Volume 153 — THE VICTORY.

Dear MAC, in that prodigious thrust In which your valiant legions vie With HANNIBAL'S renown, I trust You go a shade more strong than I; Lately I've lost a lot of scalps, Which is a dem'd unpleasant thing; You may enjoy the Julian Alps— I do not like this JULIAN BYNG. I find him full of crafty pranks: Without the usual warning fire He loosed his beastly rows of tanks And sent 'em wallowing through my wire; For days and days he kept the lid Hard down upon his low designs, Then simply walked across and did Just what he liked with all my lines. The fellow doesn't keep the rules; Experts (I'm one myself) advise That in trench-warfare even fools Cannot be taken by surprise; It isn't done; and yet he came With never a previous "Are you there?" And caught me—this is not the game— Bending my thoughtful gaze elsewhere. Later.—My route is toward the rear. Where I shall stand and stop the rot Lord only knows; and now I hear Your forward pace is none too hot; Indeed, with BYNG upon the burst, If at this rate I make for home, I doubt not who will get there first, I to the Rhine, or you to Rome.