Volume 153 — ON VIMY RIDGE.

On Vimy Ridge I sit at rest With Loos and Lens outspread below; An A.D.C.—the very best— Expounds the panoramic show; Lightly I lunch, and never yet Has quite so strong an orchestration Supplied the music while I ate My cold collation. Past Avion through the red-roofed town There at our feet our white line runs; Fresnoy's defences, smoking brown, Shudder beneath our shattering guns; Pop-pop!—and Archie's puffs have blurred Some craft engaged to search the Bosch out— I hold my breath until the bird Signals a wash-out. Scarce I believe the vision real, That here for life and death they fight; A "Theatre of War," I feel, Has set its stage for my delight, Who occupy, exempt from toll, This auditorium, green and tufty, Guest of the Management and sole Object in mufti. And now along the fretted ground Where Canada's "BYNG Boys" stormed their way, I go conducted on the round That GEORGE OF WINDSOR did to-day; Immune he trod that zone of lead, And how should I, who just write verses, Hope to attract to my poor head Their "Perishing Percies"? Bapaume had nearly been my tomb; And greatly flattered I should be If I could honestly assume The beastly shell was meant for me; But though my modesty would shun To think this thought (or even say it), I feel I owe the KAISER one And hope to pay it. O.S.