in Stoke Newington. It seems incredible that the artistic sense of a
Metropolitan community could be so hopelessly stunted.

***

The axe is being laid to the roots of our trees by the so-called weaker
sex; and the proper way of toasting the new woodwoman is to sing, "For
she's a jolly good feller."

* * * * *

THE GREAT SACRIFICE.

Dark lies the way before us, O my sweet!
Never again, until the final trumpet
Shall sound the Cease-fire, may our glances meet
Over the Sally Lunn or crisp brown crumpet;
Never again (the prospect makes my soul,
Unnerved by going beefless once a week, ache)
Shall you and I absorb the jammy roll
Nor yet the toasted tea-cake.

Never for us shall any fancy bread--
The food of vernal Love, and very tasty--
On lip and cheek its subtle savour shed,
Blent with the lighter forms of Gallic pasty;
Never shall any bun, for you and me,
Impart to amorous talk a fresh momentum,
Except its saccharine ingredients be
Confined to ten per centum.