* *

"Property insured in London is valued at L1,320,000,000," according to
an announcement made by Lord PEEL last week. One can almost hear the
KAISER smacking his lips.

* * *

At last the authorities have acted, and the premises of a German firm
with concrete foundations have been raided. This bears out the promise
of certain high officials who declared that they would take action when
a concrete example was brought to their notice.

* * *

The official "Eye-Witness" in a recent despatch tells us how a British
subaltern saw, from a wood, an unsuspecting German soldier patrolling
the road. Not caring to shoot his man in cold blood, he gave him a
ferocious kick from behind, at which the startled German ran away with a
yell. This subaltern certainly ought to have figured in "Boots' Roll of
Honour" which was published last week.

* * *

Why, it is being asked, do not the French retaliate for the damage done
by the Germans to their cathedrals and drop bombs on Berlin? The persons
who put this question have evidently never seen Berlin or they would
know that you cannot damage its architecture if you try.

* * *

The KAISER has announced his intention of eating his Christmas dinner in
London. We trust that Mr. MCKENNA and his men will see to it that His
Majesty will, anyhow, find no mince pies here. [NOTE.--"Mince pies"
should be pronounced "mean spies." This greatly improves the paragraph.]

* * *

According to one report which reaches us the KAISER is now beginning to
quibble. He has pointed out that, when he said he would eat his
Christmas dinner at Buckingham Palace, he did not mention which
Christmas.

* * * * *

TO THE ENEMY, ON HIS ACHIEVEMENT.

Now wanes the third moon since your conquering host
Was to have laid our weakling army low,
And walked through France at will. For that loud boast
What have you got to show?

A bomb that chipped a tower of Notre Dame,
Leaving its mark like trippers' knives that scar
The haunts of beauty--that's the best _reclame_
You have achieved so far.

Paris, that through her humbled Triumph-Arch
Was doomed to see you tread your fathers' tracks--
Paris, your goal, now lies a six days' march
Behind your homing backs.

Pressed to the borders where you lately passed
Bulging with insolence and fat with pride,
You stake your all upon a despe