=Story No. 5.=—An American soldier met a British soldier in New York. “What mob did you go over with?” asked the Britisher. “The Rainbow Division,” responded the American. “Never heard of it,” laconically remarked the Britisher. “What,” ejaculated the American; “never heard of the Rainbow Division, the famous Rainbow Division.” “Ah, let me think,” pondered the other; “let me think; ah, yes, bah jove, that’s the one that came out after the storm was all over.” The Englishmen admit their insulting stories about the Americans, but defend the practice by declaring the stories to be of a friendly character. On the other hand they declare the American insults to be bitter. Our “friendly insults” appear to be “a horse of another color.” What chance is there for permanent peace? * * * * * =The Soapy Wiggle Shimmy= There are ways and other ways, but—— “How do you wash your back when you bathe?” queried one fair maiden of her companion on a streetcar, as they rode to work one morning last week. “I just can’t seem to get a satisfactory job on that part of me.” “Why—wash my back?” came the instant and ready reply. “Why, that’s easy. I just soap my back all over and then lie down in the tub and shimmy.” * * * * * He: “Are you free tonight, dearie?” She: “No, I was last Friday but not tonight.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ =_Limericks_= There was a young lady of Tottenham, Her manners—well, she had forgotten ’em. At tea at the Vicar’s She took off her knickers, And said she was too jolly hot in ’em. –––––––––– There was a young man in Drumheller; An ornery sort of a feller. He had cracks in his dome, But folks flocked to his home, On account of the crocks in his cellar. –––––––––– There was a young man from Bordeaux Who loved a young lady I kneaux; She was charming and fair, But she died in despair For the chap from Bordeaux was too sleaux. –––––––––– A maiden with stockings of lisle Passed a man and she gave him a smile. The lisle he could see All the way to her knee, And he followed her almost a misle. –––––––––– A Cannibal King saw his Mrs. Kissing a guard called Ulrs. The wicked old king Fricasseed the poor thing, And Ulrs. now Mrs. her Krs. ––––––––––