ANECDOTES OF THE GREAT WAR (continued 2)

At this the friends roared with laughter.

“Aye, you can laugh!” said the Scot. “But I saw my mistake as soon as I spoke. I should have said the Scotch and the French.”

DEFYING THE KAISER

In a fit of impatience because the speed of his yacht was slowed down on entering a certain harbor, the German Emperor on one occasion tried to assert his authority, and rang the bell for “Full speed ahead.” To his great surprise, the pilot, an old Norwegian named Nordhuns, who knew the dangerous character of the channel, placed himself in the way, and, leaning over the wheel, called down the tube to the engine-room, “Half-speed ahead. Never mind the bell!”

“What! You dare to countermand my orders?” cried the Kaiser, again ringing the bell.

“Disregard the bell,” calmly repeated Nordhuns through the tube.

For a moment the Kaiser glared at the intrepid pilot, and then, drawing himself up to his full height, said, majestically, “Go below, sir, and report yourself under arrest.”

“Leave the bridge!” thundered the Norwegian, grimly, as he grasped the wheel more firmly. “This ship is in my charge, and I’ll have no interference with my orders from Kaiser or seaman!”

The officers on deck hurried silently aft, wishing luck to the sturdy old sea-dog, who, knowing that he had the law as well as common sense on his side, stood at his post unshaken by threats, unheeding commands, and steered the Hohenzollern safely into port.

The next day the Kaiser came to his senses, and decorated the pilot—the king at the wheel—with one grade of the Order of the Black Eagle, and also appointed him his life pilot in Norwegian waters.

TEMPERATURE 120°

Private Tommy Sims had had pneumonia, and had been for some time in hospital, where they treated him so well that he was much averse to the prospect of being discharged as “cured.” One day the doctor was taking his temperature, and while Tommy had the thermometer in his mouth the doctor moved on, and happened to turn his back. Tommy saw his chance. He pulled the thermometer out of his mouth and popped it into a cup of hot tea, replacing it at the first sign of the medico’s turning. When that worthy examined the thermometer he looked first at Tommy and then back at the thermometer and gasped:

“Well, my man, you’re not dead, but you ought to be!”

BUT PERHAPS HE CAN DIG TRENCHES

The subaltern was being put through an examination in geography, wherein he proved himself astonishingly ignorant. At last, after a failure on his part of unusual flagrance, the examiner scowled at him and thundered:—

“Idiot, you want to defend your country, and you don’t know where it is!”

LATEST SCOUTING STORY

One of the most dangerous duties a scout is called upon to perform in war-time is that of ascertaining whether some particular position is or is not occupied by the enemy’s forces. Every scout has his own methods of working, but the first thing each does is generally to attempt to trap the hidden men into betraying their position.

The other day a British scout, who, previous to the outbreak of war, had been a well-known man about town, was told to examine a little wood on the right bank of the ——. He went forward and tried all the usual artifices, including the somewhat threadbare one of pretending to gallop away in alarm, but in vain. Not a German showed himself. Yet the scout was not satisfied, and suddenly a bright thought struck him. He advanced a few paces and, jingling some loose silver in his pocket, roared out:

“Waiter! Get me a taxi!”

“Yessir! Cert’n’y, sir!” came the reply from some twenty or thirty German soldiers. Force of habit had proved too much for bonds of discipline.

CHINESE SYMPATHY

The other day a British reservist living in Montreal with his wife and family received the call to join the colors immediately. He decided to take his wife and children to England to stay during his absence. He found the most convenient arrangement would mean leaving Montreal the following day. But it was midweek, and the family wash was at the Chinaman’s. The lady went over to the laundry. The “boys” shook their heads—the wash would not be sorted out before Saturday. But just then the boss laundry-man came in.

“Your husband going to the war? Velly brave man. Me work all night to get your laundry.”

Next morning it was brought home by the “boss” himself.

“How much?”

“Nothing. Your husband go to the war. If you stay here all winter me wash all the clothes for the family. Not a cent.”

GIVING HIM A SEND-OFF

A curious incident was witnessed in a tram-car in a Yorkshire town a day or two back. Two women were seated side by side in earnest conversation.

“So tha’s been to see him off?” said one.

“Aye,” replied the other. “Ah’ve been to see him off. Eh, dear, but I didna know what to say to him. So I says, ‘Well, good-bye, old lad,’ I says, ’an if tha thoomps t’ Kaiser as tha’s thoomped me he’ll be sorry he went to war!’”

SHE KNEW BY EXPERIENCE

“Some of our cannon are disappearing,” remarked the lieutenant.

“Well, things will disappear when you have careless help,” responded the lady who was going over the fort. “I find that a great trouble about keeping house.”

WHERE WAR IS NOT HELL

Chatty Neighbor—“I suppose you don’t stand for any war arguments among your boarders?”

Boarding House Mistress—“O, yes. You see, our biggest eater gets so interested that he forgets to eat and our next biggest eater gets so mad that he leaves before the meal is half over.”

FEROCITY EXPLAINED

Bill—“I read as ’ow that ’ere ’Indenburg ’as got an English wife.”

Alf—“Ah, that accounts for ’is fightin’ like ’e does.”

COULDN’T BE SCOTCH

Barman—“Strikes me, there’s one o’ these blooming German spies in the smoke-room, sir. ’E’s bragging about bein’ a Scotsman, and the whisky I took ’im a quarter of an hour ago ’e ain’t even touched yet.”

HARDLY HIS FAULT

Officer (severely)—“Is this rifle supposed to have been cleaned?”

Recent Recruit—“Well, sir—yes. But you know what these servant gals are!”

THE GERMANS ABASHED

A British naval officer, home on short leave, told a North Sea story. “We had taken some prisoners aboard, three of them officers; one of their torpedoes had missed us by nearly ten feet.

“We made the officers as comfortable as we could, gave them food and drink, and talked about ordinary general matters; hardly a word was said about the fight.

“The Germans seemed ill at ease, suspicious. At last one of them said, ‘We don’t understand you treating us like this. We tried to torpedo you.’

“‘Oh, that’s all right; that’s over now,’ said a navigating lieutenant, handing him a cigarette.

“‘We’d like to show you that we appreciate your goodness,’ went on the German.

“There was a long pause. Then the lieutenant burst in with great cheerfulness, ‘Well, sing us the “Hymn of Hate.”’

“That was one of the rare moments when I have seen German officers look abashed.”

LOCATING PROGRESS

As a young man was walking along reading the evening newspaper he was accosted by an old lady who seemed interested in the war.

“Any news from the front, young man?” she exclaimed.

“Not much,” he replied. “Big battle in progress.”

“Well, thank heaven,” she said, “that it’s not in Belgium, where my poor Johnnie is gone.”

HOW I ESCAPED FROM BERLIN Supposed to Be Written by Mrs. Malaprop

’Tis very easy to ask me for an account of my escape from Berlin, but when one has been hustled and fluted and prosecuted as I have, it is a wonder that one’s brain is not totally disinterred. However, in spite of my adventitious experiments, I am still, thank heaven! compote mentis, and can give a strictly voracious prescription of my sufferings. Like Othello, I will “nothing exterminate, nor set up aught in malice.”

You may require what I was doing in the great Prussian necropolis. The fact is that after the fatigues of the season I found myself somewhat interposed. I am the last person to give way to a fit of the vapors, but my enemy, the gout, had made such invidious advances and become so chromatic that I was advised to go and reciprocate under the care of a prominent Berlin physician. Despite the diversion which I naturally feel for all Germans, I must admit that his treatment and regiment proved beneficent—though his fees were exuberant—and I was rapidly recovering when the declaration of war burst upon us like a cataplasm.

Berlin was at once in a state of convolution. The streets were crowded with people in a very succulent humor, waving flags, singing typical songs, and shouting remarks which deluded recognition, as my knowledge of the language is merely superfluous. Any attempt at leaving the house was not only fertile but periculous, as Englishmen were subjugated to various forms of contumacy, either because the police were useless or with their secret contrivance.

I protest I never saw such a panharmonium! Foreign residents had their windows stoned, and abstained many cuts and confusions from the missals. The proprietor of our boarding-house was not actually indolent, but treated me in a very caviare manner, advising me to speak no English. Even neuters, he told me, were being distrained to stimulate a factious enthusiasm for the Kaiser.

Next day an official arrived. He asked me if I was English. “Sir,” I replied, “I am no camellia, changing my colors to suit my surroundings.” I think he hardly depreciated my semaphore; he merely told me to pack my trunks in readiness to leave Berlin at a certain hour next day. After another sleepless night passed in anxious participations, four of us were convoyed to the station in a closed vehicle and left for hours on a platform crowded to supplication with fugitives. Some of the women wept quietly, while others gave way to historical outbursts. They gave us nothing but water, and I was induced to eating some digestible chocolate caravans produced by my maid.

At last the aliens’ train arrived; but we were at the back of the crowd, and you may imagine my constellation when I discovered that every department had its full quotient of passengers. Seizing a passing official, I exclaimed: “Thou transcendental Triton, is it thus that the confidential visitors, whose gold gorges the coffins of thy treasury, and who patiently suffer the ubiquitous distortions of thy greedy countrymen, are rewarded? Fie, sir! It is larceny—tyranny—barometry of the vilest conscription!”

He seemed puzzled, and said, roughly: “Are you Suffer-gette?”

“Sir,” I replied, “I will endure no more obliquity. I will say no more. I refuse to omit another syllabus.”

He called another official, and after a long discursion, during which they regarded me very strangely, frequently tapping their foreheads, they had a horse-box corrected to the train, into which my maid and I were inducted, attended by a German female. I passed the journey in a sort of comma, and eventually reached England, which it is my firm resolution never to leave again.

PERMANENTLY POSTPONED

The Irish Guards were holding a position at Ypres, and flying bullets were the order of the day. The Germans endeavored to break through, and after a particularly brisk volley Private Flynn was heard to shout:—

“Murder of wars, I’m done now altogether!”

“Why, have you been hit?” shouts Captain P——.

“Not entoirely hit, sir,” shouts Flynn; “but I’ve been waiting this ten minutes for a smoke from Murtagh’s pipe, and by the powers they’ve just shot it out iv his mouth.”

UNINTENTIONAL LIMITATION

The vicar of S——— is very patriotic, and has done a great deal of recruiting in his own and the adjoining parishes. He is also very absent-minded. This was never so forcibly brought home to him as on the occasion of the young squire’s wedding. The squire’s regiment was leaving almost immediately for the front, consequently the wedding attracted more than ordinary interest, and the little church was crowded to its utmost capacity.

The ceremony proceeded without a hitch, the momentous words had been spoken by the vicar, and repeated by the bridegroom ... “take thee, Phyllis, to my wedded wife,” when the congregation were astounded by the next words from the vicar, “for three years or the duration of the war.”

NOTHING NEW TO HIM

It was company field-training. The captain saw a young soldier trying to cook his breakfast with a badly-made fire. Going to him, he showed him how to make a quick-cooking fire, saying:

“Look at the time you are wasting. When I was on the West Coast I often had to hunt my breakfast. I used to go about two miles in the jungle, shoot my food, skin or pluck it, then cook and eat it, and return to the camp under the half-hour.” Then he unwisely added, “Of course, you have heard of the West Coast?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the young soldier, “and also of Ananias and Baron Munchausen, too.”

ENGLISH HUMOR

Bill—“Have you heard about the Prince of Wales?”

Nell—“No. What of His Royal Highness?”

Bill—“Well, he had a fall, and remained unconscious for some hours.”

Nell—“Oh, poor Prince!”

Bill—“But I am happy to say when His Royal Highness came to himself he was none the worse.”

Nell—“How did it happen?”

Bill—“In this way (not officially denied): It was very late on Monday; he fell—asleep in his bed!”

NOT A CARUSO

“Proud of ’im, I am,” announced an old lady, whose son had just enlisted, to a knot of friends in the village street. “Always done ’is duty by me, ’e ’as, an’ now ’e’s doin’ ’is duty by King an’ country. I feel right down sorry for them poor Germans to think of ’im goin’ into battle with ’is rifle in ’is ’and an’ ‘It’s a long way to Tipperary’ on ’is lips.”

“Poor Germans, indeed!” exclaimed one of her audience. “Pity’s wasted on ’em. P’r’aps you ’aven’t ’eard of their cruelties?”

“P’r’aps I ’aven’t,” agreed the old lady, “an’ p’r’aps you ’aven’t ’eard George sing!”

IN WAR TIME

Short-sighted Customer—“Aren’t you making your rolls a little larger these days, Mr. Baker?”

“What! R-r-rolls? Them’s loaves!”

GAVE THE SNAP AWAY

Amongst some recruits waiting to be passed by the doctor for a Tyneside battalion was a miner from a local colliery, a fine strapping youth. After a good many had been examined, it came to Geordie’s turn, and everyone present thought him a likely recruit. The doctor, after looking at Geordie’s teeth, remarked sadly:—

“I’m sorry, my lad, I cannot pass you; your teeth are too bad.”

“Wey, if this isn’t a licker,” replied Geordie. “Ye passed th’ same teeth yisterday wi’ Bill Smith, an’ we both borrowed them.”

WITHOUT PRECEDENT

A certain Yorkshire soldier, who was badly wounded in the jaw at Mons by a German bullet, was, on his return home, relating to an interested group how his company tackled the enemy when the order to charge was given.

“Bullets was flyin’ like snowflakes,” he said; “an’ lots o’ our chaps was hit.”

“Weel, Tommy,” interrupted one of his listeners, “couldn’t ye hear t’ bullets whizzin’ an’ makin’ a noise as they was comin’ along, an’ so be able to get out o’ their way?”

Tommy gave the inquirer a withering look, then replied:

“Nay, lad, we couldn’t hear ’em comin’, becos them bullets was Dum-Dum ’uns; an’ did anybody ever hear of aught that was dumb makin’ a noise?”

AN AGREEABLE MISTAKE

The soldier of four months was recounting his experience of “living on the country” in an Eastern county. He and a comrade had been dispatched with a motor-car to perform a certain mission. After traveling a considerable distance they sighted an inn sign, and, running the car into the yard at the rear, alighted and entered by a back door. A picturesque dame appeared, to whom the bluff and hearty spokesman said:

“Now, mother, is there anything to eat?”

“Well, you can have some nice cold beef, and if you like to wait half an hour I’ll cook you some potatoes and a cauliflower.”

“Ah! Worth waiting for, that is, mother! Right-o!” said the soldier.

She smiled approvingly, and told them to go into her own parlor. In due course they were bidden to the feast, over which they were glad to have her preside, for she talked very entertainingly. Eventually the spokesman broached the question of payment.

“Now, then, mother, how much do we owe you, please?”

“Oh, nothing! I’m sure I’ve been very glad to have you.”

“But, look here! I’d never have come in ordering stuff to eat without expecting to pay for it. You know you can’t keep a ‘pub.’ open on dinners for naught! Now, can you, mother?”

“No, I can’t, my dear lad! I don’t try to. This isn’t the pub. It’s the house next door!”

INCONSIDERATE BEGGAR

“What do you think?” exclaimed Mrs. Twobble. “While the Belgian Relief Committee was holding an important meeting yesterday afternoon in my drawing-room a ragged woman came to the house and asked for food. She had a baby in her arms, too!”

“What did you do?” asked Mrs. Gadson.

“Sent her about her business, of course! I was reading my report to the committee and had no time to bother with stray beggars.”

WHAT THE PILOT KNEW

Owing to the safeguards which the Admiralty have placed at the entrance to all large British seaports, it is now compulsory for all outward-bound and incoming vessels to be under the charge of a Government pilot.

A few weeks ago a Sunderland collier was anchored outside the Humber waiting for his pilot, and incidentally chafing at the delay.

Eventually the pilot was shipped and the safe channel entered for Hull, when the captain rather sarcastically remarked: “Do you know where the mines are?”

“No,” replied the pilot, “I do not.”

“What! you’ve taken over my ship and you don’t know? Well, I might just as well have brought the ship in myself.”

The pilot smiled indulgently upon the enraged skipper and said: “Aye, captain, ’tis true I don’t know where the mines are, but I know where they are not.”

IT WORKED ALL RIGHT

All the work was mapped out for the new charwoman, but about the appointed time she arrived in tears.

“My poor ’usband was shot in the battle,” she said, “and ’e’s passed away.”

The employer was all sympathy, gave the widow the half-crown she ought to have earned, and did the necessary work herself.

The next day she met the neighbor who recommended the woman, and said:

“You’ve heard, I suppose, about Mrs. W.’s husband being killed?”

“Yes,” said her friend. “But she ought to have got over it by now. It was in the Boer war.”

GERMAN GIRLS CAN KNIT

A certain Landwehrman had received his hundredth pair of warm woolen stockings knit by fair hands.

“Fritz must be a regular Don Juan,” said one of his less fortunate comrades.

“No,” said another, a fellow-townsman of the accused. “No, it isn’t that. The fact is, Fritz, before the war came, was teacher in a girls’ school.”

BLOCKHEAD, EH?

Sergeant—“Now, then, don’t you know how to hold a rifle?”

Recruit—“I’ve run a splinter in me finger.”

Sergeant (exasperated)—“Oh, you ’ave, ’ave you? Bin scratchin’ yer ’ead, I suppose?”

HIS SOLE REASON

As the sergeant was bawling out his orders and watching the line of feet as the raw recruits endeavored to obey the word of command, he found to his astonishment that one pair of feet—more noticeable on account of their extra large size—never turned.

Without taking his eyes off these feet the sergeant bawled out, “About turn!”

He could see that all the feet except those he watched turned in obedience. Rushing up to the owner, a little fellow, he seized him by the shoulder, shouting:

“Why don’t you turn with the rest?”

“Why, I did,” replied the trembling recruit.

“You did, eh? Well, I watched your feet, and they never moved.”

“It’s the boots they gave me, sir,” said the poor fellow. “They’re so large that when I turn my feet turns in them.”

IGNORANCE IS BLISS

The two servants met in the tram.

“Does this war they’re talking so much about make much difference to you?”

“The missus says we’ve got to economize, so we’ve to have margarine at meals in the kitchen.”

“Doesn’t she have it, then?”

“Not her. She says it doesn’t suit her digestion. But there’s nothing wrong with her digestion. We know that. For as often as not we send her up the margarine and have the butter ourselves.”

STROKE OF LUCK

A story is current that a certain colonel of a British regiment offered to give a sovereign for every German killed by any of his men.

It happened shortly after this that a sergeant and a private were out spying around, and took different points for observation.

After a while the private crawled up to the sergeant with a look of suppressed excitement on his face, and in a tense whisper said:

“Here’s a fine piece of luck for us, sergeant! There’s four thousand Germans over yonder, and there’s only you and me for ’em. Won’t we rake some quids in now?”

SPECIMEN WANTED

Mr. Horace Wyndham has published a book on his military experiences, in which he quotes the reply of an Egyptian clerk to a demand for 1,000 rations for a Middlesex Regiment.

“Honorable Sir—Estimable telegram to hand, but not understood. Male sex I know well; ditto female sex. Middlesex, however, not familiar. Please send specimen.”

A LONE EXCEPTION

He was a new recruit home on leave.

“Halloa,” said a friend, “how are you going on? Applied for a commission yet?”

“Not me. All the rest in my battalion are sending in their names, I think; but I say that a regiment needs at least one regular, steady private.”

CLEVER EXPEDIENT

During a sham fight which constituted part of a certain infantry battalion’s training for the war a company was told off to follow up the retreating “enemy.” For this purpose the pursuers, who had been having a strenuous time, had to cross a fairly wide river, and were marched to the nearest bridge, which was about four miles away. Imagine their disappointment on arriving to find this notice attached to the bridge by the “enemy:”

“This bridge is blown up.”

But the officer in command of the pursuers was a man of action, and promptly attached another notice to one of his leading men and proceeded to march them across the bridge. They had almost crossed it, when an umpire suddenly appeared, frantically waving his hands and exclaiming:

“This bridge is blown up; all these men are drowned!”

The commanding officer made no reply, but simply pointed to his notice, which read:

“This company is swimming across!”

WHICH WOULD YOU PATRONIZE?

It was Saturday night, and the rival butchers were shouting against each other.

“’Ere’s a piece of beef,” shouted one, “any price yer like. No war prices here.”

The other was equal to the occasion.

“Come ’ere,” he shouted. “Don’t ’ave piece at any price; have piece with honor.”

SARCASTIC OLD VET.

A man in the Veteran Reserves was called up recently.

After a week at his new quarters he was brought up before the officer commanding for not cleaning his rifle one day. Said the officer commanding:—

“Hem, you’re an old soldier re-enlisted, I see. I suppose it will be many years ago since you were reprimanded? What was your last offence? Can you remember what it was?”

Old Soldier (with irony on account of the repeated assertions to his age): “For not cleanin’ me bow an’ arrow, sir!”

BROTHERLY REPARTEE

A cricket match was taking place near a German internment camp. Many were the comments on the game.

One of the British soldiers who had taken part in the game turned to a German officer, and asked what he thought of the game and the British cricketers.

“Oh,” he said, “they’re very good, but we Germans can beat you on the battlefield.”

“Oh, I suppose you get the most ‘runs’ there!” said the soldier.

MADE IN GERMANY

Chaplain (in French town near the Front)—“I have been working so hard of late that I feel rather run down. I must try a tonic.”

Soldier—“Why not try a glass of lager?”

Chaplain (badly shocked)—“Oh, that’s Teutonic!”

WOLSELEY’S WAY

One of the neatest stories of how a military officer can do the right thing without sacrifice of dignity is related of the man who afterwards became Commander-in-Chief of the British Army. He was sitting in a high-toned tap-room of Dublin, where privates were not permitted the privilege of the bar. Two finely-built men of a dragoon regiment, wearing long-service stripes, entered and called for drinks, which were curtly refused them. They turned without a word and were retiring in good order.

“Halt!” came sharply from the officer in civilian’s clothes. From sheer force of habit the soldiers obeyed and faced about.

“I can purchase what I want here, I suppose?” said the officer as he advanced to the bar.

“Certainly, sir.”

“Then serve these two gentlemen with what they want,” and there was a pleasant emphasis on the title. “Gentlemen, will you drink with me?”

“With pleasure, sir,” and the happy compact was carried out. Then the dragoons courteously inquired the name of the gentleman who had thrown out the life-line, as it were.

“My name is Wolseley—Colonel Wolseley,” with a smile.

Two pairs of heels went together with a click, two brawny arms went up in salute, and the soldiers departed amid the applause of all who had witnessed the scene.

IGNORED HIMSELF

During camp parade of the buglers the other day an Irish corporal was in charge. He was asked by the C. O. if all the buglers were present, when he replied:

“No, sorr; one man absent.”

“Well, then,” said the C. O.; “go and find him, and ask what he has to say for himself.”

A few minutes later Pat came running back, and shouted:

“Shure, sorr, and weren’t we a pair of duffers not to know it? It wor meself. Bedad, sorr, Oi forgot to call me own name, entoirely, sorr!”

ANOTHER ANXIETY

“I have some astonishing news for you, Maria,” said Brown. “In addition to the war, England is on the eve of a great strike, in which thousands upon thousands of hands will be involved.”

“What a dreadful thing!” ejaculated his unsuspecting victim. “When is it to take place?”

“This very night, my dear,” answered Brown, gravely. “At midnight thousands of clock hands will point to the hour, and it will strike twelve.”

ONE QUALIFICATION

Visitor (leaving inn, after sleepless night): “I suppose you don’t happen to be a German?”

Landlord: “Do I look like it?”

Visitor: “No; but I thought I’d just ask, because my room last night had a concrete bed in it.”

GREAT DEEDS I HAVE DONE IN THE GREAT WAR Supposed to Be Written by an Old British Soldier After the Style of Baron Munchausen

I venture to set down some of my deeds in the great war, both as a proof of my courage and veracity, and in order to demonstrate the value of resourcefulness in the conduct of military adventures.

Our company—I being then a private—disembarked at ——, in France, and were at once sent to the front. I was immediately selected to go out for the purpose of obtaining information of the enemy’s movements, and I set out determined to perform that task at all costs. Unfortunately a Taube aeroplane scouting overhead espied me, despite my disguise—a small hayrick on my hat—and dropped a bomb, which, though failing to strike me, burst near with such force that it blew me into the air about twenty feet high, and the Taube swooping down, its pilot caught me by the breeches with a hook suspended on a rope. I hung beneath that aeroplane for three days, with a most exhausting backache, and it was not till the night of the third day that I succeeded in climbing up the rope and killing the pilot; but then, the petrol being all consumed, I was obliged to land in the German lines. There I was captured, and forced to remain in the firing-line. This, however, proved to be my good fortune, for, determined to perform my task, I had recourse to a most extraordinary ruse to escape. As soon as I was unobserved, I twined myself about a big shell, and was put into the gun at the next loading. The shot was a good one, and, rendered invisible by the dense smoke, I rode on the shell across the German and British lines, and landed safely at the feet of my general, whom I was able to supply with valuable information. For this deed I was awarded the D. S. O. (Distinguished Suspension Order).

The following day we were ordered to march to ——-, and hold it against the expected attack of the Germans. The village was fifty miles away, and we had but twelve hours for the journey. The pace proved too much for my brave comrades, and one after another they dropped out, till none was left save myself and the captain, whom I carried the last ten miles on my back, together with the rifles and ammunition of twelve of my comrades. Reaching the village, we requisitioned two houses, one at each end. In one I took my stand with six rifles, in the other the captain did likewise. Within an hour the Germans attacked both positions in overwhelming force. After two hours’ violent fighting those on my side drew off to re-form, and I immediately raced across to the captain’s house, just in time to repel a desperate charge. Then I returned to the encounter on my side, and these movements I repeated five times during the night, till at dawn the rest of the company came to our assistance. I had thirty-five bullet wounds, but none of them being in a vital part, I desired the doctors to remove the bullets at once, so that I might continue my duties. My great feet on this occasion gained me the Order of the B.O.O.T. (Best of Our Transports).

But on one more occasion I was able to serve my country in an exceptional manner. Our wireless operator, ordered to signal “Advance to Nancy,” his mind being filled with another name, sent “Advance to Lil,” to the French general. Discovering his mistake, he was unable to correct it, for a shell shattered his instrument. Quick as thought I flung off my coat and ran like the wind to the French headquarters, five miles away, arriving exactly one and a half seconds before the message, just in time to take off my hat and hold it in the way of the oncoming message, which hit it with such force as to knock me backwards. Thus I saved a ghastly mistake. At the conclusion of war I was for this exploit made a corporal, and decorated with the Order K. C. B. (Karnarftellem Cops the Bun).

WASTED SYMPATHY

Whilst making some purchases in a village shop in Scotland the other day, an excited inhabitant rushed in with the news:—

“Tam Henry’s gaun awa’ wi’ the sodgers!”

The shopkeeper remarked dolefully:—

“My, the auld wife’ll miss him sairly.”

When the visitor had left to carry her news elsewhere, a customer inquired sympathetically if “Tam Henry” was the old woman’s only son.

“Naw, naw,” the shopkeeper answered with a pitying smile, “Tam Henry’s her best hoarse!”

KNEW HIM OF OLD

A certain recruiting sergeant was sent by the military authorities to his native town, with a view to getting as many of his acquaintances to enlist as possible.

One morning, as he was walking down the street, he saw a group of his old pals standing at the corner.

Going up to the group, he said, “Now, lads, what do you say about joining the colors? You know, I didn’t get these stripes for standing at street corners.”

“Nowe,” replied one of his pals, “if they’d gi’n stripes for that tha’d ’a’ bin a bloomin’ zebra bi neaw.”

THIS ORIGINATED IN NEW YORK

In one of the French restaurants in Soho, where there had been a fight a few nights before, the following was at once posted in large type:—

“The war will be settled abroad. Please do not start anything here.”

An enterprising man has printed these placards in large quantities, and is selling them to the restaurants frequented by persons of various nationalities now at war abroad.

TWO POINTS OF VIEW

The Family Man—“The cost of everything is increasing at a terrible rate.”

The Military Expert—“Not everything. According to statistics in former wars it cost fifteen thousand dollars to kill a man, but now, with improved ordnance and ammunition, it can be done for one-third of that.”

SOME KIND OF A MARSHAL

Wife (proud of her military brother-in-law, to husband)—“Do you know Fred has been recently promoted to field-marshal?”

Husband—“To field-marshal! Impossible, dear.”

Wife (indignantly)—“Well, if it’s not a field-marshal he’s come to, it’s a court-martial.”

NOR ON THE SOCKS

An English colonel, at kit inspection, said to Private Flanigan:

“Ha! Yes, shirts, socks, flannels, all very good. Now, can you assure me that all the articles of your kit have buttons on them?”

“No, sir,” said Private Flanigan, hesitating.

“How’s that, sir?”

“Ain’t no buttons on the towels, sir!”

LESS WAR NEWS WANTED

A well-known London journalist never uses a notebook, but jots down such events as appeal to him, with suggestions for his subsequent articles, on his cuffs. At first his laundress was much puzzled by these hieroglyphics, but as time went on she became able to read them, and apparently derived much benefit and pleasure therefrom.

One day the journalist received, with his laundered garments, a slip of paper on which was written:—

“Your last washing was very interesting, but we should be glad if you would give us more about ‘Scandals in high life,’ and less about the war.”

TWENTY STRAIGHT

Sergeant (disgustedly, to Private Jones, who is not exactly an expert at shooting)—“Ugh! don’t waste your last bullet. Nineteen are quite enough to blaze away without hitting the target once. Go behind that wall and blow your brains out.”

Jones walked quietly away, and a few seconds later a shot rang out.

“Great sausages, the fool’s done what I told him!” howled the sergeant, running behind the wall. Great was his relief when he saw Private Jones coming towards him.

“Sorry, sergeant,” he said, apologetically; “another miss.”

RUSSIAN EXPECTATIONS

A retort that shows something of the attitude of Russian and Austrian officers before hostilities actually broke out is reported by a Petrograd correspondent.

In the course of his last interview with the Russian military authorities before the war, Prince Hohenlohe, the Austrian military attaché, expressed surprise that the Russians should be requisitioning so many automobiles, the extensive use of which since then may help to explain the rapid alternations of fortune of engagements that have so often proved confusing.

“Your roads are too bad,” the Austrian remarked. “Of what use are automobiles?”

“Ah!” replied the Russian, “but you must remember that your Austrian roads are very good!”

FREAKS OF BULLETS Wonderful Escapes From Death

A sapper in the Royal Engineers tells the story of an extraordinary escape which one of his comrades experienced. A bullet took his cap off and cut a groove through his hair, without injuring the scalp, in such a manner that it looked as though he had carefully parted his hair down the center.

This is but another illustration of the tricks that bullets play at times. It is doubtful, however, if any soldier in the present campaign has had such marvelous escapes as Lieutenant A. C. Johnston, the Hants County cricketer, who relates how, shortly before he was slightly wounded, a shell hit the wall six inches above his head, while shortly afterwards a bullet hit the ground half a yard in front of him, bounded up, and hit him on the body, bruising his ribs. Then a bullet hit him over the heart, but was spent before reaching him, and when in the hospital he picked it out of his left-hand breast-pocket and sent it home to his wife.

A charmed life, too, seems to be borne by a private of the Manchester Regiment, who relates how, while smoking a cigarette in the trenches, a bullet took the “fag” out of his mouth, while another cut the crown off his hat, leaving the peak still sticking on his head. And it is characteristic of the humor of “Tommy,” even when the fire is hottest, that when a bullet took off the top of a tin of bully beef which another private had in his hand, he looked at it, coolly turned round, made a bow in the direction of the enemy, and thanked them for saving him the trouble of finding a can-opener.

A curious escape from what might have been a mortal wound was that of a Royal Scots Fusilier. During a severe fight he suddenly felt the shock of a bullet. “I am hit,” he said to his chum. Looking down, however, he saw that the bullet had struck a clip of cartridges in his top left-hand pouch, but had done no other damage. The first cartridge must have been a little loose, and as it twisted round when it was struck, the bullet was turned off instead of going straight through the soldier’s body, as it would have done had all the cartridges been firm.

Mr. Frank Scudamore relates an extraordinary incident which occurred during the Soudan campaign, when he saw an officer, a friend of his, go down apparently shot through the head. “To my surprise,” he says, “I met him walking about after the battle, apparently none the worse, save that his head was bandaged. Then he showed me how the bullet, striking and deflected by one of the hooks of his helmet chain, had run right round his forehead, cutting a groove under the skin, and had then glanced off the helmet hook at the other side.”

FINDING AN EXCUSE

Private Atkins—“Jones just stood me a drink.”

His Best Girl—“And did you stand him one back?”

Private Atkins—“No; a true British soldier never re-treats.”

ONLY A MATTER OF TIME

The general was busily inspecting a regiment the colonel of which was a very bad horseman, and this was well known to his men. The battalion was formed up in quarter column, and as the commanding officer gave the order “Advance in column,” the band struck up the regimental march past, with the result that his horse plunged and kicked furiously, and he was very nearly unseated.

As the leading company was nearing the saluting-base the captain glanced round to see if his men were marching well, and was horrified to see the whole of the front two ranks bunched up in the middle and every man watching the commanding officer’s efforts to retain his seat.

“Ease off, there!” he shouted, angrily.

“No ’ee ain’t,” said a young recruit, “but ’ee soon will be!”

SOUNDS LOGICAL

Pat, who had joined the new army, was given his uniform by the quartermaster. Everything fitted all right till he came to put on the trousers, which he said were far too tight.

“No, no,” said the quartermaster; “they’re fine.”

“I tell you they are too tight,” said Pat. “They are tighter than me skin.”

“Nonsense, Pat; how can they be tighter than your skin?”

“Begorra!” exclaimed Pat. “I can sit down in my skin, but I can’t sit down in the trousers.”

UNWILLING MARTYR

Some time ago little Willie rambled into the house, threw his soldier suit in the corner, and began looking over a book. This was unusual for the youngster, and mother began to investigate.

“What did you come into the house for, Willie?” she asked. “You haven’t quarrelled with Georgie Brown, have you?”

“No, mother,” answered Willie; “but I’m not going to play war with him any more.”

“Why not?” queried mother. “What has he been doing?”

“It’s just this way,” explained Willie. “When we play war I’m Germany and he’s England, and if I don’t let him lick me every time he says that I’m not patriotic.”

THE TAR AND THE TARTAR

Pat has always been celebrated the world over for his repartee, and he did not belie his reputation for smart retorts quite recently.

It happened that a warship touched at a military port on the coast of Ireland, and a “Tommy,” meeting a full-bearded Irish “tar” in the street, accosted him with:—

“Here, I say, Pat, when are you goin’ to put those whiskers of yours on the reserve list?”

Pat turned and eyed his questioner thoughtfully for the space of half a second, then:—

“Begorra, just as soon as ever you place your tongue on the civil list,” was his reply.

DON’T SAY “ROVER”

The inhabitants of a Sussex village recently received somewhat short notice of the visit of a regiment of soldiers, and local butchers’ shops were absolutely cleared out in the endeavor to treat the visitors well at their various one-night billets.

One motherly old dear, who was cute enough to foresee the possible shortage, was early on the market and managed to secure a nice piece of steak weighing two-and-a-half pounds.

Her three men arrived, very tired and very hungry, and by the time their ablutions were through the meat was done to a turn.

“There,” she said, proudly, as she placed it on the table, “I thought you’d like somethin’ substantial. If you manage to eat that you won’t be wanting much more till the morning. You’re lucky to get it, I can tell you, for there isn’t another scrap o’ meat to be had in the place for love or money. Just shout out if you’re wantin’ any more tea made.”

The soldiers decided to have a joke with the old lady. They transferred the steak to a spare plate, popped it under the table, and called for her attendance.

“Are the other two steaks ready yet?” came the question.

The old lady eyed the empty dish and held up her hands in astonishment. “Other two!” she exclaimed. “Why, I thought that one was enough for the three of you. Well, well, I’m done altogether. I can’t beg, borrow, or steal a bit, and I’m right down sorry for you, that I am.”

“It’s all right, mother,” laughed the soldiers. “It’s too bad of us—we were only having a joke. The steak’s under the table.”

“Good gracious!” screamed the lady. “So is Rover!”

Instantly the men dived underneath the table to secure their meat. They saw a big black retriever dog, looking on very good terms with himself, beside an empty dish. The steak was gone.

And three very tired and very hungry men made a meal off bread and cheese. It is dangerous to say “Rover” in their hearing nowadays.

SCARS OF BATTLE

“Yes, John received his trunk this morning. It’s been somewhere over there in Germany for eleven weeks.”

“Where is John?”

“Why, he’s out in the garage shooting bullets through the trunk. He thinks they’ll make it look so much more interesting, don’t you know.”

SUITED TO HIS POSITION

The Irish adjutant’s wife was telling Bridget about her husband.

“My husband, Bridget,” she said, proudly, “is at the head of the Tipperary militia.”

“Oi t’ought as much, ma’am,” said Bridget, cheerfully. “Ain’t he got th’ foine malicious look?”

KAISER WILHELM II

“I don’t know that there is much use in keeping my school open more than a month or two each year,” said the German pedagogue.

“Why is that?”

“Our Emperor has simplified matters to such an extent that when you ask the name of the world’s greatest poet, painter, musician, general, traveller, or monarch, there is only one answer to all the questions.”

AS SEEN IN FRANCE

Two French soldiers took their places in the trenches—the one middle-aged, who had long since received his baptism of fire, the other a mere youth, whose chattering teeth and blanched face proved it was his first experience of real war.

The older soldier tried to reassure his frightened companion. “Be brave, my lad; remember you fight for France.”

A shell screeched through the air close overhead, and the young man’s terror increased.

More soothing words, but more shells, and the upset nerves still on edge. An hour passed, punctuated by many kindly encouragements, but the new soldier’s fear had not abated.

The patience of the other was at last exhausted.

“Why do you shiver and shake like that, you vain young fool?” said he. “You don’t suppose the Germans are firing all these expensive shells at you, do you? You are not a cathedral or a work of art!”

ANYTHING TO QUALIFY

A lot of old-timers of the Army and Navy Club in Piccadilly were swapping stories.

“One Sam Haskins,” says a retired brigadier-general, “decided to enlist. He burned with a desire to serve his country. So he applied at a recruiting office, and was duly punched and prodded, trotted up and down, jumped over chairs and tables, and so forth.

“Then came the questions. All manner of them were fired at him, and he answered most of them satisfactorily. Then came the stern inquiry:

“‘Have you ever served a term of imprisonment?’

“‘No, sir,’ stammered Sam; ‘but,’ he added, hastily, ‘I’d be willing to serve a short one, if it’s necessary.’”

TAKING THE JOY OUT OF LIFE

Wife—“The heavy explosions of a battle always cause rain. It rained after Waterloo. It rained after Fontenoy. It rained after Marathon.”

Husband—“But Marathon was fought with spears and arrows, my dear.”

Wife—“There you go again! Always throwing cold water on everything I have to say.”

ON HIS WAY

Still another recruiting story. A new cavalry trooper was being initiated into the mysteries of riding when his horse bolted. “Where the deuce are you going?” thundered the instructor. The reply came back in gasps: “Don’t know—but the ’orse’s ’ome is at ’Ammersmith.”

MORTIFIED THE FRENCHMAN

“Of course, doctor, German measles are seldom serious?”

“I never met but one fatal case.”

“Fatal!”

“Yes; it was a Frenchman, and when he discovered it was German measles that he had, mortification set in.”

CHECKS FOR TWO

When the young officer, ordered to the Front, called on his tailor to get a fresh outfit, the tailor could not forget that there was already an old and unsettled account.

But he felt nervous about broaching the subject.

“I see the Germans,” said the young officer, casually, “have had a check.”

“Lucky Germans!” said the tailor, wistfully.

The young man looked puzzled for a moment, and then took the gentle hint. Next day the bill was settled.

SYMPATHETIC SOUL

Scene—Soldiers’ concert at which no alcoholic liquors are being supplied, the men being served with mineral waters by young lady helpers.

Soldier (to young lady helper)—“Do you see that the man who is singing has got his eyes half-shut?”

Young Lady—“So he has. What’s he doing that for?”

Soldier—“He can’t bear to look at us. He knows wot we’re sufferin’.”

A QUESTION OF DIET

During a particularly nasty dust-storm at one of the camps a recruit ventured to seek shelter in the sacred precincts of the cook’s domain.

After a time he broke an awkward silence by saying to the cook:

“If you put the lid on that camp kettle you would not get so much of the dust in your soup.”

The irate cook glared at the intruder, and then broke out:

“See here, me lad. Your business is to serve your country.”

“Yes,” interrupted the recruit, “but not to eat it.”

A GENTLE HINT

The British soldier is never at a loss when sarcasm is needed, and an example of his readiness was seen only the other day.

A long route march had been in progress and the officer had been none too patient. Several times he had had occasion to speak strongly to the men. At last, on the march home, the order came, “March easy”—the time when songs are indulged in. There was no call for “Tipperary” this time, but unanimously they started singing, “Kind Words Can Never Die.”

A MATTER OF PUNCTUATION

Bix—“I see there’s a report from Holland that concrete bases for German cannon have been found there.”

Dix—“Don’t believe a word you hear from Holland. The geography says it is a low, lying country.”

AND THERE ARE OTHERS

First Lady—“I see the master cutting a dash this morning. Nobody would think he was hard-up.”

Second Lady—“Lor’ bless yer, no! Since this ’ere Merrytorium come in he walks down the High Street in front of all the shops as though he didn’t owe ’em a penny.”

SOME BONEHEAD

The value of army remounts was exemplified the other day by the cavalry sergeant who lost patience with an awkward recruit.

“Never approach the horses from behind without speaking,” he exclaimed. “If you do they’ll kick you in that thick head of yours, and the end of it will be that we shall have nothing but lame horses in the squadron.”

PROUD OF IT

A train loaded with wounded soldiers drew up at a certain station. Among these was one whose face could not be discerned for bandages.

“You poor, poor boy,” sympathized an English lady, who approached him timidly.

“Madam,” replied the soldier, with as much pride as springing to attention would convey, “don’t pity me. Pity my chums in the train there, who got hit where it won’t show.”

“Why, why,” she stammered. “I thought you would not like to be disfigured.”

“Disfigured!” the soldier replied, scornfully; “I am not disfigured, I am decorated!”

DIPLOMACY

A well-known English politician was much annoyed by reporters. One day he was enjoying a chat at a London hotel, when a strange young man came up who seemed to have something of importance to communicate, and led him across the room. Arrived in a corner, the stranger whispered, “I am on the staff of an evening paper, and I should like you to tell me what you think of the Government’s foreign policy.” Mr. Dash looked a little puzzled; then he said, “Follow me.” Leading the way, he walked through the reading-room, down some steps into the drawing-room, through a long passage into the dining-room, and drawing his visitor into the corner behind the hat-rack, he whispered, “I really don’t know anything about it.”

AN OVER-DOSE

A well-known physician was examining a class of nurses. He described the condition of a patient, and asked one nurse how much morphine, in her opinion, should be administered to the sufferer.

“Eight grains,” promptly replied the nurse.

The doctor made no comment, and the girl passed on. When her turn came again she appeared greatly confused, and said to the examiner, “Doctor, I wish to correct the answer I made last time. I meant to say that one-eighth of a grain should be given to the patient.”

“Too late,” remarked the physician, without looking up from his question paper. “The man’s dead.”

NOBODY CONCERNED

The wounded soldier was being attended by the doctor. The latter seemed to treat the case in a light-hearted manner. He prodded the soldier in the ribs, and grinned.

“You’ll be all right,” he said. “You’ve got a bullet in your left arm; but that does not trouble me in the least.”

“I don’t suppose it does,” said the soldier. “An’ if you’d got a bullet in both arms I don’t suppose it ’ud trouble me, either.”

HARD LUCK

He was a Canadian and he wore a corporal’s stripes. There he sat snugly in a sheltered part of his trench in that little corner of Belgium and played poker with a quartet of his comrades. Luck was against him. He had lost about everything he had to lose, when at the very height of the game—just after the dealer had done his best and worst—a shell came through the roof of the shelter, passed between the Canadian’s long, lean legs (luckily without hitting him), and buried itself harmlessly in the soft earth. The others of the party leaped up in not inexcusable haste and fled from the place, but the Canadian did not move.

The disturbance brought the company commander on the run.

“What’s up?” says he.

“Well, sir,” says the Canadian, “that there shell drops in on us and when it don’t explode at once I judge it is pretty safe not to go off at all. So I just set where I am. The cursed luck of it is that I’ve been playin’ away here all morning’ drawin’ rotten cards and losin’ my shirt, and here just as I holds the first four of a kind that’s gladdened my two eyes since Hector was a pup—and kings at that, sir—at that identical moment there comes this pifflin’ German turnip and the other fellows beats it.”

HOW HE TOOK HIS

English men-of-war have no ice-making machines on board, as do our ships, and everybody knows how the English fail to understand us on the subject of the use of ice, especially in our drinks.

An English officer was aboard one of our ships of the Asiatic fleet, and, on being served with an iced drink, commented on the delights of having cool water aboard. The American officer responded with an offer of a small cake of ice, which was sent the following morning. Meeting the Englishman ashore a week later, the American asked him if he had enjoyed the ice.

“Enjoy it, old top? Why, do you know, that was the first cold bawth I’ve had since I left England!”

WILLING TO OBLIGE

A recruit very anxious to join Kitchener’s Army enters recruiting station determined to accommodate himself to any condition required.

Officer (filling in form)—“What’s your religion?”

Zealous Recruit—“Well, what are you short of?”

CAUSE FOR PREJUDICE

“Why are you for the Allies?” a friend asked a solemn-looking neutral, who looked as if there had been much suffering in his life. “Is it because you abhor Prussian militarism?”

“No.”

“Is it that you fear Germany’s desire to expand, to absorb foreign lands? Is it that you dislike the German character?”

“No,” replied the solemn-looking individual.

“Well, why are you for the Allies?”

“Because,” said the other, with a pensive air, “I once ate some sauerkraut.”

SELF-BETRAYED

A sentry was giving close attention to his post in the neighborhood of a British army camp in England, challenging returning stragglers late after dark. The following is reported as an incident of his vigil:

“Who goes there?” called the sentry at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Coldstream Guards!” was the response.

“Pass, Coldstream Guards!” rejoined the sentry.

“Who goes there?” again challenged the sentry.

“Forty-ninth Highlanders!” returned the unseen pedestrian.

“Pass, Forty-ninth Highlanders!”

“Who goes there?” sounded a third challenge.

“None of your d——n business!” was the husky reply.

“Pass, Canadians!” acquiesced the sentry.

BRITISH HUMOR

The crew of the Harpalion, one of the British ships torpedoed off Beachy Head, arrived in London yesterday. Mr. S. Harper, the second officer, describing the experiences of the crew, said the ship was sailing down the Channel at the rate of about eleven and a half knots.

“We had just sat down to tea,” said Mr. Harper, “at the engineers’ table, and the chief engineer was saying grace. He had just uttered the words, ‘For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful,’ when there came an awful crash.”

A MIXED BLESSING

A gallant Tommy, having received from England an anonymous gift of socks, entered them at once, for he was about to undertake a heavy march. He was soon prey to the most excruciating agony, and when, a mere cripple, he drew off his foot-gear at the end of a terrible day, he discovered inside the toe of the sock what had once been a piece of stiff writing paper, now reduced to pulp, and on it appeared in bold, feminine hand the almost illegible benediction: “God bless the wearer of this pair of socks!”

OR A BASEBALL UMPIRE

“I saw a war picture, and one of the soldiers in the firing-line, amid bursting shells and dead and wounded men, was yawning.”

“He was probably a football-player to whom his surroundings seemed tame.”

NOT TO EXCEED HIS LIMIT

During the opening stages of the present war a certain soldier was told that there were three Germans to every one of the Allied forces in that part of the field.

Tommy went into action with great vigor, but later his company sergeant was horrified to see him shoulder his rifle and calmly march to the rear.

“Where are you off to?” he roared.

“Oh,” replied Tommy, “I’ve killed three of the enemy. I’ve done my share, so I’m off back to the camp.”

OUT OF HARM’S WAY

“If you had to go to war what position would you choose?”

“The drummer’s, I think.”

“Why so?”

“When a charge was ordered, I’d pick up my drum and beat it.”

SHOWING HIM HOW

The company was about to commence practice in trench-digging.

“Shall I show you how to handle the spade?” inquired a young officer of one private who was curiously watching the efforts of his companions.

“Aye, if tha likes,” responded the soldier.

“There you are,” commented the officer shortly afterwards, as he handed over the spade.

“Tha shapes pratty weel,” said the private, a collier from the Durham pits, “for a novice.”

NO EXCEPTION

Policeman (arresting burglar)—“Ain’t people worried enough by this war without burglaring their houses?”

Burglar—“All the papers are saying ‘business as usual.’”

IN HIS OWN LANGUAGE

Bill Bates, a coal miner, had joined Kitchener’s Army, and was undergoing musketry instruction.

The officer had been at some pains to impress upon the recruits that in loading a rifle they should place one cartridge in the barrel and ten in the magazine.

Singling out Bill, the officer said to him:

“Now, what do you do with your cartridges when loading?”

“Put one in t’ tunnel an’ ten in t’ can!” was the reply.

SCARED HIM TO THINK OF IT

The general was distributing medals for special valor. Summoning Private Bumptious to step forward, much to the general surprise of the ranks, he thundered out:

“Men, look upon this hero, and imitate his bravery! All through the long night he stood firm at his sentinel’s post, although completely surrounded by the enemy, and there he remained, calmly.”

Private Bumptious turned deadly pale. But before he fell in a faint to the ground, he gasped out:

“Then they were enemies! I thought they were our own troops.”

WHAT HAPPENED TO REIMS

“Wasn’t it fearful about the Reims cathedral?”

“Don’t say Reems; it sounds horribly ignorant.”

“Well, how do you pronounce it?”

“Why, Hranss.”

“How?”

“Hn—Hranhss! Just as if you were clearing your throat. See? Hranss!”

“Well, you sound as if you had a dreadful influenza, threatened with grip!”

“Well, that’s right, anyhow. H—hn—hnh—hrahnhss!”

“You’d better go to Arizona! You’ll never get well here! I don’t believe you, anyway. Everybody says Reems.”

“They don’t, either!”

“They do so!”

“Oh, well, it depends on the sort of people you associate with—”

“Well, I don’t go with a lot of fake highbrows, anxious to show off the French they learned in a course of lessons by mail—”

“Better than a lot of country junks who don’t know how to pronounce—”

“Oh, well, the church wasn’t hurt much, anyhow.”

“No, they say it can be repaired. How do you like my hat?”

“Heavenly! What do you think of mine?”

“Adorable! Let’s go in and have soda.”

“Let’s.”

REBUKE THAT DIDN’T WORK

British Teacher (to small boy)—“So you’ve come to school without a pen, eh? What would you say if one of our soldiers went to France without his gun?”

Tommy—“Please, sir, I should say he was an officer.”

SOMETHING TO THINK OF

The awkward squad had been having a lecture in musketry. Just before they were dismissed the instructor asked one of them:

“Why is the rifle placed in the hands of a soldier?”

“To protect my life,” came the prompt reply.

The instructor glared at him.

“Protect your life!” he snorted. “Who’s bothering about your life? The rifle, my lad, is placed in your hands for the destruction of the King’s enemies!”

A FAVORABLE BALANCE

A friend called on a merchant who did a large Continental business to offer him his sympathy.

“This must hit you very hard.”

“Very hard,” said the merchant. “I’ve over eleven hundred pounds owing to me in Germany, and it’s touch and go whether I ever get a penny of it. Still, we’ve got to put up with something for the country.”

“I’m glad you take it so cheerfully.”

“Well,” explained the merchant, “I owe over sixteen hundred pounds in Germany.”

DISREGARDING THE LIMIT

In order to stimulate rifle practice in a Lancashire district, especially amongst the rising generation, a match was arranged in which the competitors must be over fourteen years and under seventeen years of age.

The match was in progress, and there seemed to be not a few of the competitors who would never see another seventeenth birthday.

The climax was reached, however, when a young enthusiast, seeing the excellent score one of the competitors was making, astonished the spectators by shouting at the top of his voice:

“Go on, father; get another bull’s-eye!”

NO ABBREVIATIONS WANTED

A corporal in the Liverpool Scottish tells a good story of “the front.”

The sentry’s challenge is no longer the orthodox “Halt! Who goes there?” It is a short, prosaic, “Who are you?”

The other day a tired sentry challenged a party of the Princess Patricia’s Own Canadian Light Infantry. Back came the response, “P.P.O.C.L.I.”

“I don’t want to hear you say your alphabet,” growled the sentry. “Who the blazes are you?”

HIS SACRIFICE

“George, where are your school-books!”

“When notices appeared that books were wanted for the wounded, I gave mine to them.”—Humoristicke Listy (Prague).

UNSATISFACTORY OFFICER

They were about the rawest lot of recruits the sergeant had ever tackled. He worked hard for a couple of hours, and at last, thinking he had them licked into shape, he decided to test them.

“Right turn!” he barked; then, before they had ceased to move, barked again, “Left turn!”

One burly yokel slowly left the ranks and made off towards the barracks.

“Here, you!” yelled the sergeant, angrily, “where are you off to?”

“Ah’ve had enough on’t,” replied the recruit, in disgusted tones. “Tha dissent knaw thee arn mind two minutes stright running.”

PERPETUAL MOTION

“Excuse me, but do you mind keeping your dog indoors at night till the war is over?”

“Why?” said the surprised dog-owner to the stranger.

“Well, your dog’s barking sounds just like a ‘special’ boy shouting in the distance. My wife’s got two brothers at the front, and every time she hears your dog she sends me racing down to get the ‘special,’ and says I’ve been too stupid to catch the boy.”

MURDERING HIM

Very British Guest—“What! Brahms? You’re surely not going to sing German?”

Hostess (apologetically)—“Well, of course, I shall take care to sing it flat.”

SLACKER GETS BACK

Frederick Palmer, the war correspondent, was talking about England.

“Everything is war, war, war, over there,” he said. “Dear help the young man who is not in khaki. He has a dreadful time.

“Now and then, though, one of these slackers—as they are called—gets a bit of his own back.

“A slacker, for example, was passing a prison camp near London when an interned German shouted at him from the barbed wire fence:

“‘Hey, Kitchener vants you!’

“The slacker frowned. ‘What?’ he said.

“‘Kitchener vants you,’ the German repeated.

“‘Well, by Jove,’ said the slacker, ‘he’s got you, all right!’”

NEW CAUSE FOR WAR

Robert Skinner, ex-consul-general to London, said at a dinner:

“Of course neutrals see things from one viewpoint and belligerents from another. We all have our various viewpoints.

“An English inebriate was recently released from jail. To a friend who met him outside the prison gates he said:

“‘Well, mate, wot noose?’

“‘There’s a law agin’ treatin’, was the reply, ‘and pretty near the whole world is at war.’

“‘Just think,’ he said. ‘Just think of a no-treatin’ law havin’ sech an effect as that.’”

NO ROSE WITHOUT ITS THORN

The wounded soldier had reached home and was just out of a long delirium.

“Where am I?” he said, feebly, as he felt the loving hands making him comfortable. “Where am I? In heaven?”

“No, dear,” cooed his devoted wife. “I am still with you.”

A GOOD COME-BACK, BILL

A chaplain in the navy enjoys telling of his endeavors to induce a marine to give up the use of tobacco. During a talk that ensued between the two, the chaplain said:—

“After all, Bill, you must reflect that in all creation there is not to be found any animal except man that smokes.”

The marine sniffed.

“Yes,” he agreed, “and you won’t find, either, any other animal in all creation that cooks its food, or wears clothes.”

ON THE SAFE SIDE

Zealous Sentry—“Afraid I can’t let you go by without the password, sir.”

Irate Officer—“But, confound you! I tell you I have forgotten it. You know me well enough. I’m Major Jones.”

Sentry—“Can’t help it, sir; must have the password.”

Voice from the Guard-Tent—“Oh, don’t stand arguing all night, Bill; shoot ’im.”

COULDN’T BE DONE

The English official had been telling the old Scottish farmer what he must do in the case of a German invasion on the East Coast of Scotland.

“An’ hiv I reely tae dae this wi’ a’ ma beesties gin the Germans come?” asked the old fellow at the finish.

The official informed him that such was the law, “All live stock of every description must be branded and driven inland.”

“Dearie me!” gasped the farmer, in dismay. “I’m thinking I’ll hae an awful; ob wi’ ma bees!”

ON THE FIRING LINE

A stranger became one of a group of listeners to a veteran of many battles. The veteran had about concluded a vividly colored narrative of a furious battle, in which he had taken part.

“Just think of it,” exclaimed one of the party, turning to the stranger. “How would you like to stand with shells bursting all around you?”

“I have been there,” responded the newcomer.

“What? Have you, too, been a soldier?”

“No,” answered the stranger. “I am an actor.”

A MATTER OF TRADE

Outside one of the recruiting depots in a large town a sergeant saw a smart young milkman, and, thinking to get a fresh recruit, said:

“Young man, would you like to serve the King?”

“Rather!” said the milkman, eagerly. “How many quarts does he want?”

NOT LIKELY

Two Irishmen were walking into Dublin from one of the outlying villages, and fell to discussing the war and the consequent increase in the cost of living.

“But have ye heard the latest news?” says Tim.

“No,” says Pat. “Phwat is it?”

“There’s a penny off the loaf.”

“Bedad,” says Phat, “I hope it’s off the penny ones.”

IMPORTANT POSTSCRIPT

An Army officer’s wife wrote to a Royal Army medical corps officer saying her child was suffering during teething; she addressed the letter “Dr. Brown.”

The recipient returned it with the remark that he should be addressed “Brigade-Surgeon Lieutenant-Colonel Brown.”

Whereupon the lady wrote back:—

“Dear Brigade-Surgeon Lieutenant-Colonel Brown—I am sorry about mistake.—Yours, May Jones.

“P. S.-Please bring your sword to lance baby’s gums.”

OR A SCRAP OF PAPER

“I suppose you had a good deal of trouble when you spent your holiday in Germany this summer?” said Mrs. De Jinks.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Von Slammerton; “chiefly in the matter of getting money, however. Why, would you believe it, Mrs. De Jinks, a letter of credit over there wasn’t of any more value than a treaty of neutrality?”

NOT TO BE OUTDONE

An Irishman who had recently joined Lord Kitchener’s Army was sitting in a railway refreshment room the other day, when two smart young soldiers entered. Thinking to make the Irishman look small, one of them went up to the young lady attendant and asked for “A good cigar for a Hussar!”

A little time afterwards the other one went up and said: “A glass of beer for a Grenadier!”

Pat was not to be taken down so easily, and after a few moments’ thought went up to the bar and, in a loud voice, ordered “A good tea for a V. C.!”

NEVER FAZED HIM

At a recruiting meeting recently the speaker, having got his audience in a high state of enthusiasm by telling them of the many brave deeds of the British soldiers in France, suddenly espied a big, strongly built man at the back of the hall. “My man,” he cried, “how is it that you are not at the front?”

“Oh, it is all right,” replied the burly yokel; “I can hear every word you say from here.”

STAY-AT-HOME TOILET

A South London resident, whose garden runs down to the railway line, has hit upon a novel recruiting advertisement.

He has hung out two old petticoats with a poster reading:

“If you won’t help your King and Country now you had better wear these.”

WHY BE NEUTRAL?

If you favor war, dig a trench in your back yard, fill it half full of water, crawl into it, and stay there for a day or two without anything to eat, get a lunatic to shoot at you with a brace of revolvers and a machine-gun, and you will have something just as good, and you will save your country a great deal of expense.

BATHING IN TEARS

“Some of the soldiers in those trenches,” said a doctor, recently back for a rest, “don’t get a chance to wash for weeks at a time. They eat like bears, they never take cold, their health is superb—but, dear me, how they look, with never a wash!

“A humorist of the Coldstream Guards was singing in a second-line trench a parody of ‘Tipperary.’ It was a funny parody, and in the midst of it a young sergeant shouted to the singer:—

“Yer makin’ me laugh till I cry, Bill! Won’t yer stop it? The tears are makin’ me face all muddy.’”

WHERE HE COULDN’T GO

A few Sundays ago Bobby’s mother was hurrying him to get ready for Sunday-school. Bobby (aged seven), not being very fond of Sunday-school, was grumbling all the time about schools in general and Sunday-schools in particular. Finally, to give vent to his feelings, he exclaimed:—

“I wish there was only one Sunday-school in the world, and that—er—that one was in Germany.”

PEACE SUGGESTION

Ernest P. Bicknell, national director of the American Red Cross, said on his return from Belgium to a Washington reporter:

“If peace is to come, each side must do its share. Advances must be made like the girl, you know.

“A young millionaire said to a beautiful girl on a moonlit beach between two dances:

“‘Don’t you like that Shakespearean quotation:

“‘“The friends thou hast and their adoption tried, Grapple them to they soul with hoops of steel”?’

“The girl sighed.

“‘Beautiful,’ she said. ‘Beautiful. But wouldn’t hoops of gold be better?’”

HEADING HIM OFF

An absentee soldier at West London police court complained that he had not been able to get a decent dinner at the police station and that he was hungry.

“Well, I like to show consideration to men serving their country,” said the magistrate. “Would you like something now?”

“Yes, I could do with tea and bread and butter,” the soldier answered.

“All right,” said the magistrate, but the soldier amended his request.

“Can I have tea, bread and butter and cheese?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” said the magistrate, laughing, “but take him away, jailer, before he asks for champagne and oysters.”

CAPTURED, NOT STOLEN

A British soldier in Belgium was one morning wending his way to camp with a fine rooster in his arms when he was stopped by his colonel to know if he had been stealing chickens.

“No, colonel,” was the reply, “I saw the old fellow sitting on the wall and I ordered him to crow for England, and he wouldn’t, so I just took him prisoner.”

LANDED A LARGE ORDER

A Herculean soldier, arriving at Liverpool by rail, somewhat travel-stained, was passing along Lime Street when he stopped and called on a street arab to shine his boots. His feet were in proportion to his height, and, looking at the tremendous boots before him, the arab knelt down on the pavement and, hailing a companion near by, exclaimed:—

“Billie, come o’er and gie’s a hand; I’ve got an army contract.”

WELCOME RELIEF

A chap had just gone to Flanders from the training camp in Devon, and his calmness and cheerfulness under German fire impressed everyone. So much so, in fact, that his corporal declared:

“I never saw a new hand settle right down to it like George.”

“Oh,” said another recruit, “if you knew George’s wife, corporal, you’d understand how the poor fellow enjoys a quiet day among the vitriol sprays and poison bombs.”

THE USUAL QUERY

An English school inspector, who did not look beyond military age, got a Roland for his Oliver the other day. He invited a class he was examining to put questions to him.

“Now, boys,” he said, “don’t be shy; it’s your turn now. Ask me any question you like on any subject you like, and if I can, I’ll answer it.”

After hesitating, a small but courageous boy held up his hand and blurted out: “Why are you not in khaki?”

BEST OF REASONS

“No, sir, I don’t believe in war,” cried the little man. “It means invasion and confiscation and a forcible and brutal alteration of existing boundaries.”

The man across the way turned to his companion and asked in a whisper who the little man was.

“He is a mapmaker,” the companion whisperingly replied, “and he’s got an immense stock of old maps on hand.”

MOST UNUSUAL

A British officer inspecting sentries guarding the line in Flanders came across a raw-looking yoeman.

“What are you here for?” he asked.

“To report anything unusual, sir.”

“What would you call unusual?”

“I dunno exactly, sir.”

“What would you do if you saw five battleships steaming across the field?”

“Sign the pledge, sir.”

MORE SURFACE TO COVER

The people of Luxemburg are not wanting in a sense of humor. One day an officer of the Prussian Guard entered a barber shop and had a shave. Whereupon he tendered to the barber a twopenny piece.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the barber, “but it’s threepence now.”

“Why threepence?” asked the Kaiser’s Guardsman. “In August last you only charged me twopence.”

“That’s true enough,” was the barber’s reply; “but since the Battle of the Marne your face has grown much longer.”

WORSE THAN WURST

They were talking of the war.

“What an age we are living in, to be sure!” said one.

“Yes,” replied the other; “it is the German sauce age.”

SHE KNEW PADDY

When a certain Dublin woman was informed a few days ago that her son had been captured by the Germans with other prisoners, and that he had been put into a chain-gang, she said, with great emotion:—

“Heaven help the man that’s chained to our Paddy.”

HE HAD SMOKED ONE

English Host—“I thought of sending some of these cigars out to the front.”

The Victim—“Good idea! But how can you make certain that the Germans will get them?”

SALVAGE

During the fighting a Highlander had the misfortune to get his head blown off.

A comrade communicated the sad news to another gallant Scot, who asked, anxiously:—

“Where’s his head? He was smoking ma pipe.”

A SOLDIER’S WIFE RELATES THIS

I received a letter from my husband last week, in which he states that he and others were having a glass of beer, when a minister came amongst them and, kneeling down, began to pray, when one of the company present, known as “Stammering Tommy,” closed his eyes and bent his head. When he again opened his eyes, at the close of the prayer, some one had drunk up all his beer. “Eh!” exclaimed Tommy, in astonishment. “M-my b-beer’s all g-gone. I shall w-watch and p-pray n-next t-time.”

IT SAID SO ON THE DOOR

A group of patriotic and very enthusiastic boys was assembled outside a well-known London hospital. A passer-by was asked by one of them:—

“Please, sir, can you tell us which general it is who is in this hospital?”

“General?” replied the man. “I don’t know of any general in this hospital.”

“Oh, yes, sir—look for yourself,” cried all the boys together.

The man fixed his gaze on the sign and read, “General Lying-In Hospital.”

GENTLE HINT

A woman who had had four stalwart soldiers billeted on her endeavored to use as little butcher meat as possible. Day after day there was served at the dinner time a scanty meal, the chief item of which was tea.

“Ah,” she said one day, pointing to a tea leaf floating in one of the cups, “there’s to be a visitor today.”

“Well, madam,” said one of the hungry four, “let us hope that it’s the butcher!”

SOMETHING JUST AS GOOD

The number of famous literary men who are now serving in his majesty’s forces is so great that the happy idea has been conceived of publishing a book, the contributors to which are all celebrated authors who have become soldiers.

Among the long list of names to be found in the volume, one of the best known is that of A. E. W. Mason, the novelist.

Formerly Mr. Mason was a member of Parliament, and he tells of a man who wrote a certain M. P. asking for a ticket of admission to the gallery of the house of commons.

The M. P. wrote back saying that he was very sorry that he could not send the ticket because the gallery was closed.

The next day he was astonished to receive from the stranger the following note: “As the gallery is closed, will you please send me six tickets for the zoo?”

NOT ON THE MENU

A gentleman in khaki, just back from France, rambled into a restaurant. After glancing over the bill of fare, he looked around the room for a waiter.

“Yes, sir,” said the waiter, sliding over in response to his call with a glass of water and a napkin.

“Tell me, waiter,” remarked the soldier, “have you got frogs’ legs?”

“No, sir,” was the rather unexpected answer; “it is rheumatism that makes me walk like this!”

DYE IS SCARCE

Gen. Joffre’s quiet humor is typified in a story which comes from the trenches. Some members of the general’s staff were discussing the number of officers whose hair had turned from jet black to white since the war began, and they had decided to their own satisfaction that the cause was to be found in the mental strain. Gen. Joffre was asked for his opinion, and, while agreeing with the conclusion arrived at by his officers, naively added that it was also very difficult in war time to obtain the toilet accessories to which one was accustomed in times of peace!

THE HERO

First Tramp—“You seem very ’appy abaht it. Wot’s up?”

Second Tramp (reading Mr. Asquith’s Guildhall speech)—“’Ere’s me bin goin’ wivout luxuries all this time, an’ I’ve only jus’ found out that I’ve bin ’elpin’ the country to win this war.”

NEEDED A BRACER

During the recent fighting along the banks of the Aisne a man was badly wounded. The Ambulance Corps tenderly placed him on a stretcher.

“Take him to the hospital,” said the man in charge.

Slowly the wounded man opened his eyes and whispered, faintly:—

“What’s the matter with the canteen?”

AND SMITH COULDN’T DO IT

Sergeant-Major—“Now, Private Smith, you know very well none but officers and non-commissioned officers are allowed to walk across this grass.”

Private Smith—“But, Sergeant-Major, I’ve Captain Graham’s verbal orders to—”

Sergeant-Major—“None o’ that, sir. Show me the captain’s verbal orders. Show ’em to me, sir.”

PAYING HIS RESPECTS

A soldier had died, and a very unpopular sergeant was making a “voluntary” levy of a shilling per man to be sent to the dead soldier’s widow. He came to Mick, an Irishman, who was always in trouble, and who hated the sergeant.

“Now, Mick, my man, where’s your shilling?”

Mick slowly put his hand in his pocket, and as slowly withdrew it. He looked lovingly at the shilling as it lay in his palm, and then passed it over to the sergeant.

“There it is,” he said, “and I’d gladly make it a sovereign if it was for you.”

GOT THE MONEY FIRST

The following story is vouched for by a well-known Scottish M. P. somewhere off the East Coast. A trawler was on naval patrol duty. The skipper thought he would like some fish for breakfast, so he commenced operations. Soon up popped a German submarine close by. The trawler’s skipper, an Aberdonian, was about to ram it and earn the prize money when the submarine’s commander, not suspecting this evil intention, offered to buy some fish. So the canny Scot went alongside, sold his fish—and then rammed the submarine.

FORTUNATE

Girl (reading letter from brother at the front)—“John says a bullet went right through his hat without touching him.”

Old Lady—“What a blessing he had his hat on, dear.”

FEMININE STRATEGY

“I was speaking with your father last night,” he said, at last, somewhat inanely.

“Oh, were you?” answered the sweet young thing, lowering her eyes. “Er—what were you—er—talking about?”

“About the war. Your father said that he hoped the fighting would soon be over.”

The sweet young thing smiled.

“Yes,” she remarked, “I know he’s very much opposed to long engagements.”

He took the hint.

WAR WORKS WONDERS

Vicar (who has called to read a letter to one of his parishioners from her son at the Front)—“Your son, Mrs. Codling, has been fighting in the trenches. For a whole week he was standing up to his neck in water!”

Mrs. Codling—“Well, I never! This war be doing some funny things, sir, to be sure. We couldn’t get ’im to put water anywhere near ’is neck when ’e was at ’ome!”

UNLIMITED SUPPLY

“Do you know, Bill would be awfully helpful to the Germans at the front.”

“How so?”

“They might just get him on to talking about his fishing exploits when they were filling their gas-bombs.”

HER DEDUCTION

Mrs. Brown (to Mrs. Jones, who has been to see a son off in a troop-ship)—“Well, I’m sure they’ll be starting soon, for both funnels are smoking; and, you see, my dear, they couldn’t want both funnels just for lunch.”

NOT A FAVORITE BRAND

Private A—“Wot kind of a cigarette have you got?”

Private B (handing him one)—“Flor de Kitchener.”

Private A (takes a few puffs and throws it away, remarking)—“They would floor better men than Kitchener.”

AN UNWILLING TARGET

The Home Secretary, we understand, can not see his way to allow a distinguished Anglo-American who dwells in our midst with his family to exhibit, with a view to safeguarding his home against Zeppelins, an illuminated sky-sign bearing the words “Gute leute wohnen hier” (“Good people live here”).—Punch.

A COMPROMISE

In a certain hospital “somewhere in France” one of the nurses, before going out shopping, was inquiring of the wounded soldiers whether they required anything brought in, and, if so, what.

One poor chap asked her to bring him a bottle of “Scotch.” She told him that was impossible, as he had been forbidden to drink anything, whereupon he promptly replied:

“Well, have it frozen, and I’ll bite it.”

ON A SCOTTISH BATTLEFIELD

Patriotism is more than name-deep. In the early summer a tourist party at a Stirling hotel included an obvious German who had a few months previously gone the whole hog in the matter of naturalization.

He had called himself—say—Hector McKiltie. The party strolled out to the field of Bannockburn. Standing beneath the flagstaff, “McKiltie’s” eyes beamed through his spectacles for a minute. And then came the patriotic outburst:

“Mein gracious,” he exclaimed, “so dis vas vere ve beat der Inglish!”

IT HIT HIM FIRST

The wounded soldier explained his grievance to his nurse.

“You see, old Smith was next to me in the trenches. Now, the bullet that took me in the shoulder and laid me out went into ’im and made a bit of a flesh wound in his arm. Of course I’m glad he wasn’t ’urt bad. But he’s stuck to my bullet and given it his girl. Now, I don’t think that’s fair. I’d a right to it. I’d never give a girl o’ mine a second-’and bullet.”

SWEET CHARITY

Wealthy Benefactress (stopping in at the hospital)—“Well, we’ll bring the car to-morrow, and take some of your patients for a drive. And, by the bye, nurse, you might pick out some with bandages that show—the last party might not have been wounded at all, as far as anybody in the streets could see.”

EXPLAINED

Eminent Woman Surgeon, Who Is Also an Ardent Suffragette (to wounded guardsman)—“Do you know, your face is singularly familiar to me? I’ve been trying to remember where we’ve met before.”

Guardsman—“Well, mum, bygones be bygones; I was a police constable.”

OPTIMISTIC

Sniper—“I’ve knocked the spike orf ’is bloomin’ ’elmet—’e’s took the top orf o’ my bloomin’ ear—and it’s my shot next!”

WHAT STRUCK HIM LEAST

An Irishman invalided home from the war was asked by one of his relatives what struck him most about the battles he took part in.

“What struck me most?” said Pat. “Sure, it was the large number of bullets flying around that didn’t hit me.”

THE TERRIER

Sergeant—“’Ey, there! Where are you going?”

The Absent-Minded Beggar (who climbed out of the trench)—“’Oly Jiminy! When that bloomin’ shell whistled over ’ead Hi thought it was twelve o’clock!”

MORE THINGS TO KNIT

“My love, I’ve an idea,” said old Mrs. Goodart to her caller. “You know we frequently read of the soldiers making sorties. Now, why not make up a lot of those sorties and send them to the poor fellows at the front?”

A QUALIFIED FIGHTER

Rather unexpected was the reply of a Mrs. Tommy Atkins to a lady who inquired if her husband was at the front.

“Yus,” she said, “an’ I ’ope ’e’ll serve the Germans as ’e served me.”

A SHORT CUT

A stranger inquired of Pat which was the shortest way to the hospital.

Pat seriously replied: “By shouting three cheers for Germany.”

MORE THAN HE BARGAINED FOR

A soldier in barracks asked for exemption from church parade on the ground that he was an agnostic. The sergeant-major assumed an expression of innocent interest.

“Don’t you believe in the Ten Commandments?” he asked, mildly.

“Not one, sir!” was the reply.

“What! Not the rule about keeping the Sabbath?”

“No, sir.”

“Ah, well, you’re the very man I’ve been looking for to scrub out the canteen!”

AS SEEN IN PRESS REPORTS

Making the geography lesson as interesting as possible, the teacher asked the name of one of the Allies.

“France,” cried one little boy.

“Now name a town in France.”

“Somewhere,” promptly returned the youngster.

BEST OF INTENTIONS

Young Subaltern:—“I think I ought to get a periscope; what do you think?”

Grandmamma—“Don’t go buying one, my dear; if you could borrow one for a pattern, I am sure I could knit you one just as good.”

DOUBLE TROUBLE

“Mein Gott, it iss too much? Ain’t it enough dot I fight for der Vaterland? Now der Emperor says we should marry before leaving for der front.”

HE LOST THE COUNT

A young officer at the front wrote home to his father:

“Dear Father—Kindly send me $250 at once. Lost another leg in a stiff engagement and am in hospital without means.”

The answer was as follows:

“My dear Son—As this is the fourth leg you have lost (according to your letters), you ought to be accustomed to it by this time. Try and hobble along on any others you may have left.”

DEADLIER THAN USUAL

“I understand that all the warring nations find that women are perfectly able to make shrapnel.”

“I’ll wager they make it in their own way, however. One cupful gunpowder, one cupful nitroglycerin, a pinch of fulminate, and so on.”

NEW USE OF THE WORD

She—“Where have you been?”

He—“In the hospital getting censored.”

She—“Censored?”

He—“Yes; I had several important parts cut out.”

THE ORIGINAL ONE-STEP

“Did you ever go to a military ball?” asked a lisping maid of an army veteran.

“No, my dear,” growled the old soldier. “In those days I once had a military ball come to me, and what do you think? It took my leg off.”

MOTHERLY ADMONITION

The young organist of the village church had joined the local corps to fight for King and Country. The whole place turned out to see the boys go off to the Front, among them the organist’s mother, a dear old soul, who was weeping bitterly. Bravely the old lady dried her tears, and as the train steamed out of the station she called to her son:—

“Look after yourself, my boy, and be sure you keep your practice up.”

OTHER INTENTIONS

Recruiting Officer—“And now, my lad, just one more question—are you prepared to die for your country?”

Recruit—“No, I ain’t! That ain’t wot I’m j’ining for. I want to make a few of them Germans die for theirs!”

SLACKERS

British Foreman Compositor—“Three more of my men have enlisted this morning.”

Editor—“Ah! A wave of patriotism, I suppose?”

Foreman Compositor—“Well! Perhaps that’s the way to put it, but they say they would rather be shot than set any more of your copy!”

A PUTTERING PUTTER

War Fan—“What’de yuh think of von Hindenburg’s drive?”

Golf Fan—“His drive is all right, but they say he’s weak on the green.”

BLACK AND BLUE, PERHAPS

The Village Know-All—“’Ow’s that son o’ yourn wot went into the Army gettin’ on, Mr. Highpate?”

Mr. Highpate—“Oh, doin’ splendid. They’ve made ’im a color-sergeant now.”

The Village Know-All—“’Ave they, though? What color?”

BUT WILL THEY?

“What makes you think we’ll have better times when the war is over?”

“Well, for one thing, all these men who do nothing but stand around discussing the war news will have time to go back to work.”

SLOW BUT SURE

Yoemanry Officer (to trooper whose horse continually falls to the rear)—“How’s this? You told me your horse had won half-a-dozen matches against some of the best horses in the country.”

“So he has, sir,” replied the trooper. “It was in ploughing matches he took the prizes.”

THE RECRUIT SCORES ONE

“Blockhead!” shouted the exasperated drill-sergeant to the raw recruit. “Are they all such idiots as you in your family?”

“No,” said the recruit. “I have a brother who is a great deal more stupid than me.”

“Impossible! And what on earth does this incomparable blockhead do?”

“He is a drill-sergeant.”

OUR GUESS WOULD BE BEER

Teacher—“Now, children, who can tell me which is the Germans’ favorite drink?”

After a pause—“Champagne,” exclaimed all the class excepting Tommy.

Teacher—“Now, Tommy, don’t you agree with the others?”

Tommy—“Well, teacher, I don’t know. I am not sure that the German army are fond of champagne, but all the world knows that their navy always stick to port.”

A RARE OFFERING

Scene, improvised singsong in a British relief-camp, to which a number of German prisoners were admitted as a special favor. Officer running it returns after a brief absence to find the sergeant left in control of the program announcing the following item: “Our friends Fritz and ’Ans will now oblige with the ’Ymn of ’Ate.”

WISE RECRUIT

Officer (in volunteer camp, to recruit)—“Now, if a fire should break out, what are you to do?”

Recruit—“Run and find you, sir.”

Officer—“Right. And, if I’m not be found, what then?”

Recruit—“Put out the fire, sir.”

BAD BITE

“Well, I see the Germans have taken Lodz.”

“I’ll bite. Loads of what?”

NEVER ARGUE WITH A WOMAN

A big German officer went into a shop in Brussels and explained to the old woman inside that Germany was ever so many times bigger than Belgium.

“How is it, then,” she inquired, “that you can travel through Germany in three weeks, whereas you have taken over a year to get through Belgium, and you are not through yet?”

The officer saluted the old woman and walked away.

THE WHOLE PACK

A platoon of a certain regiment, among whom were a number of men noted as inveterate card-players, was being drilled. The instructor lined them up and gave the command:

“Number off!”

Like fire along the front rank ran the response:

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, jack, queen, king, ace!”

NO GARTERS NEEDED

“Anyhow, there’s one advantage in having a wooden leg,” said the happy soldier.

“What’s that?” said his friend.

“You can hold your socks up with tin-tacks.”

WILLING TO SPARE HIM

“Does your wife show any interest in the war?”

“Yes, indeed. She talks about it.”

“What does she say?”

“Why, she says that she wishes I could go.”

CHANCE FOR SOME INVENTOR

He—“Why so pensive, my dear? What are you thinking about?”

She—“I was thinking that if all the yarns husbands give their wives could be knit up, what a lot of socks and mittens there’d be for the brave soldiers.”

IN “ZEPPELIN” TIMES

“I can’t understand it. A month ago you cut her dead, and now you can’t make too much fuss over her.”

“My dear, it’s quite simple. She has the biggest cellar in the district.”—London Opinion.

GETTING THE ACCENT

“My barber is a Frenchman. Every day while he’s shaving me he gives me a little lesson in French.”

“Fine. But don’t you find it rather difficult to make replies?”

“Yes, to a certain extent, but the lather that gets into my mouth seems to help my accent.”

AN OLD KNITTING STITCH

It was several days after arriving home from the front that the soldier with two broken ribs was sitting up and smoking a cigar when the doctor came in.

“Well, how are you feeling now?” asked the latter.

“I’ve had a stitch in my side all day,” replied the wounded soldier.

“That’s all right,” said the doctor. “It shows that the bones are knitting.”

THE DEAR FRIENDS

At a party Miss Brown had sung “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary,” and for days after she was singing or humming it to herself.

“It seems to haunt me,” she said to a friend, who had also been at the party.

“No wonder,” said the friend. “Look at the way you murdered it.”

FIGHTING FOR HIS GLASSES

A pair of field-glasses “made in Germany” was responsible for the loss of a trench by the Germans in circumstances at once laughable and inspiring.

The hero was a young British subaltern who won the Victoria Cross.

The subaltern had a pair of Beiss field-glasses of which he was extraordinarily proud. He bored everyone stiff by talking about them continually.

One day his company had been compelled to fall back on their support trenches owing to a sudden German attack.