'Twas night, and near the Boreal cliff The monarch in seclusion lay, A wondrous human hieroglyph, Worshipped from Chile to Cathay; When lo! a cry, "Sire, up and fly! The pirate ships are in the bay!" "Begone, ye cravens," straight replied The monarch with his eyes ablaze; "No pirate on the ocean wide Can fright me, for I know their ways. Shall I do less in times of stress Than soldiers who have earned My praise? "Yet stay," he paused awhile, and then-- "Let messengers the country scour On pain of death forbidding men To speak, in hut or hall or tower, Of what I said this night of dread, Or where I spent its darkest hour." Swift flew the minions to obey; The wearied monarch slumbered late; Yet, in the Capital next day, Writ large upon his palace gate, A mighty scroll to every soul Blazoned the words that challenged Fate. The monarch's rage surpassed all bounds When of this treachery he read; A price of several million pounds Was placed upon the miscreant's head; But sceptics jibe--an odious tribe-- And swear that he will die in bed. * * * * * A New Way to Pay Old Debts. "The Inventor of British and American Patents is desirous to Sell or License to Manufacturers, &c., &c.... The above Inventor and Patentee will be greatly obliged if anyone that he owes money to will forward the amount not later than this month, otherwise he will not acknowledge after."--_Financial Times._ * * * * * "LITTLE WAR PICTURES. A NOBLE ARMY OF OPTIMISTS IN TRANCE."--_Straits Times (Singapore)._ We wish our pessimists would join them. * * * * * THE WATCH DOGS. LVII. My Dear Charles,--St. John, in 1914 a light-hearted lieut., advancing and retiring with his platoon as an all-seeing Providence or a short-spoken Company Commander might direct, and in 1915 a Brass-hat with a vast amount of knowledge and only a hundred buff slips or so to write it down on, is now Second in Command of his regiment. He tells me he is encamped with his little lot on the forward slope of a muddy and much pitted ravine. On the opposite slope are some nasty noisy guns, and at the bottom of the ravine are the cookers. When, after much forethought, he has found something to do and has begun doing it, there is a cry of "Stand clear!" and, with that prudence which even an Englishman will learn if you do not hustle him but give him a year or two to find by experience that care should sometimes be taken, all get to earth. The guns fire; the neighbourhood heaves and readjusts itself, and a man may then come out again. By the time, however, he has collected his senses and his materials there is another "Stand clear!" and back he must go to earth. This is what is technically known as Rest.