Some folk believe that wars commence
From greed of gain or self-defence;
But Austrian sages have divined
Incitements of a different kind.
The Servian Army (so 'tis said)
Has run completely out of bread,
And every day the hungry souls
Fight Austria for Vienna rolls.
The Austrian battles with the Tsar
Because he dotes on caviare,
And must that monarch's realm invade
Because he likes it freshly made.
The Russians cannot do without
The soul-sustaining sauerkraut,
And march their armies to the West
Because Berliners make the best.
The German confidently thinks
That absinthe is the prince of drinks,
And therefore must attack the land
That keeps the most seductive brand.
The Frenchman, tired of his ragoûts,
Covets the meat that Teutons use,
And charges like an avalanche
For German sausage, not revanche.
The Briton, vexed by rules austere,
Has heard the fame of German beer,
And nought his onward march can stop
While Munich holds a single drop.
The bold Italian stands prepared
With rifle loaded, sabre bared,
And to a questioning world replies,
"Who touches my spaghetti, dies!"
I have a friend who is a Special Constable. He has had an experience which by no means casts any discredit upon him; but he would rather not write about it himself, he says; so I take up the pen on his behalf.
My friend is an artist, and as such is accustomed to use his eyes. The other day he saw a smartly dressed man whom he conceived to be a German spy, for, besides wearing an alien aspect, he carried a walking-stick which tapered suspiciously on the way down, and near the top of it was an obvious little catch. "A sword stick!" said the Special Constable to himself.
He followed the man. The man ultimately entered the purlieus of a police station and joined a queue of exotics who were waiting to be registered.
The Special Constable then accosted a pukka Police Inspector who was standing at the door and explained his suspicion as to the walking-stick and its probably contents. The Police Inspector also thought there might be something in it. He beckoned to the German. The alien enemy, trembling palpably, came up to him.
"Any arms?" asked the Inspector.
"No," replied the alien enemy, still trembling.
"Undo the catch of that stick," commanded the Inspector. With fumbling fingers the alien enemy did so—and drew forth a silk umbrella.
First Golfer (to friend who has come from a distance to play with him). "But, my dear chap, where are your clubs?"
Second Golfer. "Hush! Not a word! I've got 'em disguised in here."
Two consecutive advertisements in The Portsmouth Evening News:—
"Lost, Sunday, Ring, with G.H.E. stamped on it.
"Why Lose Articles? Name or initials engraved, 6d."
"Dash it," said G.H.E., one of the first to pay his sixpence, "I've been had."
He knew, none better, how 't would be,
And spoke his warning far and wide;
He worked to save us ceaselessly,
Setting his well-earnt ease aside.
We smiled and shrugged and went our way
Blind to the swift-approaching blow;
His every word proves true to-day,
But no man hears, "I told you so!"
From a Territorial's letter in The Huddersfield Examiner:—
"We wash in a bucket—one bucket for eight men. We fall in when the bugle calls."
And then climb out again and look for the towel.
