Volume 150 — A MOTHER TO AN EMPEROR.
Reading edition
I made him mine in pain and fright, The only little lad I'd got, And woke up aching night by night To mind him in his baby cot; And, whiles, I jigged him on my knee And sang the way a mother sings, Seeing him wondering up at me Sewing his little things, And never gave a thought to wars and kings. I heard his prayers or smacked him good, And watched him learning miles ahead Of all his mother ever could, Roughing my hands to set him bread; And when he was a man I tried Not to forget as he was grown, And didn't keep him close beside All for my very own— And meanwhiles you was brooding on your throne. And now—He wouldn't wait no more, I've helped him go, I couldn't choose; My one's another in the score Of all you've grabbed; seems like I lose. But don't you think you've done so well Taking my lad that's got but one; He'll fight for me, he'll fight like hell, And, when you're down and done, You'll curse the day you stole my only son.
Commercial Candour.
From a shoemaker's advertisement:—
"8 years' wear! 12 hours' ease."
Comforting the Foe.
"Books and Magazines may be handed in at the counter of any Post Office, unwrapped, unlabelled, and hunaddressed."
Parish Magazine.
"To be LET, FURNISHED, cosily FURNISHED COUNTRY HOUSE, offering rest, recuperation, recreation, and the acme of comfort; 10 bedrooms, 2 bath, 4 reception; stabling, garage, billiards, tennis, croquet, miniature rifle range, small golf course, fringed pool, gardens, walks, telephone, radiators, gas; near town and rail; rent £3 3s. weekly, including gardener's wages."—The Devon and Exeter Gazette.
With a lodge, a deer park, and a "revenue of populars," this would be a bargain.
HOW TO TALK TO THE WOUNDED.
Dear Old Lady. "Have you two men been at the Front?"
Soldier. "Bless you, no, Mum. We've just 'ad a bit of a scrap together, to keep fit."