to be disguised in his letters, which are liable to be censored
by his wife.]

Thank you, dear William, I am fairly well.
The climate suits me and the simple life--
No diplomats to spoil the scenery's spell,
And only faintest echoes of the strife;
The Alps are mirrored in a lake of blue;
Over my straw-crowned poll the blue skies laugh;
A waterfall (no charge) completes a view
Equal to any German oleograph.

There are no bugle blares to make me jump,
But just the jodler calling to his kine;
A few good Teuton toadies, loud and plump,
More than suffice me in the _levée_ line;
And, when poor ALEXANDER, there in Greece,
Writes of your "agents" rounded up and sacked,
I am content with privacy and peace,
Having, at worst, retained my head intact.

SOPHIE and I have thought of you a lot
(We have so very few distractions here;
We chat about the weather, which is hot,
And then we turn to talk of your career);
For rumour says this bloody war will last
Until the Hohenzollerns get the boot;
And through my brain the bright idea has passed
That you had better do an early scoot.