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:—