When round the No-Conscription board The wines of Rhineland flow, And many a rousing _Hoch!_ is roared To toast the _status quo_; When o'er the swiftly-circling bowl Our happy tears run dry, Not PONSONBY, that loyal soul, Will be more pleased than I. When sausages and sauerkraut Fulfil the air with spice, And loosened tongues the praise shall shout Of Peace-at-any-price; When German weeds our lips employ And hearts are full and high, Not CHARLES TREVELYAN, blind with joy, Will be more pleased than I. Stone walls do not my feet confine Nor yet a barbed-wire cage; I talk at large and claim as mine The freeman's heritage; And, if this wicked War but end Ere German hopes can die, Not WILLIAM'S self, my dearest friend, Will be more pleased than I. O.S. * * * * * THE BROKEN SOLDIERS. "Now," I suggested as we left the drapery department, "you've got as much as you can carry." Unfortunately it was impossible to relieve her of the parcels as I had all my work cut out to manipulate those confounded crutches. "There's only the toy department," returned Pamela, leading the way with her armful of packages. "I do hope you're not frightfully tired." Of course it seemed ridiculous, but I had not been out of hospital many days, and as yet I had not grown used to stumping about in this manner. "Do you happen," asked Pamela at the counter, "to have such a thing as a box of broken soldiers?" The young woman looked astonished and even a little hurt, but offered, with condescension, to inquire. "Do you want them for Dick?" I asked, Dick being Pamela's youngest brother. "For Dick and Alice," said Pamela. Alice was her sister, younger still. "Why shouldn't I buy them a box of whole ones?" "That wouldn't answer the purpose. They have three large boxes already," answered Pamela, as a young man appeared in a frock coat, with a silver badge on the right lapel, "For Services Rendered." In his hand was a dusty cardboard box, and in the box lay five damaged leaden soldiers, up-to-date soldiers in khaki; two without heads, two armless, one who had lost both legs. "Those will do splendidly," said Pamela, and the young man with the silver badge obligingly put the soldiers into my tunic pocket. It seemed to be understood that they and I had been knocked out in the same campaign. "Why," I asked on the way home in the taxi, "did you want the soldiers to be broken?" "I--I didn't," murmured Pamela, with a sigh. "Why did Dick?" I persisted. "The children are so dreadfully realistic now-a-days. You see, Father objected to his breaking heads and arms off his new ones. Dick was quite rebellious. He wanted to know what he was to do for wounded; and Alice was more disappointed still." "I should have thought it was too painful a notion for her," I suggested.