They're cutting down the wood, I hear,
To make it into war material,
And, where the crossbills came, this year
Their firs are lying most funereal;
There's steam saw-mills humming
And engines at haul,
A new Winter coming
And more trees to fall.
Ah, well, let's hope when Peace at length
Is here, and when our young plantations
In days unborn have got the strength
And pride of ancient generations,
The red birds shall show there
From tree to dark tree,
If two folk should go there
As friendly as we!
* * * * *
[Illustration: RUSSIA FIRST. RUSSIA (_to the Spirit of Revolution_).
"THROW DOWN THAT TORCH AND COME AND FIGHT FOR ME AGAINST THE ENEMY OF
LIBERTY."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? WE ARE READY FOR YOU TO BEGIN."
"YES, MADAM. WE ARE JUST TUNING UP."
"_TUNING UP!_ WHY, I ENGAGED YOU TWO MONTHS AGO!"]
* * * * *
BELLAIRS ON MAN-POWER.
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