"From Lord Rosebery's herd at Mentmore, Mr. Ross got a show cow of the Lady Dorothy family, giving every appearance of being a great milker and a tip-top bull calf."--_Aberdeen Free Press_. * * * * * From a German _communiqué_:-- "Our naval forces had encounters with Russian destroyers and gungoats north of Oesel."--_Westminster Gazette_. The Russian reply to the ewe-boats, we suppose. * * * * * "Kugelmann, Ludwig, of Canterbury Road, Canterbury, grocer, has adopted the name of Love Wisdom Power."--_Australian Paper_. Who said the Germans had no sense of humour? * * * * * [Illustration: BURGLAR BILL. THE POTSDAM PINCHER. "SURELY YOU AIN'T ASKIN' ME TO GIVE UP MY SWAG ARTER ALL THE TROUBLE I'VE HAD GETTIN' IT, AN' ALL THE VALIBLE BLOOD I'VE SPILT."] * * * * * THE MUD LARKS. The Babe went to England on leave. Not that this was any new experience for him; he usually pulled it off about once a quarter--influence, and that sort of thing, you know. He went down to the coast in a carriage containing seventeen other men, but he got a fat sleepy youth to sit on, and was passably comfortable. He crossed over in a wobbly boat packed from cellar to attic with Red Tabs invalided with shell shock, Blue Tabs with trench fever, and Green Tabs with brain-fag; Mechanical Transporters in spurs and stocks, jam merchants in revolvers and bowie-knives, Military Police festooned with _pickelhaubes_, and here and there a furtive fighting man who had got away by mistake, and would be recalled as soon as he landed. The leave train rolled into Victoria late in the afternoon. Cab touts buzzed about the Babe, but he would have none of them; he would go afoot the better to see the sights of the village--a leisurely sentimental pilgrimage. He had not covered one hundred yards when a ducky little thing pranced up to him, squeaking, "Where are your gloves, Sir?" "I always put 'em in cold storage during summer along with my muff and boa, dear," the Babe replied pleasantly. "Moreover, my mother doesn't like me to talk to strangers in the streets, so ta-ta." The little creature blushed like a tea-rose and stamped its little hoof. "Insolence!" it squeaked. "You--you go back to France by the next boat!" and the Babe perceived to his horror that he had been witty to an Assistant Provost-Marshal! He flung himself down on his knees, licking the A.P.M.'s boots and crying in a loud voice that he would be good and never do it again.