OFFICER (as Private Atkins worms his way toward the enemy)—"You fool! Come back at once!"
TOMMY—"No bally fear, sir! There's a hornet in the trench."—Punch.
"You can tell an Englishman nowadays by the way he holds his head up."
"No, Zeppelin neck."
LITTLE GIRL (who has been sitting very still with a seraphic expression)—"I wish I was an angel, mother!"
MOTHER—"What makes you say that, darling?"
LITTLE GIRL—"Because then I could drop bombs on the Germans!"—Punch.
From a sailor's letter to his wife:
"Dear Jane,—I am sending you a postal order for 10s., which I hope you may get—but you may not—as this letter has to pass the Censor."—Punch.
Two country darkies listened, awe-struck, while some planters discussed the tremendous range of the new German guns.
"Dar now," exclaimed one negro, when his master had finished expatiating on the hideous havoc wrought by a forty-two-centimeter shell, "jes' lak I bin tellin' yo' niggehs all de time! Don' le's have no guns lak dem roun' heah! Why, us niggehs could start runnin' erway, run all day, git almos' home free, an' den git kilt jus' befo' suppeh!"
"Dat's de trufe," assented his companion, "an' lemme tell yo' sumpin' else, Bo. All dem guns needs is jus' yo' ad-dress, dat's all; jes' giv' em de address an' they'll git yo'."