The Irish Tommy, prisoner, was feeling very wroth with the destroyers of Louvain, when a German officer dashed by on what Paddy termed “a rare bit of horseflesh.” “Faith, that’s an Irish horse,” said Paddy, and his eyes glinted maliciously at the Teutonic soldier, who had a fair knowledge of English, and at once took up the glove. They would probably have come to blows, in spite of Paddy’s precarious position, had not a compatriot of his proposed that whoever could tell the biggest lie might claim the horse for his country. Paddy forthwith began a tale which was one lie from beginning to end, and stopped triumphantly. Then his Teutonic opponent began, in slow, but correct, English:—— “There was once a German gentleman——” “That settles it,” said Paddy, with a sigh of resignation; “the horse is a German one!” WISE PRECAUTION Rain was falling steadily as the weary cyclist plodded on through the mud. At last he spied a figure walking towards him through the gloom. Gladly he sprang off his machine, and asked the native:— “How far off is the village of Poppleton?” “Just ten miles the other way, sir,” was the reply. “The other way!” exclaimed the cyclist. “But the last signpost I passed said it was in this direction.” “Ah!” said the native, with a knowing grin, “but, ye see, we warped that there post round so as to fool those ’ere Zeppelins.” A BLOODLESS BATTLE The occasion was the regimental ball. The band was there, and the palms and the refreshment buffet and everything was lovely. But in one corner, behind a beautiful green rampart of palms, the young lieutenant and the colonel’s daughter were trying to occupy the same chair, and were giving other evidence of the fact that their hearts had been pierced by some of Cupid’s darts. Suddenly an intruder appeared—a fierce intruder in the uniformed personage of the young lady’s father. Instantly the chair was abandoned, and the youthful swain stood at attention. “Sir,” he said, in sharp, staccato tones, “I have the honor to report an engagement, in which I have been entirely victorious. Now, sir, it merely remains for you to give your official sanction of the terms of surrender.” AT A PARIS HOTEL “My plate is damp.” “Hush!” whispered his wife. “That’s your soup. They serve small portions in war time.” THE LAST RESORT Frau von Schmidt (of Berlin)—“Otto, where are we going for holidays this summer?” Otto—“Well—er—there’s Turkey.” CRUEL SPITE Village Haberdasher—“Yew take it from me, sir, folk in our village be very spiteful agin the Germans. Why, Oi reckon Oi’ve sold fifty ’ankerchers wi’ Kitchener’s face on ’em!” AN UNLOVED OFFICIAL Actual extract from a sailor’s letter to his wife: “Dear Jane,—I am sending you a postal order for 10s, which I hope you may get—but you may not—as this letter has to pass the Censor.” EXTREMITY; MEANING FEET? He—“I hear that you are knitting socks for the fighting soldiers.” She—“Yes; man’s extremity is woman’s opportunity, you know.”