Irishmen may justifiably resent this cynicism on the part of an old friend.

* * * * *

[Illustration: A MODIFIED SALIENT.

_The Old 'Un (surveying recently called-up warrior)._ "WELL, JARGE, YOU'M
STILL TURR'BLE FAT, BUT THE ARMY DO ZEEM TO 'AVE REARRANGED IT, LIKE."]

* * * * *

GOLD BRAID.

Same old crossing, same old boat,
Same old dust round Rouen way,
Same old narsty one-franc note,
Same old "Mercy, sivvoo play;"
Same old scramble up the line,
Same old 'orse-box, same old stror,
Same old weather, wet or fine,
Same old blooming War.

_Ho Lor, it isn't a dream,_
_It's just as it used to be, every bit;_
_Same old whistle and same old bang,_
_And me to stay 'ere till I'm 'it._


'Twas up by Loos I got me first;
I just dropped gently, crawled a yard