[To the officer whose letter, reproduced in _The Daily Telegraph_, after reporting the irregular exchange of Christmas gifts between our men and the enemy, goes on to say:--"In order to put a stop to a situation which was proving impossible, I went out myself after a time with a copy of 'Punch,' which I presented to a dingy Saxon in exchange for a small packet of excellent cigars and cigarettes."] A Scent of truce was in the air, And mutual compliments were paid-- A sausage here, a mince-pie there, In lieu of bomb and hand-grenade; And foes forgot, that Christmastide, Their business was to kill the other side. Then, greatly shocked, you rose and said, "This is not my idea of War; On milk of human-kindness fed, Our men will lose their taste for gore; All this unauthorized good-will Must be corrected by a bitter pill." And forth you strode with stiffened spine And met a Saxon in the mud (Not Anglo-) and with fell design To blast his joyaunce in the bud, And knock his rising spirits flat, You handed him a _Punch_ and said, "Take that!" A smile upon his visage gleamed. Little suspecting your intent, He proffered what he truly deemed To be a fair equivalent-- A bunch of fags of local brand And Deutschodoros from the Vaterland. You found them excellent, I hear; Let's hope your gift had equal worth, Though meant to curb his Christmas cheer And check the interchange of mirth; I should be very glad to feel It operated for his inner weal. For there he found, our dingy friend, Amid the trench's sobering slosh, What must have left him, by the end, A wiser, if a sadder, Bosch, Seeing himself with chastened mien In that pellucid well of Truth serene. O. S. * * * * * UNWRITTEN LETTERS TO THE KAISER. No. XIII. (_From Grand Admiral VON TIRPITZ._) ALL GRACIOUS LORD,--It is no pleasant life in these days to be a sailor, especially if one happens to be an Admiral responsible for the organisation and direction of a great Fleet. This morning, for instance, just as I was drinking my early cup of coffee there comes me in my servant bearing a letter: "Will your Excellency have it now?" he says, "or will you wait till you have gathered more strength as the morning goes on?" and with that the old sea-dog smiles a just perceptible smile. "Is it from ----?" I say, leaving out the name. "Yes," he answers, "it is from ----. It is the seventh in three days. It will assuredly be some pleasant wish for the New Year. The Lord Great Admiral is, indeed, fortunate in having so high a well-wisher. I myself have no such luck, being only----"