By the old camp-fire, the rough-and-ready choir
Join in the chorus too.
"You'll tak' the high road and I'll tak' the low road"--
'Tis a song that we all know,
To bring back the days in Bonnie Scotland,
Where the heather and the bluebells--

_Whang_!

The Boche, a Wagnerian by birth and upbringing, cannot stand any more
of this, so he has fired a rifle-grenade at the glee-party--on the
whole a much more honest and direct method of condemnation than that
practiced by musical critics in time of peace. But he only elicits an
encore. Private Nigg perches a steel helmet on the point of a bayonet,
and patronisingly bobs the same up and down above the parapet.

These steel helmets have not previously been introduced to the
reader's notice. They are modelled upon those worn in the French
Army--and bear about as much resemblance to the original pattern as a
Thames barge to a racing yacht. When first issued, they were greeted
with profound suspicion. Though undoubtedly serviceable,--they saved
many a crown from cracking round The Bluff the other day,--they were
undeniably heavy, and they were certainly not becoming to the peculiar
type of beauty rampant in "K(1)." On issue, then, their recipients
elected to regard the wearing of them as a peculiarly noxious form
of "fatigue." Private M'A. deposited his upon the parapet, like a
foundling on a doorstep, and departed stealthily round the nearest
traverse, to report his new headpiece "lost through the exigencies of
military service." Private M'B. wore his insecurely perched upon the
top of his tam-o'-shanter bonnet, where it looked like a very large