_C. P._ Well, but I _know_ they're all fond of me; but my All-Highest One may get knocked out before I get my chance, and may carry me down with him. _Tino_. Well, we must try to bear up, even if he should go the way NICKIE has gone. In the meantime the War doesn't look particularly promising, does it? _C. P._ It certainly doesn't; and the Americans will be at our throats directly. Do you know, I never thought very much of HINDENBURG. _Tino_. I suppose you know someone who is younger and could do it much better. * * * * * [Illustration: SOMEWHERE UP NORTH. _Naval Officer (to native)_. "CAN YOU TELL ME WHERE THE GOLF COURSE IS?" _Native_. "YOU'RE ON THE FIRST GREEN THE NOO. YON'S THE FLAG OWER THE BACK O' THAT STANE."] * * * * * "The difference between the classical Arabic and the colloquial is far greater than that between the Greek of Cicero and the Greek of, let us say, M. Gounaris."--_The Near East_. Of course there is also the difference of accent. CICERO spoke Greek with a slight Roman accent and M. GOUNARIS speaks it with a strong German one. * * * * * "Two van-loads of shrapnel bullets were stopped by detectives in Prospect Street, Rotherhithe."--_Morning Paper_. Tough fellows, these detectives. Stopping a single bullet would put most men out of action. * * * * * "Wanted, Cottage or two Double-bedded Rooms, in country river, 20-30 miles from Birmingham, first fortnight of August."--_Daily Post (Birmingham)_. So convenient for friends to drop in. * * * * * "If the latest air raid does not make the British bull-dog show his talons in a way that we have up till now wished he might never do, well nothing will."--_Berwick Journal_. With his new pedal equipment the British bull-dog should give the German eagle pause. * * * * * We are asked to state that a recently published work on _Beds and Hunts_ (METHUEN) is not a companion-volume to _Minor Horrors of War_. * * * * * TO THE MEN WHO HAVE DIED FOR ENGLAND. All ye who fought since England was a name, Because Her soil was holy in your eyes; Who heard Her summons and confessed Her claim, Who flung against a world's time-hallow'd lies The truth of English freedom--fain to give Those last lone moments, careless of your pain, Knowing that only so must England live And win, by sacrifice, the right to reign-- Be glad, that still the spur of your bequest Urges your heirs their threefold way along-- The way of Toil that craveth not for rest, Clear Honour, and stark Will to punish wrong! The seed ye sow'd God quicken'd with His Breath; The crop hath ripen'd--lo, there is no death! * * * * *