And Margate, quite unmanned,
Would cause no trouble if you cared to land.

Roumania is your granary, whence you draw
For loyal turns a constant cornucopia;
Belgium, quiescent under Culture's law,
Serves as a type of Teutonised Utopia;
And, as for U.S.A.,
They're scheduled to arrive behind The Day.

Why, then, this talk of Peace? The victor's meed
Lies underneath your nose--why not continue?
_Because humanity makes your bosom bleed_;
So, though you have a giant's strength within you,
Your gentle heart would shrink
To use it like a giant--I don't think.

O.S.

* * * * *

MISTAKEN CHARITY.

Slip was riding a big chestnut mare down the street and humming an
accompaniment to the tune she was playing with her bit. He pulled up
when he saw me and, still humming, sat looking down at me.

"Stables in ten minutes," I said. "You're heading the wrong way."

"A dispensation, my lad," he replied. "I'm taking Miss Spangles up on