Oh, Kitchener is worth a lot, and so is Johnny French; We talk a heap about ’em both when sitting in our trench. But if you want to know the chap whose name should be wrote big, I tell yer straight, the best of all is good old Gen’ral Cig. * * * * * Here’s to the beggar that hasn’t a smoke, Nor a “fag-paper” even to make one; And here’s to the toff, may he never go broke, Who asks Tommy Atkins to take one. Bully beef and cocoa—you’re right when in the fray. Cold roast beef and pickles—in barracks you’re my lay. Chicken soup and jellies, in hospital you get. But I’d swap ’em all, and welcome, for you, my cigarette. * * * * * When the “Black Marias” are tumbling, dancing, bursting, spitting, grumbling; And to blow us all to bits is what they’re after; Ah, my little cigarette, you’re the cheeriest friend I’ve met, For you help to turn the slaughter into laughter. SOME BOSS How Lord Kitchener is regarded in the English army was shown once in amusing fashion at a “geographical tea-party.” It was noticed that a young subaltern came into the room with a tiny portrait of Lord Kitchener in his buttonhole. No one could guess what geographical significance could be attached to it. At last the young man explained that what he had intended to convey was “The Bos-phor-us.” WHAT MUFFS ARE FOR “You are a regular muff, sir,” said an exasperated sergeant, after vainly trying to drill a recruit. “Thank you sir,” replied the latter; “if I am a muff, I have done my duty—I have made you warm!” GOING THE LIMIT Even the war has its bright side. Two negro porters were discussing it as they waited for a train to pull into the station. “Man,” said the first, “dem Germany submaroons is sho’ly gwine to sink de British navy. Yas, sir-ee, dey’s sho’ly gwine to ’splode dem naval boats dat’s waitin’ out yonda.” “Sho!” said porter number two. “An’ what’s gwine ter happen den?” “Why, dem Germany submaroons’ll come right on ’cross de ocean an’ splode de rest ob de naval boats ob de world. Dat’s what’ll happen den, Sambo!” “Well, looky heah, Gawge. Ain’t yo’ an’ me better decla’ ouahselves a couple o’ noot—nootral—nootralities?” “Man,” said Gawge, “yo’ all kin be a nootrality if yo’ wants to. Ah’m a German!” TOMMY ATKINS EXPLAINS WHY “IT’S A LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY” Scene: A street in a French town. Enter Thomas Atkins, singing; he meets Jean Pioupiou. T. A.—“‘It’s a long, long way to Tipperary, it’s—’ Halloa, cocky—how goes it?” (Holds out his hand, genially.) J. P.—“_Ah, mon cher ami!_ ‘For eeze a zholi good fellow,’ _nest-ce-pas_?” (Attempts to embrace his new friend.) T. A.—“Whoa, mare—steady on! You make me blush, old sport—it’s not the thing where we come from. Kiss the girls—not half! But the men—not in _these_!” J. P.—“You come from Teeperary—a long, long way, _peut-être_?”