Volume 158 — A JUNKER INTERLUDE.

Once more the Militant Mode recurs With clank of sabre and clink of spurs; Once more the long grey cloaks adorn The bellicose backs of the high-well-born; Once more to the click of martial boots Junkers exchange their grave salutes, Taking the pavement, large with side, Shoulders padded and elbows wide; And if a civilian dares to mutter They boost him off and he bites the gutter. Down by the Brandenburger Thor Kitchens are worked by cooks of war; Loyal moustaches cease to sag, Leaping for joy of the old war-flag; Drums are beating and bugles blare And passionate bandsmen rip the air; Prussia's original ardour rallies At the sound of Deutschland über alles, And warriors slap their fighting pants To the tune Heil dir im Siegeskranz. Life, in a word, recalls the phase Of the glorious Hohenzollern days. What if a War's meanwhile occurred And talk of a humbling Peace been heard? Treaties are meant to be torn in two And wars are made to be fought anew. Hoch! for the Tag, by land and main, When the Monarchy comes to its own again. Surely tho wind of it, faint but sweet, The Old Man sniffed in his Dutch retreat; Surely it gave his pulse a jog As he went for his thirteen thousandth log, Possibly causing the axe to jam When he thought of his derelict Potsdam, Of his orb mislaid and his head's deflation, And visions arose of a Restoration. (If not for himself, it might be done For Little Willie or Willie's son). Alas for the chances of child or sire! The coup went phut, for the Kapp missed fire.