_Herr M._ (_aside_). The old fellow is not, after all, so thick-skulled as I thought him. (_Aloud_) I will not ask you to discuss this subject any more, but will proceed to lay before you the commands of HIS MAJESTY. _Von H._ I shall be glad to hear them. _Herr M._ Well, then, to cut the matter as short as possible, HIS MAJESTY insists that there shall be a victory on the Western Front. _Von H._ A victory? _Herr M._ Yes, a victory. A real one, mind, not a made-up affair like the capture of Langemarck, which, though it was certainly captured, was not captured by us, but by the accursed English. May Heaven destroy them! _Von H._ But it was by HIS MAJESTY'S orders that we announced the capture of Langemarck. _Herr M._ I know; but he is graciously pleased to forget that, and to desire a genuine victory now. _Von H._ Tell him I cannot promise. We have done our best at Verdun, at Lens and at Ypres, but we have had to retreat everywhere. Our turn may come another time, but, as I say, I cannot promise. _Herr M._ Please go on doing your best. It is so annoying and temper-spoiling for HIS MAJESTY to make so many speeches of a fiery kind, and never to have a victory--at least not a real one for which Berlin can hang out flags. Besides, if we don't get a victory how shall we ever get a good German peace? And peace we _must_ have, and that very soon. _Von H._ Don't talk to me of peace. War is my business, not peace; and if I am to carry on war there must be no interference. If the ALL-HIGHEST does not like that, let him take the chief command himself. _Herr M._ God forbid! * * * * * LINES TO A HUN AIRMAN, WHO AROUSED THE DETACHMENT ON A CHILLY MORNING, AT 2.30 A.M. Oh, come again, but at another time; Choose some more fitting moment to appear, For even in fair Gallia's sunny clime The dawns are chilly at this time of year. I did not go to bed till one last night, I was on guard, and, pacing up and down, Gazed often on the sky where every light Flamed like a gem in Night's imperial crown; And when the clamant rattle's hideous sound Roused me from sleep, in a far distant land My spirit moved and trod familiar ground, Where a Young Hopeful sat at my right hand. There was a spotless cloth upon the board, Thin bread-and-butter was upon me pressed, And China tea in a frail cup was poured-- Then I rushed forth inadequately dressed. Lo! the poor Sergeant in a shrunken shirt, His manly limbs exposed to morning's dew, His massive feet all paddling in the dirt-- Such sights should move the heart of even you. The worthy Corporal, sage in looks and speeches, Holds up his trousers with a trembling hand; Lucky for him he slumbered in his breeches-- The most clothed man of all our shivering band.