring some from Scotland, it will distinctly be a long walk--a very long walk indeed! _Sec. of S._ (_heartily_). So much the better--so much the better! _Mil. A._ (_sarcastically_). I fancy you will have to pay a large bill in shoe-leather! _Sec. of S._ (_aghast_). So we shall! Oh, bother the Manoeuvres just now! The fact is, I have to think of other things! [_Scene closes in upon Secretary thinking of other things._ * * * * * STUDIES IN THE NEW POETRY. NO. II. MR. PUNCH's first example of the New Poetry was, it may be remembered, in the rhymed, irregular style. It is not a difficult style. The lines may be long or short; some may groan under an accumulation of words, while others consist of merely two or three--a most unfair distribution. The style of the following specimen, (also by Mr. H-NL-Y) is, however, even easier to manage. There are no rhymes and very few restrictions. The lines are very short, and a few words, therefore, go a very long way, which is always a consideration, even if you don't happen to be paid by the column. This style is very fierce and bloodthirsty and terrible. Timid people are, therefore, advised, for the sake of their nerves, not to read any farther. THE SONG OF THE POKER. [Illustration] The Poker, Clanging. I am the Poker the straight and the strong, Prone in the fire grate, Black at the nether end, Knobby and nebulous. Fashioned for fight In the Pit Acherontic: Many have grappled me, Poised me and thrust me Into the glowing, The flashing and furious Heart of the fire. Raked with me, prized with me, Till on a sudden Besparked and encircled With Welsh or with Wallsend, Shattering, battering They drew me away. Others in rivalry, Thinking to better The previous performance, Seized me again; Pushed with a leverage Hard on the haft of me, Till with the shocks Sank the red fire, Shivered and sank Subdued into blackness. That is my Toil; I am the Poker.