Volume 153 — THE WAR-DREAM.
Reading edition
I Wish I did not dream of France And spend my nights in mortal dread On miry flats where whizz-bangs dance And star-shells hover o'er my head, And sometimes wake my anxious spouse By making shrill excited rows Because it seems a hundred "hows" Are barraging the bed. I never fight with tigers now Or know the old nocturnal mares; The house on fire, the frantic cow, The cut-throat coming up the stairs Would be a treat; I almost miss That feeling of paralysis With which one climbed a precipice Or ran away from bears. Nor do I dream the pleasant days That sometimes soothe the worst of wars, Of omelettes and estaminets And smiling maids at cottage-doors; But in a vague unbounded waste For ever hide with futile haste From 5.9's precisely placed, And all the time it pours. Yet, if I showed colossal phlegm Or kept enormous crowds at bay, And sometimes won the D.C.M., It might inspire me for the fray; But, looking back, I do not seem To recollect a single dream In which I did not simply scream And try to run away. And when I wake with flesh that creeps The only solace I can see Is thinking, if the Prussian sleeps, What hideous visions his must be! Can all my dreams of gas and guns Be half as rotten as the Hun's? I like to think his blackest ones Are when he dreams of me. A.P.H.
"Street lamp-posts in Chiswick are all being painted white by female labour."—Times.
The authorities were afraid, we understand, that if males were employed they would paint the town red.
"Four groups of raiders tried to attack London on Saturday night. If there were eight in each group, this meant thirty-two Gothas."—Evening Standard.
In view of the many loose and inaccurate assertions regarding the air-raids, it is agreeable to meet with a statement that may be unreservedly accepted.
Lodger (who has numbered his lumps of sugar with lead pencil). "OH, MRS. JARVIS, I AM UNABLE TO FIND NUMBERS 3, 7 AND 18."
