Volume 152 — FAITH AND DOUBT IN THE FATHERLAND.

News of triumph, very cheering, Fills our marrows full of sap, News of FALKENHAYN careering Right across Roumania's map, Tales of corn to swell our tummies, tales of golden oil to tap. Everywhere we go victorious Over earth and on the blue; More and more superbly glorious Ring the deeds we dare and do, Till they sound almost too splendid to be absolutely true. Here and there, indeed, a sceptic Mutters language rather rude; Here and there a wan dyspeptic, Yielding to a peevish mood, Wonders why a winning nation finds itself so short of food. When carillons rock the steeple And the bunting's ordered out, I have noticed several people Ask themselves in honest doubt Why the War-Lord's lifted finger fails to bring a peace about. Yet, though England, crushed and quailing, Kicks his dove-bird down the stair, I shall trust, with faith unfailing, In my KAISER'S conquering air (Still I blame no man for thinking there must be a catch somewhere).