We cannot think that we're to blame. We took the very natural view That one who bore a German name Would be as open as the blue; Would bathe in sunlight, like a lark, So different from the worm or weevil, Those crawling things that love the dark Because their deeds are evil. We thought his cables just referred To harmless matters such as crops, The timber-market's latest word, The local fashions in the shops, To German trade and German bands, And how in Argentine and Sweden And all that's left of neutral lands To build a German Eden. True he employed a secret code, But who would guess at guile in that? Unless he used the cryptic mode He couldn't be a diplomat; He wished (we thought) to be discreet, Telling his friends how frail and fair is The exotic feminine you meet In bounteous Buenos Aires. Why, then, should mud be thrown so hard At Stockholm's faith? She merely meant To show a neighbourly regard Towards a nice belligerent; For peaceful massage she was made; Aloof from martial animosities, She yearns with fingers gloved in suède To temper war's callosities. Such courtesy (one would have said) Amid the waste of savage strife Tends to maintain--what else were dead-- The sweet amenities of life; And seeking ends so pure, so good, So innocent, it _does_ surprise her To be so much misunderstood By all--except the KAISER. O.S. * * * * * THE PRUDENT ORATOR. "The Premier was accompanied by Mrs. Lloyd George and his laughter." _Irish Daily Telegraph_. * * * * * "Our new nippers are beginning to squeeze to some tune in France and Belgium." _Liverpool Daily Post_. Try a little oil. * * * * * We print (with shame and the consciousness of turpitude) the following letter:-- "_Bed 56, E Block_, 11/9/1917. "DEAR SIR,--This morning I was reading your edition dated September 5, 1917. In the 'Charivaria' I saw an article in which you proclaimed the North Pole to be the only territory that has not had its neutrality violated by the Huns. I beg to draw your attention to the South Pole. "I remain, yours sincerely, "A WOUNDED TOMMY." * * * * * WASHOUT. We had hardly settled down to Mess when an orderly, armed with a buff slip, shot through the door, narrowly missed colliding with the soup, and pulled up by Grigson's chair. Grigson is our Flight Commander--one of those rugged and impenetrable individuals who seem impervious to any kind of shock. There is a legend that on one occasion four machine-gun bullets actually hit him and bounced off, which gave the imitative Hun the idea of armour-plating his machines.