I tell ye, I'm so blithe to-night
I'd paint the old Moon's orb red!
Oh, think ye that I took delight
For years in baking war-bread?
One shape, one colour and one size,
By Government controlled?
But now all this to limbo flies;
What wonder that to-night I cries
'New--Bread--for Old?'

"Good Sir, the Baker hath a soul
And loves to make bread pleasant--
The Twist, the long Vienna Roll,
The Horseshoe and the Crescent,
The Milk, the Tin, the lovely loaf
Where currants one discovers,
The Wholemeal for the country oaf,
The Knot for all true lovers.
So, till upon the glowing East
The sun in red and gold
Comes forth to bake the daily feast,
I'll cry with heart as light as yeast,
'New--Bread--for Old!'"

* * * * *

THE MODERN ICARUS.

"After an hour's flight over the frozen Conception Bay and
the town of St. John's, Mr. Hawker made a perfect landing. He