"BLIMY! THE PERISHERS SIGNALLED MY BULL A MISS, AND I'M
JUST AGOIN' TO 'OP OVER AN' TELL 'EM ABAHT IT."

* * * * *

The following reaches us from General Headquarters abroad:--

"ARMY TROOP ORDER, NO. 40.--Information has been received that many
Field Service postcards are arriving at the G. P. O. without any
address on them. The instructions printed on the cards that nothing
is to be written on them does not apply to the address. O. C.'s are
requested to bring this fact to the notice of all ranks. _Oct. 12,
1914._"

The discipline in the Army seems to be almost too good.

* * * * *

"The German Press is conducting a campaign to prove that Belgium was
deceived by the English, who, it is asserted, depicted the Germans
as sausages; hence the people were frightened when the German troops
approached."--_Yorkshire Evening Press._

The Scotch, however, are even less polite, _The Aberdeen Evening
Express_ announcing boldly--

"GORILLA FIGHTING ON THE BELGIAN FRONTIER."

* * * * *

THE KHAKI MUFFLER.

The blinds were drawn, the lamps were lit and the fire was burning
brightly. I was reading an evening paper--we get the 5.30 edition at the
moment of publication, though we are thirty miles from London--and I had
just found Prezymyzle (my own pronunciation) on the map for the
thousandth time. Helen says that quite in the early days of the war she
was told it ought to be pronounced Perimeeshy, but that seems
impossible. Rosie declares for Prozmeel. Still she isn't very confident
about it. One thing seems certain: when the Russians take this
jaw-cracking town they will pronounce it quite differently from the
Austrian form, whatever that may be. Just think of what happened to
Lemberg. There appeared to be a kind of finality about that, but no
sooner were the Russians in it than it turned into Lwow. After that
anything might happen to Przemysl.

However, there were the three of us sitting in the library. I was
helping the common cause with the evening paper and the map, and Helen
and Rosie were knitting away like mad at khaki mufflers for Lady FRENCH.
Click-click went the needles; the youthful fingers moved with incredible
deftness and celerity, and line after line was added by each executant
to her already enormous pile. There had been a long silence, and the
time for breaking it see