“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.