"The _Telegraaf_ learns from its correspondent at the frontier that on yesterday (Monday) afternoon a fresh air attack was made on Zeebrugge."--_Morning Post_. A pleasant change from stuffy shells. * * * * * [Illustration: THE ETERNAL FEMININE. "THAT SHADE. WOULDN'T 'ALF SUIT ME." "LOR LUMMY, LIL! WOT TISTE--AN' YOU A BLONDE!"] * * * * * THE SONG OF THE MILL. [Most of our water-mills have fallen into decay and disuse owing to the unsuitability of their machinery to grind imported grain. Will the revival of English grain production bring about a renewal of their usefulness?] As by the pool I wandered that lies so clear and still With tall old trees about it, hard by the silent mill Whose ancient oaken timbers no longer creak and groan With roar of wheel and water, and grind of stone on stone, The idle mill-race slumbered beneath the mouldering wheel, The pale March sunlight gilded no motes of floating meal, But the stream went singing onward, went singing by the weir-- And this, or something like it, was the song I seemed to hear:-- "By Teviot, Tees and Avon, by Esk and Ure and Tweed, Here's many a trusty henchman would rally to your need; By Itchen, Test and Waveney, by Tamar, Trent and Ouse, Here's many a loyal servant will help you if you choose. "Do they no longer need us who needed us of yore? We stood not still aforetime when England marched to war; Like those our wind-driven brothers, far seen o'er weald and fen, We ground the wheat and barley to feed stout Englishmen. "You call the men of England, their strength, their toil, their gold, But us you have not summoned, who served your sires of old; For service high or humble, for tribute great and small, You call them and they answer--but us you do not call. "Yet we no hoarded fuel of mine or well require, That drives your fleets to battle or lights the poor man's fire; We need no white-hot furnace for tending night and day, No power of harnessed lightnings to speed us on our way. "By Tavy, Dart and Derwent, by Wharfe and Usk and Nidd, Here's many a trusty vassal is yours when you shall bid, With the strength of English rivers to push the wheels along And the roar of many a mill-race to join the victory song." C.F.S. * * * * * "The Berlin Municipality has issued the following order. 'Despite the present unfavourable conditions of production, it has become possible that from Friday this week one shss will be available for every citizen of Berlin,'"--_Egyptian Gazette_. Judging by the mystery surrounding it we infer that "shss" must be some kind of sausage. * * * * * [Illustration: FOOD RESTRICTION. SCENE: _Hotel._ _Little Girl._ "OH, MUMMY! THEY'VE GIVEN ME A DIRTY PLATE." _Mother._ "HUSH, DARLING. THAT'S THE SOUP."]