Mr. Belloc himself has invented or recorded the distinction between things that would be funny anyhow, and things that are funny because they are true. Most of his jokes fall into the second category. The German baron at Oxford, the gentleman who asked when and for what action Lord Charles Beresford received his title, the poet who wrote a poem containing the lines: Neither the nations of the East, nor the nations of the West, Have thought the thing Napoleon thought was to their interest, all these people are admirably funny because they do, or very well might, exist. In fact, most of Mr. Belloc's humour is observation, a slow delicate savouring of human stupidity and pretence. The sporadic stories in his books are funny because, at least, we can believe them to be true. Read this from _Esto Perpetua_: An old man, small, bent, and full of energy opened the door to me.... "I was expecting you," he said. I remembered that the driver had promised to warn him, and I was grateful. "I have prepared you a meal," he went on. Then, after a little hesitation, "It is mutton: it is neither hot nor cold." ... He brought me their very rough African wine and a loaf, and sat down opposite me, looking at me fixedly under the candle. Then he said: "To-morrow you will see Timgad, which is the most wonderful town in the world." "Certainly not to-night," I answered; to which he said, "No!" I took a bite of the food, and he at once continued rapidly: "Timgad is a marvel. We call it 'the marvel.' I had thought of calling this house 'Timgad the Marvel,' or, again, 'Timgad the----'" "Is this sheep?" I said. "Certainly," he answered. "What else could it be but sheep?" "Good Lord!" I said, "it might be anything. There is no lack of beasts on God's earth." I took another bite and found it horrible. "I desire you to tell me frankly," said I, "whether this is goat. There are many Italians in Africa, and I shall not blame any man for giving me goat's flesh. The Hebrew prophets ate it and the Romans; only tell me the truth, for goat is bad for me." He said it was not goat. Indeed, I believed him, for it was of a large and terrible sort, as though it had roamed the hills and towered above all goats and sheep. I thought of lions, but remembered that their value would forbid their being killed for the table. I again attempted the meal, and he again began: "Timgad is a place----" At this moment a god inspired me, and I shouted, "Camel!" He did not turn a hair. I put down my knife and fork, and pushed the plate away. I said: "You are not to be blamed for giving me the food of the country, but for passing it under another name." He was a good host and did not answer. He went out, and came back with cheese. Then he said, as he put it down before me: