Chapter XI

EXTRACTS AND PHOTOS FROM "SMOKE," THE KASTAMUNI "PUNCH"

_Smoke_ was the Kastamuni _Punch_, which I edited. Its existence became known to the Turks, who tried by every means to discover it. When I escaped from the prison in Stamboul, I had it around my waist. Unwilling to risk its capture in my subsequent adventures, I entrusted it to some one in Stamboul, from where it was safely recovered after the entry of the British troops. The photos are of the original copy and the extracts perpetrated by me.

* * * * *

(1) Letter from "Eve," whom to cheer our loneliness we transported to live amongst us in Kastamuni.

201, Curzon Street, Mayfair, May 28th, '17.

DEAR MR. SMOKE,

Such wonderful news for you. I'm to leave for Kastamuni in two days. Think of it, my dear. For Kastamuni and all of you. Almost _too_ wonderful, isn't it? You know by the time the third edition of _Smoke_ arrived home it became quite well known that you were incorporated with the _Tatler_, and, of course, you and I are naturally expected to become awfully interested in each other. Also by a marvellous bit of planning on the part of Providence at the same time Mrs. Huntingdon-East received such an extraordinarily warm-hearted letter from a Mr. Carol Manrow of Kastamuni (do you know him?), begging her to visit Kastamuni and prescribe for his (little Carol's, if you please) loneliness, and also--but I mustn't tell you too much, must I?

Oh, and we just love _Smoke_. Well, you know, the next day I met the Destroyer at tea, _i.e._ Mrs. H. E., because she's always under full sail, or whatever you call it. She has persuaded my friends to make me go with her. But, my dear, I was only too _delighted_ to go, and I do so want to see all the dear things in that wonderful little place. Oh, I'm so glad you are incorporated with the _Tatler_, and that I am to tattle for you. The Women War Workers' Association has arranged for the Destroyer to look after me. Can you imagine that? But I shan't stretch my reins until I am safe with you all, and then we shall see what pace is to be set in Kastamuni.

I'm to send news to the _Tatler_ as ever, and a column for you on local gossip or fashionable intelligence. The last sounds the best. Our spare time you must make interesting for us, and as we are to have _carte blanche_ from our funny old enemies, we can promise you a terrific time. And such news I've got for you--just _too_ exciting.

We leave in two days via Boulogne, Paris, Berne, Vienna, Constanti, and Ineboli--and the Sultan has offered the Destroyer the use of his private yacht, _Abdul Hamid Secundus_. We _screamed_ when we got his wire. So nice of him, and he hopes to find us "chic." Just fancy the Destroyer being chic. And we are to remain with you all until you go away. Isn't that splendid?

Thank you so much for your long wire. So _thoughtful_ of you, but, my dear, I'm not a bit shy, and I've not forgotten you. In fact, I have tried to dream about you quite often. Please try to believe this. We are to have the Vali's old house, whatever that means. The Destroyer is a dear old thing, and, of course, I leave all the arrangements to her. She sends a message. "Give the dear things my love, and tell them to pray that the weather will be good and the Black Sea smooth."

Well, I must away to pack. Such appalling weather here, and we have no potatoes. But no one cares the tiniest bit, as the news is dreadfully good. The one drawback is that the war will be over before we have finished the wonderful time we shall all have in Kastamuni.

Bye-bye, dear Mr. Smoke.

Yours with love,

EVE.

* * * * *

(2) Advertisement of Kuttites Klearout Kompany, Unlimited.

KASTAMUNI KUTTITES KLEAROUT KOMPANY, UNLIMITED

OBJECT, To defray the expenses of constructing, furnishing, and equipping

The "HOMEWARD BOUND" Airship.

PROPOSED CAPITAL, £2000 (Turkish).

Consisting of 1000 Fully-Paid Preference and 1000 Ordinary Shares.

TERMS, Preference Fully Paid, Ordinary Five per cent, on allotment.

Balance after the War.

CONDITIONS, The investment in twenty shares will carry the privilege of one seat in the "Homeward Bound," to leave Kastamuni at some date unknown.

N.B.--In the event of having to jettison ballast from the airship, Preference Shareholders will not be rated as ballast until Ordinary Shareholders have been thrown overboard.

ADVANTAGES, On the back of every coupon will be found a policy of insurance with the Credit Ottoman Insurance Company covering risks against (1) Recapture, (2) Collision, (3) Fire, (4) Cherif Bey, (5) Drowning, (6) Falling Overboard, (7) Landing in Enemy Country.

Last date of Application for Shares, May 10th, 1917.

Original Allottees: (Katronides) The Rt. Hon. Marquis-de-Quinine; (Cloulourides) Vicomte-de-Moular and five Field Officers.

Bankers: Kastamuni Providential Banking Co., Ltd.

Secretary: A. Fludd,

47.8.9 _Smoke_ Offices.

* * * * *

(3) SATIRE'S MY WEAPON, BUT I'M TOO DISCREET TO RUN AMOK AND TILT AT ALL I MEET

THE WINGS OF A DOVE (Leading Article)

Had I the wings of a dove, far, far would I fly--away from this dove-cot--from the Mekhteb and memories of Huznu--from the Turkish bath fond joy of earlier days, away from the chapel that has so often seen me, but now to see me no more, from the bazaar where in days of yore I visited Ekki Bachouk's, from the postas and Turkish female delights untasted--from the band--ah, band of memories--most of all from the Oblong Table--in short, from the Flesh and the Devil far, far would I fly.

Ah, those wings. I feel them already upon me. Like a bird I feel also my capacity for flight. Wings that lie closely to my shoulders, white pinions the outer ribs in stiff strong rows, beside them smaller ones lighter than air, stronger than steel, folding like a fan, opening like an umbrella, locked and fast. Wings flinging arced shadows, wings with which to issue some early morn from my window, to cleave the air, to mount up, up, up above these mosques, the river, the town, until Kastamuni shall appear a wee pattern of dusky patchwork crossed by a silver thread and dotted with woolly smoke. Wings to lift me so high that even that shall disappear--and beyond the ranges will gleam the sea. Ah, the sea. How I long for thee also. Since when have I walked within range of thy tossing spray, thou sea skirting the crimson battlefields of Europe. Thee would I follow until in the last light of even I beheld once more "that isle set in a silver sea----"

Oh, for the wings of a dove. Far, far would I fly. Oh, to be a dove. I, too, would stop to pluck an olive leaf, and on it would scratch with my beak, _Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin_, and then having reached Potsdam, would I drop it at the Kaiser's feet as he strolls about the palace grounds of Sans-souci. Sans-souci, forsooth!

Then would he not conquer the world any more, but wring the necks of all his eagles.

And then on to other isles and scenes, whence the voices are calling----

Oh, for the wings, those free white wings of a dove.

* * * * *

(4) A Prophecy as to the Fate of Turkey.

THE DEATH OF COCK TURKEY
(With apologies to Cock Robin)

"Who killed Cock Turkey?"
"I," said Bull Jack,
"With my usual knack--
I killed Cock Turkey."

"Who helped to do it?"
"I," said old Bruno,
"With my little U know--
I helped to do it."

"Who saw him die?"
"I," said her ally,
With perfectly dry eye--
"I saw him die."

"Who'll have his feathers?"
"I," said the Lion,
"With my usual try-on,
I'll have his feathers."

"Who'll dig his grave?"
"I," said the vulture,
An eagle plus culture--
"I'll dig his grave."

"Who'll grow on his grave?"
"I," said the Lily,
She spoke quite shrilly--
"I'll grow on his grave."

"Who'll write his epitaph?"
"I," said the Armenian,
With the help of the Athenian--
"I'll write his epitaph."

"Who's heir-apparent?"
"I," said Uncle Sam,
"I guess that I am
The heir-apparent."

"Who'll toll the knell?"
"I," said the Kangaroo,
"With the help of the Emu,
I'll toll the knell."

And the Things of the Earth danced in ecstasy--
When they heard of the death of the Cock Turkey--
When they heard of the death of the Cock Turkey.

PACIFIC BILLOW.
April, 1917.

* * * * *

(5) Breach of Promise Case.

KING'S BENCH DIVISION
Mr. Justice Owes-Leigh.
Sonia _alias_ the Fair Girl _v._ Bimbashi Stew-Hot.
Damages for Breach of Promise.

Counsel for plaintiff, Mr. Wm. Sykes, K.C., of Dukes. The defendant defended himself, and was assisted, where necessary, by the learned judge.

Mr. Sykes, on traversing the Statement of Claim, alleged that the plaintiff had been wrongfully deceived by certain overtures and advances on the part of the defendant in that he had, on many occasions, smiled at her, gesticulated towards her, called her "choke guzelle," winked, and even kissed his fingers at her when the postas were not looking. Moreover, written evidence of a formal declaration of affection and willingness to marry was in possession of the plaintiff. For these reasons, submitted Mr. Sykes, an offer of the contract of matrimony had been made by the defendant and accepted by the plaintiff. The defendant was unwilling to fulfil--or at least hung fire--plaintiff estimated her damages at piastres 500.

The defendant, who was evidently a humorist, was understood to demur.

Mr. Sykes then called his chief witness, the plaintiff, the Fair Girl herself. Her appearance caused a great sensation in the court. There came a dream in daisy-patterned chintz, the pattering of small red-stockinged feet, and a dainty whiff of garlic streamed over the court as the fragile and closely-hooded damsel clambered into the witness-box. Then, and not till then, she threw back her veil, and the whole court beheld, or rather heard, a tone poem of superlative beauty--a song without words. Her striking looks affected the public queerly, who fell to digging one another in the ribs, and the learned judge had twice to threaten to clear the court.

She answered her counsel's questions firmly and sweetly. The defendant then put her through the following cross-examination, by the help of an interpreter.

"Sonia, do you love me?" (Violent nods.)

"How can you love me when I haven't talked to you?"

"You tried to kiss me."

"Who stopped me?"

"The postas."

"Do you want to marry everybody who kisses you?"

"Certainly not. Some kiss for fun, and some for love."

"How could I marry you when I am already married?" The learned judge here intervened to the effect that in Turkey a man might have several wives.

A question was now put by defendant to the witness with reference to other affections, but was disallowed. Plaintiff was now required to produce the written evidence, but counsel for plaintiff, springing to his feet, opposed this proceeding as violating the religious law of the plaintiff's sect. He was overruled by the learned judge, and the witness produced from her stocking a piece of crumpled paper. All eyes were turned on the defendant, and it seemed now improbable that he could win his case. However, after some delay, and much to the embarrassment of plaintiff's counsel, and to the amusement of the rest of the court, the paper was found to be an old laundry list of the defendant, which he may or may not have dropped accidentally.

At this point a startling revelation was made in Mr. Sykes' re-examination of plaintiff to the effect that witness had been twice actually kissed by the defendant, and a collar stud of his, retained in plaintiff's possession, was produced in court. The defendant, who had hitherto conducted an able defence, was considerably put out by the last fact, and applied to the learned judge for special permission further to question the plaintiff. This being given, the Bimbashi severely taxed the witness as to her means of support, and several times the learned judge had to intervene on plaintiff's behalf. The questions were satisfactorily answered, and the witness left the box.

Mr. Sykes summed up in a manner so scathing that the Bimbashi was heard to interrupt the court by saying that he wished both Mr. Sykes and he himself had never been born. Counsel was well into his final peroration, when he chanced to refer to the plaintiff's "rosy innocence," which, on being interpreted to the Fair Girl, caused her to burst out laughing. On being admonished by the learned judge, she inquired of Mr. Justice Owes-Leigh whether the picture of her counsel, Mr. Sykes, talking of innocence, was not too funny even for a Turk. This caused a counter-sentiment in favour of the Bimbashi, and closed the case for the plaintiff.

The defendant, a man of mischievous disposition, and inclined to be humorous, opened his defence by reciting Wordsworth's "We are Seven," and had got well into Mrs. Hemans' "The Graves of a Household," when the learned judge asked what this had to do with the case.

"Nothing, my lord. I am merely making an impression." Upon which the learned judge dropped on him like a chimney, and Mr. Sykes suggested the defendant had tried to make an impression on the Fair Girl.

Unabashed, the defendant proceeded with his case, which was--

(1) That he had said or done nothing to encourage the plaintiff.

(2) If he had done so he had not meant it.

(3) If he had meant to do so he had had no idea----

"You are wasting the time of this court," thundered the learned judge, and demanded the line of defence.

"I have no defence, my lord."

"Then why on earth are you fighting the case?"

"I'm not fighting anybody. I am willing to marry her on certain conditions."

The elucidation of these conditions necessitated the clearance of the court, and for some time the case was heard _in camera_. However, it is generally known that the learned judge himself re-examined both parties, as a result of which the Fair Girl admitted to being secretly in love with a gendarme, and flatly declined to marry the defendant. The case was dismissed without costs on either side. Counsel for plaintiff explained that the officers of Kastamuni had subscribed the amount of plaintiff's court costs. A question by the Bimbashi as to whether plaintiff's counsel had received his professional costs from the Fair Girl was disallowed by the learned judge. Counsel for plaintiff, who became greatly heated, was distinctly heard by some to say something about "a jealous counsel," but the remark evidently did not reach the ears of Mr. Justice Owes-Leigh.

The court rose, and the Fair Girl, whose nerve possibly failed at the last moment, went out on her counsel's arm.

* * * * *

(6) Knights of the Oblong Table.

THE OBLONG TABLE
KNIGHTS AT MESS (Subject: Pooling of Parcels)

KING ARTHUR (_a three-parcel wallah with designs on Sir Saundontius the Good, a fourteen-parcel wallah_): Gentlemen, I propose that in future all parcels are pooled in the mess. (_Loud protests and uproar._)

SIR SAMUEL LONGBOW: No, I'm against that. Fancy dividing two tins of sardines amongst fourteen.

SIR CLIFTUS SMALLKAKE: Well, I'll tell you this much, I shan't give mine up. One cake wouldn't feed two knights.

SIR SULPHUROUS BLEARS: Blank your blankety blank. I'm for pooling the blankety blanks, blank it.

SIR EDWARD LE FUMEUR: I've a chicken, that means a bone each.

SIR POMPOUS OLDASS TO SIR S. BLEARS: How many parcels have you received?

SIR SULPH. BLEARS: None, you blank-headed blankety blank.

SIR LESLIE BEC DE CANARD: Very good idea. I've got flea powders and thirst quenchers. Pool 'em, with pleasure.

SIR RUFUS APPLETREE: I've had no parcels. Even if I had I would have pooled them. (_Laughter and exclamations._)

SIR SHINYTOP STEWARTUS (_who sits next to King A. and knows that in any case Royalty appropriates_): Hear, hear, let's pool them.

SIR CAROL COEUR DE LION: I'm not afraid of speaking my mind. I'm against it, as I don't approve of socialism or cheap parcels.

SIR SAUNDONTIUS THE GOOD (_fourteen-parcel wallah, and feeling under the circumstances that he had better go no further than timidly venturing to agree with the last speaker_): I hardly think so, Sir King, Old Thing. One tin of jam would last me for a week, but the mess scarcely one minute. (_Storm grows wilder, the only voices for the affirmative being those who up to date have received no parcels._)

KING ARTHUR (_much annoyed, and seeing a way of retreat, in a whisper to Sir Shinytop_): Pass the word it's only a ramp against Saundontius. (_The murmur grows to one of general accord and cry of "Pool 'em."_)

SIR SAUNDONTIUS (_an excellent thought-reader, aside to Sir Sulph. Blears_): Pass the word the ramp is only an excuse of King A. to get his point. Ramp or no ramp, the vote will count.

KING ARTHUR (_not a good thought-reader, and believing all well_): Gentlemen, the vote! Who's for pooling them? (_Votes for, six, including Sir Saundontius (who has counted); votes against, eight._)

* * * * *

(7) PARCEL DAY
(_Accele-rato, con moto, mysterioso_)

There's a murmur in the air--in the air--
There are ninety parcels there
Full of jams, anchovies rare
For the prisoners de guerre--
Bless their souls.

Hark! I hear him read the list--read the list--
Six for you--I do insist--
One for me is rather triste--
Though size counts too I wist--
Bless our souls.

At the room we breathless wait--breathless wait--
You must not risk being late,
It might change your parcel's fate,
So on our boldness do not prate.
Bless our souls.

All is o'er, they have them fast--have them fast--
There's some jam that will not last,
Some tongue for a repast--
Quenchers, shirts, and tea! avast!
Bless _their_ souls.

* * * * *

(8) LETTERS COME
(_Adagio_)

Letters come. Letters go.
Winter's gone. Gone the snow.
Gone the footer and toboggan,
Gone our erstwhile trick of hoggin,
And the price prevents our groggin,
Life is so.

Rumours come. Rumours go.
What's the truth?--we don't know.
In Kastamuni our hearts are breaking
And we fear the rude awaking
When from her tracks we'll be making,
Love is so.

* * * * *

(9) "Die Nacht"--an inversion of "Der Tag," a one-act play of 1914.

DIE NACHT
(_A New Version of "Der Tag," all about Billy Primus,
June, 1917._)

SCENE I (AND ONLY).

(_Large room used as smoker-library with tall windows overlooking
the waters of Wandsee. The Kaiser in the uniform of the Death's
Head Hussars, seated behind a table-desk. A shaded lamp throws
the sharp silhouette of his features upon the wall, leaving him
mostly in shadow and the rest of the room in the light. He
presses a bell. Enters_ ZIMMERMAN, _Foreign Minister_.)

KAISER (_motioning Z. to be seated_): Before Talaat arrives let me know briefly how the matter stands.

ZIM.: Turkey desires peace at once, but gives the last possible date as three months. An immediate loan of 10,000,000 liras on mutual security is demanded.

KAISER: Is Enver in with this, or is it a feeler only?

Z.: I assure your Majesty, it requires urgent attention. The whole of Turkey is behind it, led by the few vested and private interests that remain. You remember my saying that as soon as the private interests are hit the Turks will murmur.

KAISER: What hold have they on the public?

Z.: According to Talaat, and privately confirmed, the wealthy classes are heading the general dissatisfaction at the famine prices and daily loss of territory. It is an ultimatum.

KAISER: What course do you propose for extending the three months?

Z.: I suggest the situation would concern the War Minister.

KAISER (_ringing_, HINDENBURG _appears_): The day, my general, is nearer than we thought. Turkey pulls out in three months. How will the map lie then?

H.: With Russia merely held, or, if necessary, by retiring to our system of railways and carrying on with smaller forces on our Eastern Front, we can intensify our shortened line in the West and hold it against all odds until the autumn. This is providing Holland remains neutral and the Turkish campaign is pushed.

KAISER: What is your opinion of the news from Turkey?

H.: Palestine and Syria will go during the summer. Possibly Russia will get astride the Baghdad Railway from their Eastern push.

KAISER: Our connection to Constantinople?

H.: We can keep open for three or four months, when the Western wastage will necessitate withdrawal of Mackensen's forces and further concentration. Say four months, providing Turkish wastages are replaced and she remains firm.

KAISER _to_ Z.: To what extent can you trust Turkey for three months?

Z.: If the line is not cut she can be kept in by our military dispositions, so my reports say. The Turkish forces are kept in the out-field and German troops are fought nearer to the Capital. Their staff is still wholly German, and reports give no ground for uneasiness, except, of course, non-military riots. In which case comes in our "Remedy" among the Ultimate Provisions drawn up by your Majesty. We can seize and garrison Stamboul within twenty-four hours.

KAISER (_turning over papers_): Hindenburg, is your opinion still unaltered about our last stand there? Remember, it is of the greatest consequence to the whole issue. For how long can we hold Stamboul?

H. (_drawing himself up proudly_): Your Majesty, our plans are perfect. On the dispositions made I will undertake to hold Constantinople behind the Tchataldja lines and a south trench for three years against the world.

KAISER: There is nothing overlooked? (_Rings, and_ BETHMAN-HOLLWEG _appears_.)

H.: Nothing. With our shore batteries we could outrange any gun ashore or afloat, and as a submarine base it would be excellent. Ammunition and food would last that time.

KAISER (_dreamily_): Three years. It would astonish posterity.

BETH.-HOLLWEG: Magnificent, my Emperor, but more than necessary.

KAISER: You mean England would be sickened out long before then?

B.-H.: If the rest of the war-map could remain as it is, it wouldn't be worth her while to insist on unconditional terms. But gallery play in Stamboul is useless once our line gives in the West.

KAISER (_to_ HINDENBURG): If we sacrifice the Roumanian line and hold one across Austria instead, make a stand in Constantinople, and concentrate all our forces on the Western Front, how long can we go on for?

H.: To the autumn of 1918, when it will all collapse like a house of cards.

KAISER (_to_ B.-H.): The siege of Constantinople then would not be mere gallery play, Herr Chancellor?

B.-H.: There is yet a more serious factor. We can crush or sacrifice Turkey in revolution, but before a revolution in Germany your Majesty's guns will melt like butter in the sun.

KAISER: Have you not quietened the National Liberals by nominally conceding the constitutional point of veto, and in assembling and proroguing the Reichstag?

B.-H.: It's not that. Neither is it the Socialists or the Left Centre. It's the agrarian classes of the Out Provinces. They already imagine that disaster has overtaken their absorption by Prussia, and thought towards decentralization must not be trusted too far. As they had least to win so they have most to lose in a war of taxation and attrition. Moreover, they fear the aftermath of fearful reprisals if the enemy carries war into Germany.

KAISER: But my army, surely it can maintain its supremacy?

B.-H.: We cannot spare troops to garrison railways, and once the seed is sown lines will be cut, communications interrupted, and the army--excepting the Prussians--which is sick of fighting, will dissolve. I speak, your Majesty, from a near view of facts. Three months may be short, but when Turkey goes the terms will be harder.

KAISER: Turkey may go. Constantinople will not go. (_Rings._)

B.-H.: The time to negotiate is now. We shall not succeed in sickening England out, and if we wait until we are right back before we ask peace, our enemies will push. (_Enter_ VON KAPELLAR.)

KAISER: Von Kapellar, First Sailor of the World, you are our present hope. You have three months within which to paralyse British shipping completely--there must not remain one ship afloat. Everything comes back to this.

VON K.: My Emperor, in that time I can dismember, but I cannot annihilate. Every submarine must consult opportunity. Their chief boats are convoyed. If necessary, the American and Japanese destroyer flotillas will be used against us. It would take a year before we got at her throat. Besides, she is building.

KAISER: It must be done. It shall be. We are working against a time-table. With England cut off, and Turkey remaining in, Germany is consolidated. Von Tirpitz was right, after all. It is our chief weapon of parley. You must smash every ship and redouble our submarine tactics ten times from to-night--from this minute. I see it all plainly and all will be well.

(VON KAPELLAR _withdraws_. KAISER _motions to the Chancellor, who
disappears through the door, to reappear immediately conducting_
TALAAT PASHA.)

B.-H.: I present to your Majesty our friend and Embassy from Turkey--Talaat Pasha.

(_The_ KAISER _rises to his full height, silent and immovable,
for ten awful seconds. And during those ten seconds the heart of_
TALAAT, _humped violently, as he beheld, at last, beyond the
bowed heads of these grim men, the famous figure, strangely
terrible, of the Great War Lord standing there dark and silent as
Fate in the lamp shadow--the War Lord that had carpeted the earth
with blood_. TALAAT, _not being used to these things, bows low.
The_ KAISER _advances and takes him cordially by the two hands_.)

KAISER: Welcome, faithful friend of the Fatherland in peace and war, and soon in victory. You see, I have just been reviewing my sinews of war. A magnificent piece of news has just arrived. We have smashed the Mistress of the Seas. It but remains to sweep away the fragments. (_Enter_ VON KAPELLAR.) I will introduce to you Baron Von Kapellar, the hero of the hour.

(_Introduces them to_ TALAAT, _and after a few moments'
conversation they withdraw, and_ TALAAT _is left alone with the_
KAISER, _who smokes_.)

KAISER: Your arrival, my friend Talaat, has been the precursor of most wonderful news. I am happy to be able to tell the distinguished leader of our brave and faithful ally that the end of the war is a matter of a few weeks only. In four days we have sunk seventy-two large boats. There is a panic in England, and we have been touched about terms of peace.

TALAAT: Oh, that is good. My mission was for ten millions now, and to say we can't stand the strain for more than three months.

KAISER: The strain? My generals will see to that. We are at England's throat. You must press every ounce--her terms depend on these blows. We could have peace to-night, but the peace we want requires manoeuvring for. You remain firm, do you not? (TALAAT _nods meekly_.) Our submarines are supreme, and every day the position improves.

TALAAT: There are riots in Constantinople.

KAISER: I will arrange for sufficient policing of the place. Now do not misunderstand me. The case for Turkey is everything or nothing, and without Germany it will be nothing. You are to dine with the Chancellor and me to-night. Is there any question you would like to ask?

TALAAT: What is your plan of retirement in the West?

KAISER: To fall back to a line we can hold for years--to prove to our enemies that at the rate of their advance it will take them two years to get into Germany, which extra effort will not mean so much gain to them more than they have at present--but the expenditure of millions of lives and double their war debt. That being so, we win. And now (_rising_) it is my royal wish to distinguish this occasion by conferring on you a Grand Duchy of the Fatherland. I have one vacant. The revenues have accumulated since the war. We will speak further of this at dinner.

(_The_ KAISER, _smiling at_ TALAAT, _shakes him by the hand. As
the Chancellor reappears for_ TALAAT, _the latter, pale with
excitement, bows himself out of the royal presence_.)

(_The_ KAISER _falls dejectedly into his chair and rings again_.
PROFESSOR ADAM LASSOON _enters--the arch-spy, Press gagger, and
confidential friend_.)

KAISER: Well, Adam. What news?

L.: There has been much public comment on the fact that the Reichstag has even made it possible to demand changes in the Constitution so openly. This has been dealt with. There is also a growing tendency towards isolation. Men sit in cafés and talk. The world is against us, and even the entrance of Hayti has a bad moral effect. They hear the hordes already thundering at our gates for vengeance. This also has been dealt with and articles prescribed for it.

KAISER: Be extra vigilant about the provinces, and make a submarine boom.

(LASSOON _disappears_.)

(KAISER, _now alone and smoking hard, walks to the window. He
looks out on the lake in silence. The moonlight streams in
across the room. As he watches, a black sailing cloud obscures
the moon, and the_ KAISER, _turning down the lights, sinks back
dreamily in his chair. The smoke from his cigar floats up in
thick clouds as he rests his haggard face in one hand. He sleeps.
Past the smothered light the mists grow thicker and in them
suddenly appears a form, a spectre--it is the_ SHADE OF BISMARK.
_With fearful voice it speaks._)

THE SHADE: It is true, Wilhelm. You have need for the pilot, nicht wahr? The glorious empire I gave is on the brink of an abyss. Colonies, commerce, shipping, armies, friends--all are gone. The isolation of England has ended in the isolation of Germany. The very cement with which I bound State by State to Prussia is crumbling to dust. Germany is sliding--soon she will be an avalanche charging to her doom. Even now there is barely time to avert the catastrophe. You dropped me. This is my revenge.

KAISER (_awakes with a start, and the_ SHADE _flees_): What a fearful dream (_quotes_)--

"There is a tide in the affair of Nations, Which, taken at the flood, leads God knows where."

On such a full sea are we now afloat, and we must take the current when it serves or, like our submarines, go to the bottom. I'll ring for wine....

(_Rings as the curtain falls._)

Written in June, 1917.

* * * * *

(10) Ballad by a bombardier on night of Fall of Kut.

THE FALL OF KUT
_April 29th, 1916_

Crack me the last bottle of date-juice
And hand me some leaves of the lime--
For to-day falls Kut-el-Amarah,
And for us, God knows, it's time.

We're only a siege-battered army,
And most of us bones and skin;
And we thought that our troubles were over;
But we find they only begin.

For five months the might of the Turk
Tried to take this tiny Kut.
Now he says that we are devils--
And we know that he can loot.

We thrashed him at Shaiba and Kurna,
At Amarah we bluffed him to flight,
At Essin we grappled and threw him--
How we swore when he left in the night!

That gave us Kut-el-Amarah
Where runs in the Shat-el-Hai.
'Tis the key to Mesopotamia,
And surrounded by Arab canaille.

We were now a conquering army,
And we fought well and ate well and drank;
And though he'd retreated to Baghdad,
We followed for military swank.

The march was a long one and thirsty,
Still we thought of the Baghdad goal--
Till the Turk barred our way at Ctesiphon,
Thrice our force and entrenched like a mole.

But Townshend saw it all swiftly--
To him were all our wins due.
"I'll not fight without reinforcements--
There's my communications, too."

Now, it's a trick they have in the Army,
To ask you "What's absurd?"
So unsupported, Charlie T.
He took them--at their word.

"It's a risk, and I'm not for it;
But if fight it's got to be,
We'll fight like the Sixth Division,"
Quoth our General, Charlie T.

We found his flank and joined battle,
And held with a frontal attack.
Stormed his first line--he vacated his second,
Was reinforced, and we had to fall back.

A third of our force on the field;
But the Turk had suffered much more.
We knew that the game was up,
So retired with the honours of war.

Then came the wild hordes of Islam,
Hot-footed upon our track.
They caught us at Um-al-Tabul,
But in the open we flung them back.

Mars surely was in his chariot,
And smiled at Townshend then;
And Charles made good to the God of War,
And snatched from the grave dead men.

We hurled him back and held him,
And got our transport through--
It was a glorious gunner's show--
But that's 'twixt me and you.

For forty hours we marched on,
The nights were fearfully cold.
Men hungered and fainting, and men
That slept as they walked, I'm told.

But Townshend got us to Kut,
And the remnants stumbled in.
And Hunger and Death stared from our eyes,
But we counted it all a win.

We dug down deep and quickly--
Next day they were all around,
And our planes flew away to the southward.
We were alone and battle bound.

We fought them from the trenches--
We came to blows in the Fort.
We fought them and we fought the floods--
And then the food ran short.

Relief had been expected
In two weeks, or four, at the most.
So we starved, or we died by the hundred;
But we stuck each man to his post.

All this time the enemy, vengeful,
That ringed us tightly round,
Swept us with shell and rifle fire
That followed us underground.

Our front line gazed into the blue,
Where Formless Things rode by,
And followed the wake of sound and heard
Them burst in the old Serai.

Or sometimes it was the Hospital,
And sometimes anywhere,
And later came planes that bombed us--
'Twas only luck served you there.

So the months went by, and we ate husks,
Chupatties, and mule, and weeds.
We'd Divisional Orders for breakfast,
And ribs of the silent steeds.

And still the Relief kept coming--
The Staff nominated the day.
Twenty times they fixed it for certain,
And each time explained the delay.

So we swallowed disappointments,
Tommy only groused his share;
But one sad day the floods came,
And Destiny seemed unfair.

The trenches filled with water,
And the plain showed scarce a sod,
And we slithered and waded, or murmured--
"On top, for the love of God!"

And many's the unfortunate devil
Fell to the sniper's shot
Through "chancing his arm" in the open;
But the others heeded it not.

Once again, on that waste of waters,
I gaze from the gun-pit floor,
Where Tanks and I kept vigil
Through each hour of the twenty-four.

I see the maidan silvered
With waters in the dawn--
Dark lines of distant parapets.
Fresh earth against the morn,

With files of khaki turbans
Moving forward to relief--
I see the busy shovel,
Hear the cursings underneath.

Farther still, beyond the sand-hills,
The trenches of our foe,
Seeming silent and deserted--
But I know that they're below

In lines on lines encircling
Us, north, south, east, and west--
And if my glasses tell me true,
They're reinforcing for the test.

'Tis moonlight, and they're sleeping,
The detachments of my guns--
Here, just behind the limber,
These best of England's sons.

For the dug-outs are now flooded,
Washed by this muddy sea--
The gun-wheels half in water,
The breech-blocks scarcely free.

And parapets and sandbags,
Our trenches fallen, too--
There's room for ammunition,
But not for me or you.

Once more, from the mouth of my dug-out,
I smoke the leaves of the lime--
Sort the destinies of my shells,
"Percussion" and also "time."

There's a light in the telephone dug-out--
I think I'll have a peep,
For I'm half expecting a message--
Maybe the Bombardier's asleep.

Asleep! in the arms of Hunger;
But I'll report him not,
Though I "rounded" him well for his slackness,
And returned to my watery lot.

Past sheets of wintry moonlight
I see the drooping palm,
And the ribboned edge of the Tigris,
Dreaming of Eden's calm.

Hard by, in ghastly stillness,
His four feet toward the moon,
I see the corpse of a stricken horse,
Death-knelled by the shrapnel-tune.

A broken wagon there yonder--
A topee adrift in the flood--
Its owner was strafed in the trenches,
There's the case of the shell in the mud.

I hear the belated mule-carts
A-rumbling on to the Fort
Under the cover of night--
For so their provisions were brought.

I hear the jackals' chorus,
Athirst for expected prey,
Where the Arab tribes lie sleeping,
Patiently awaiting "the day."

Enough! these things are over,
The moon is on the wane,
And the palm-fronds' festooned shadows
I ne'er shall see again.

For Kut at last is fallen,
And more men have to die--
Our flag is down, and the Crescent
Waves o'er the old Serai.

God grant to us, now captives--
Who at Death's gate boldly dare
Boast we haven't succumbed to battle--
Grant us this fervent prayer--

That in our future cheerless,
We yet shall know o'er Kut
Our avengers see the Union Jack--
Tramp the Crescent underfoot.

To that, then, drink from this date-juice,
And fill up your pipe with the lime.
We have fought till the Great Gong sounded--
Till the Referee called out--"Time!"

SPARKLING MOSELLE.

* * * * *

(11) THE SILK GAUNTLET
OR, HOW WE ESCAPED FROM KASTAMUNI
By "A Kuttite."

I. THE SHIP.

The Kastamuni Kuttites Klearout Kompany was immediately launched in accordance with the advertised prospectus in _Smoke_, and the plans proceeded apace. Silently and secretly the airship was constructed in the Rabbit Warrens of the Lower House under the supervision of Captains Tipton and Wells. The design, one of the simplest, consisted in the usual vast air-chambers, and underneath a reinforced carrier named the Raft guaranteed to contain two hundred men. Beneath that ran the main shaft--a street tube bought at long intervals in parts from the bazaar, and to it were fitted some beechwood propellers, a special patent by Parsnip, and made by Bamptarius and Munrati. As no engine was available, the motor power was derived from treadles arranged in pairs on either side of the main-screw shaft, and fitted thereto by bevelled cogs turning in teethed collars along the screw. In other words, twenty old bicycle pedals and cranks had been stuck on to bevelled cogged collars along the shaft, and when pedalled vigorously by twenty stalwart officers, it was calculated by the designers that a speed of at least thirty knots would be attained. A secret trial was out of the question, but so great was the faith of every one in the abilities of our members of the R.F.C. that parole was recalled in small batches so as not to occasion suspicion. Then one day an excited whisper spread from mouth to mouth. Although officers lounged about as usual, and even played footer, or smoked and read, the hearts of all beat high with hope, and in every eye was the old look one remembers on the evening of our intended debouch from Kut. The whisper was, "To-night's the night."

II. THE ESCAPE.

There was no moon--only a faint starlight that seemed to intensify the darkness. At 2 a.m. strange figures, some hatless, all bootless, and some in pyjamas, flitted swiftly and noiselessly through the empty streets. The rendezvous was the large stone mosque in the grassy plot to the right flank beneath Mr. Smoke's window, which had been selected as the most suitable place for fitting the "Homeward Bound" together. At this rendezvous the committee had been working on it since midnight, and when the others arrived the "airship" rode proudly in the air tethered to the minaret by a cable. I am now writing on board, and the blue sea is far beneath us....

In order to picture our embarkation, cast your mind back to the sketch in a previous issue of _Smoke_ of a "Homeward Bound" model riding anchored to the minaret, and dark figures with monkey-like spasmodic movements crawling along a rope ladder to the airship. Stores and water were quickly got on board. There was a committee for everything, and nothing had been forgotten. The organization was wonderful. The bandsmen were privileged to bring their instruments. In fifteen minutes we were all aboard, and even with the extra weight she still strained upwards at the ropes.

The first fatigue took their places at the treadles, and the propellers whirred. Crack! A shot rang sharply through the night--another and another! It was the alarm being given to Kastamuni. In thirty seconds it had grown to a fusillade. Lights flashed here and there in the town, but the "Homeward Bound" was in darkness....

"Cast off," shouted our Commander Tipton, and as the ropes were cut the "ship" leaped to a height of 10,000 feet. "Ye gods!" "Heavens!" "What's happened?" were heard on all sides. What a leap at the heavens it was. We fell sprawling, clutching at anything, but the caution we had previously received saved us, and for the most part we held the guard-ropes. You see, we had expected something, but scarcely that. Yet the plans were perfect. The 10,000 feet had been calculated to a pound of gas. "It's all right," yelled out Tipton, no doubt accustomed to these stunts. The fatigue party had been jerked half off their seats and couldn't pedal as her bow tilted upwards. That was righted with the air valves, and in a few seconds she brought up at dead level. Then the fatigues started pedalling hard, and we waited--waited. A cheer burst out as the "Homeward Bound" slowly started forward, her pace increasing every second. Then, overcome with joy, the band seized their instruments and struck up an air. Away down in Kastamuni the people awakened out of their sleep by the alarm, heard a soft whirring high up in the sky, and then the strains of "Destiny Waltz" came floating down to their astonished ears. This changed to "Rule Britannia" and "God Save the King."

Bullets pished-pished past us, but as we got further away we lit up, and all they probably saw was a light or two in the sky, moving like stars towards the hills.

III. THE FLIGHT.

We now proceeded to make ourselves comfortable on the raft. We rigged up sleeping corners, a reading corner, a band corner, and storeroom--although many stores were suspended from the airship by dangling ropes. Not the least feature about the appointments was the coffee-shop and bar, presided over by Sir Bedevere le Geant, King Arthur's henchman and mastik drawer. The Oblong Table as the chief promoters, with Mr. Smoke, of the scheme, rigged up an oblong table of sorts, and kept up the old order of things, King Arthur being in great form. Sir Shinytop regaled us all with humorous lamentations for his lost love in Kastamuni. The consumption of _mastik_ was limited to ten per man per night. Oh, the sensation of those first starry hours of freedom, the exquisite sensation of easy movement (it wasn't my fatigue) on a glorious early summer's night, the thrill of joy after months of confinements, the speeding on towards liberty! If you have been a prisoner of war you will know the meaning of this. It was exactly the reverse sensation to that we had on going upstream as captives after Kut. So we drank, drank, drank mastik after mastik and thanked the gods.

But I must hasten to repair an omission and say something about the "Homeward Bound." Tipton was commander and aeronaut wallah, assisted by Lieut. Nicholson, R.N., navigating officer. Captain Wells "repairs," and Sir Lancelot le Fumeur as international lawyer in case of complications, Lieut. Wulley, M.A. (Maiden Aunt), as Intelligence Officer, had a little crow's-nest on top to which he pluckily scrambled by a ladder. In an ingenious manner he had drawn maps all around him on the silk cover of the ship. Major Syer had Supply, and Captain Reyne did Sergeant-Major of Fatigues, as he got more work out of the boys who went on in two-hour spells. The "Admiral," our pilot, had much time to spare, and started a book with Fludd and Hunger on the various risks uncovered, also betting on where we should land and when. The tiny bridge was forward in the bows, with a glass window that looked out ahead. Some of the orderlies were on the after-part of the raft and others on a trailer just below. Away astern, and towed by a long tow-rope, was the dinghy, a contrivance of King Arthur's by which punishments were inflicted, the boat being hauled alongside, and after the delinquent being placed therein, let out astern. The first offender was Sir Pompous for _lèse majesté_, and as he drifted past he yelled--_quelle politesse!_ Sir Sulphurous followed for "language," and Brabby for promoting a fight between two small gamecocks he had smuggled on board, thus drawing a crowd and tilting the "airship" at a dangerous angle. Hummerbug came next for regretting the kaimakam was not with him. Most mysterious of all was a buoyant canoe called the cradle, also in tow, that floated high over the "Homeward Bound." Great secrecy was maintained about this, but rumour had it that Sir Lancelot le Fumeur and Sir Carol le Filbert had worked this project for exploiting a new model in the London music halls--in other words, that Sonia the Fair Girl was in the cradle. In support of this theory it may be mentioned that during the first night of the voyage each of these knights was missing for a time, and could nowhere be found. We averaged about twenty knots and soon passed over the dark passage 7000 feet below us that stood for the ranges we had so long beheld as the horizon of our imprisonment. Less than three hours after leaving, as the dawn was breaking, we saw far beneath us a silver feathery line.

"Gentlemen," said our genial commander, "Turkey is behind you--behold the sea." A small wiry figure came scrambling down the observation ladder in breathless excitement. "It is the Black Sea," he said, and every one laughed, and Le Fumeur, who sat writing in the corner, swore he would shove that into _Smoke_ if he was hung for it. By the way, he promised us a last edition of _Smoke en voyage_. It appeared yesterday, but all in good time. We kept on this course for an hour, and the mist prevented us seeing any shipping. In the distance we had seen a few white dots--possibly Sinope.

"Head wind springing up. Storm ahead, sir," reported the pilot to the commander. "Clap on pace," yelled old Tipton. "Stick her at it, half-hour fatigues, band strike up, emergency guard-ropes out, lash everything quick."

The wildest scrimmage took place. Sleepers were trodden on, mastik bottles upset, and people sent sprawling as the "first twenty," all fit as fleas, sprang to take a relief. How those fellows pedalled. The propellers screamed a higher note, and for a moment we swept along; but a second later, as the tide of wind caught us, our pace slackened more and more until we remained almost stationary. The wind whistled through us, and the canvas screens on the raft reported like cannon shots. Every one had hold of something, except the band, who were in a sheltered corner. We played ragtime and poppies to some purpose, but when we struck up the "Marche aux Flambeaux" a miraculous thing happened. Scarcely had we done ten bars when we bounded ahead as if we had cut a tow-rope holding us back. We did ten knots in the teeth of the gale. The fatigue pedalled six revolutions of a leg to every note of the Marche, and The Crochet set the pace. The whole ship cheered, and a solitary shout came from far behind. This was from dear old Pompous in the dinghy, whom every one had forgotten. We beheld the latter being twirled round and round like a spinner, but now that we moved its occupant shouted with glee to find himself on an even keel. This kept on for two hours, and as man after man gave out or got cramp another replaced him at the pedals. "Storm approaching, portbow," yelled the pilot. "Emergency holds every man. Prepare to mount," our commander yelled in a cavalry voice. The band instruments were secured. We held tight. A lull had succeeded the heavy wind, and somehow the sea was much nearer.

"More speed, more speed, keep her head to it," was the order.

Suddenly, without a second's warning, an avalanche of wind swept down on us, and the shock of impact seemed to hurl us a mile back. "Stick it, boys," yelled Captain Reyne. "Splendid, splendid. Try a bit more, kick it in."

Stuff got swept overboard. We held like grim death. The ship plunged and reared like a mad horse as we were hurled from side to side, and the deck took every imaginable angle. But Nicholson somehow managed to keep her nose to it. Something snapped, and there was a wild beating and creaking. The next moment the repair party, headed by Captain Wells, all on life-lines, got to work, and one or two who fell off were fished back. Then the propeller went, and a violent controversy was waged between Parsnip and Bamptarius on the matter. But a new one was fitted by Bamptarius with extraordinary skill and daring. It was just in time. The ship was bearing round, and once beam on she would have gone smash. I remember looking astern the while and seeing the dinghy playing high jinks and whizzing like a ball. Then came the hail and lightning that played over the steel ribs in an awful fashion. Something else gave on top, and there was a wild fluttering of canvas.

"Hold tight," yelled Tipton. It happened the second time, and this time much worse.

A man astride of a bullet couldn't have gone up faster than we did. Something to do with exploding a gas charge--a secret stunt of Tipton's own. We found ourselves gliding along smoothly and evenly with incredible swiftness, possibly doing eighty knots. The relief from the storm-tossing to the thrill of racing smoothly was wonderful. Have you ever while yachting beaten up in the teeth of a heavy gale round a headland and had the sea sweeping over you and the boat dancing and leaping like a mad thing, and then suddenly found yourself gliding down a smooth channel with the wind behind you? Then you will know what this was.

"Why on earth did not you do it before?" we all demanded.

Tipton laughed. "To lend colour to our enterprise, of course, and then we have now left one emergency charge only."

Our first thought was to have the dinghy alongside and rescue Sir Pompous. We found him very white. "Thank God you are alive," we said.

"Seems so!" he answered sarcastically, a favourite phrase of his.

"Fearful time, wasn't it?"

"No. I liked it, of course."

With that King Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and poured half a bottle of mastik down his throat and shirt. Sir Lancelot gingerly climbed along the ladder with a reviver for Lieutenant Wully, expecting to see that officer in a faint, instead of which he was quite cheery with an empty bottle of mastik protruding from his pocket.

"How the devil did you stick on?"

"Stick on? Oh, eashy!"

"What's this?" asked Le Fumeur, producing the empty mastik bottle from the pocket of our Intelligence Officer.

"Ohsh, thaths noshing. Nerve resthorah. Keep oush cold, verish draftish ere. Donst shay anyshing to boysh. Don't wansh go dingsh."

Sir Lancelot helped him down, and he slept.

IV. LOST.

The wind fell and the sun came out. The ship was put to rights and, scarcely knowing where we were, we headed due north. It seemed about midday. We had a full ration and dosed away in a pleasant sunshine to the steady creaking of some stay or rippling flutter of some loose ribbon in the air-chambers above. We smoked and dreamed of home. A little later our Intelligence Officer, now at his post again, assured us he could tell from the birds beneath us that we were near land.

"What land?" we all asked.

"I'll tell you at tea-time," he said. At tea-time he reappeared. "Through a break in the mists below us I'm sure I saw a town," he said, "white dots on green."

"Possibly sheep," said one.

"Or sea birds on a green sea," ventured another.

"Rot," replied he. "It is not green; why, it is the Black Sea."

Two hours later, as the twilight fell around us, we saw, as in a flash through a rent veil, the twinkling of a myriad lights. Some one suggested fire-flies. "A mirage," said an orderly from the stern raft.

Without doubt it was a town. Great excitement prevailed.

Our navigating officer believed it to be Odessa.

"I believe it's Constanty," declared Wully, and as the lights grew nearer he became more insistent. "The sea is beyond and around the lights, it must be Constanty." And half an hour later, "I tell you I can see mosques and minarets; besides, I know Constanty. I am absolutely----"

Boom! A dull billowy wave of sound reached us.

"That proves it," he said; "we are being fired at."

On this a council was held, and it was decided to steer due N.W. We ran before a strong southerly wind that until now had been on our port beam. We did about sixty knots, and by fifty hoped to have reached Russian territory. But to be quite sure we kept on until midnight, when we descended to what we considered was 5000 feet. Suddenly a cry from the pilot brought every one to his feet. There, not a 1000 feet below us--a mere 300 yards--were the white-crested, creeping waves towards which we were rushing.... "Hold on." Boom! Swish! Our second barrel of gas was exploded and we rushed up and up. But once there the "Homeward Bound" began to sink again.

"Pedal, pedal, or we are lost," shouted Tipton. And they _did_ pedal. But we still sank slowly....

"Lighten ship," he roared, as the repair party tackled a huge rent in the side of the bag. Things were slung overboard wholesale and the dinghy cut adrift. The ship then steadied and gently rose, but not before a large volume of the _Mastik_ was hurled overboard by Blind Hookey.

"My poems, my precious poems," shouted Mr. Belton, as he leaped to save them. He slipped, beat the air, and had not Mr. _Smoke_ seized him by the coat tails and twirled himself around a stanchion he had followed _Mastik_ into the abyss of mist and cold grey sea. The gas generator was set going and we gradually rose to 10,000 feet once more.

"Gentlemen," said our commander coolly, "we have been under way twenty-four hours, and I beg to report we are lost at sea."

Lost, lost, lost, the words echoed. A ringing cheer was our only answer.

* * * * *

(12) FROM MY BEDROOM WINDOW

Spring has come. The tree I told you of is thick with leaves. And so when as now the evening wind blows, a changed music falls on my ear. Instead of the soft swish of branches is the lisp of the young leaves, stirring in delight as they listen to the story about the winter dreams of the old tree. Birds are back once more, Old Jim Crow, the jackdaws that awoke me early last summer, and a little fellow like a wagtail who in his own fashion is accompanying the lyrics of a thrush in the mosque garden close by. One and all they have the look of adventurers thick upon them. "Happy to meet, Sorry to part, Happy to meet again," is the leit-motif of their song. Perhaps like birds we shall ourselves soon return to English woods.

A great window is this of mine with its view from the garden across the town to the distant hills. Now, to appreciate a view fully, it is imperative that you shall have spent just previously some considerable time in trenches and dug-outs and gun-pits. No, it is not a view either, but rather a stage. In the background is the drop-scene of mountainous hills, dotted with villages and scored with paths and gullies. It is a scene shadowed with forests and sprayed by the advancing sunlight, or sometimes by this light misty rain. Other drop-scenes are the mists that advance or retreat with the rain, and sometimes a thunder blanket shuts off the stage just outside the town. For the curtain there is the mantle of night--when there is no moon.

An extraordinary stage. Let us look at it more closely. I can promise you no set drama, but great entertainment if you are the sort of fellow to enjoy sitting on a bit of a hill above a winding river in the country--with a pipe and some field-glasses wherewith to watch the affairs of the world around you. No man-made drama, no plot, no prompter, and not a cue. The players stray on to and off the stage, and suggestion can do lots.

In the fowlyard below two cocks have renewed their battle for the right to crow last. "Seems so," says Sir Pompous beneath my window, as he watches them intently. The youngest pullet, coy and not uncoquettish, withdraws from the scene of combat to arrange her feathers in the far corner. She, in any case, will have to abide by the decision of the contest.

Cynically the old hens condescend to a dull interest only, contrasting this sorry affair with the strenuous and gory combats that waged over _them_ in _their_ day, when their hearts, too, were young. Love's young dream long since awakened to matter of factness and steady routine. But for an example of love still dreaming observe the cocks themselves--the younger lamenting his lack of experience, but game; the elder no doubt regretting that his Virgil is not at hand to adorn further Georgics with the account of his strenuous endeavours--to point anew that old moral in the Battle of the Bulls.

A mate has joined the chirruping wagtail with many a ship and twist of her small head. The cock-bird, prepared to earn his amours, indulges in risky flights round the twigs and back again, landing suddenly beside her with a little joyful chirp. "In the spring a brighter crimson comes upon the robin's breast--in the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest."

"The call of Spring," as Pacific Roller says in another column, "announcing that the season of love is at hand and inviting youth to put on his gayest apparel."

There has just appeared in the foreground of our stage the wee bear Alphonse, delightful little fellow except when he makes that awful noise--and why shouldn't he? 'Tis time, he thinks, that he was on the warpath alongside his dam, for it grows dark and the call of the wild rings out for him in clarion notes, challenging him to fulfil his destiny. Manfully the little fellow is trying to do so, roaring lustily and making commendable attempts to stand on his hind legs and reach a bough. As he thrusts his way through some _débris_ I can see his woodcraft is coming on apace.

The first drops of rain are falling, and as they swish on to him his wee heart, I've no doubt, throbs restlessly for freedom once again. Freedom. Poor little lad, I sympathize with him. Different from the cocks or the wagtail he, if he could speak, would agree with me on this point at least. But one thing he doesn't know, and that is the future, nor how close the hand of Fate is to him even now. For it is as good as decided to poison him for being in disposition incompatible with all of us--to wit, that he is a bear and roars. As a matter of fact, five grains of strychnine were given to him last night and he survived.

And what could augur better for the normality of the Knights of the Oblong Table than to say that some cheered and all felt glad when, to-day, we saw Alphonse still going strong, apparently overdosed. The iron of Kastamuni, that rumour says has entered into more than one soul (and rusted, too, withal in others), cannot have bitten so very deep into King Arthur's Knights. And Alphonse the bear, innocent of our design or of the attitude of Destiny, stands on his hind legs like a wee man and chuckles. Is all this drama a tragedy, or comedy, or what?

Please note there has been a duel over an _affaire de coeur_, a love episode, a captive, with a great Fate of uncertain mood flinging a dark shadow at the end....

Past the column of grey smoke thickly climbing through the raining mist, a black speck moves down a white path. It is a labourer returning from his fields beyond the town. To the west is the smothered glow of the setting sun. In the central background of the stage above the high lights, observe a wee, grey coil of smoke twisting upwards from the shining speck in the gully. I know the hut well, although never has it appeared larger than the tiniest button. There is a romance of an old man and woman, a son at the war, and a pretty girl within, if you look closely!! Behind the house a long track winds uphill to the pass. But the last light has left the hills and I see only the dark patches of forest. Look carefully, and, if I mistake not, you will see an advancing pair of darkly burning orbs. They are the eyes of another Alphonse, luckier, let us believe, on the warpath, traversing his domains, the dusky fastnesses of the wild glens....

The sun has set and the rain falls more thickly on the hills. Through the gossamer of moving mist fond fancies steal to me. And so the last scene before this slowly falling curtain sings of the Past.

What play does not? It is the song of the rain. Would you like to hear it?...

* * * * *

THE SONG OF THE RAIN

Oh, I'm longing for the homeland way past the setting sun--
I'm yearning for old faces and for more sober fun;
But sometimes, as at even, my heart with pleasure fills,
While it drifts back to England--when the rain is on the hills.

Oh, I'm tired of the Orient, I want the old, old lanes.
I want the Dear Old Country--her pleasures and her pains.
I want the white-frilled hedgerows--the heather and the rills
That lift me back to England now the rain is on the hills.

Night's mantle softly falling o'er Kastamuni town,
The last dim colours flying, dark grey and dusky brown.
I hear the goatherd piping to the flock his good-night trills,
And my heart hies back to England--for the rain is on the hills.

Below me in its basin the old town dreams away--
I see the first light flicker that ends another day.
The distant bugles dying--the muezzin floats and stills
My heart to pray for England--when the rain is on the hills.

Oh, I'm longing for the homeland, my homefolk and my pals,
I know that some have fallen 'mid the bullets' madrigals;
But a memory's in her woodlands--a love no distance kills--
And to-night my heart's in England--for the rain is on the hills.

PACIFIC ROLLER.