“In Washington Lieutenant de Tessan was approached by a pretty American girl, who said:
“‘And did you kill a German soldier?’
“‘Yes,’ he replied.
“‘With what hand did you do it?’ she inquired.
“‘With this right hand,’ he said.
“And then the pretty American girl seized his
right hand and kissed it.
Colonel Fabry stood near by. He strolled over and said to Lieutenant de
“‘Heavens, man, why didn’t you tell her that you bit him to death?’”
The following story is from the Libre Belgique, the anonymous periodical secretly published in Brussels, and which the utmost vigilance of the German authorities has been unable to suppress.
Once upon a time Doctor Bethman-Holweg went up to heaven. The pearly gates were shut, but he began to push his way through in the usual German fashion. St. Peter rushed out of his lodge, much annoyed at the commotion.
“Hi, there, who are you?” he demanded.
“I am Doctor Von Bethman-Holweg, the imperial chancellor,” was the haughty reply.
“Well, you don’t seem to be dead; what are you doing around here?”
“I want to see God.”
“Sorry,” replied St. Peter, “but I don’t think you can see him to-day; in fact, he’s not very well.”
“Ah, I’m distressed to hear that,” said the chancellor somewhat more politely. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“We don’t quite know, but we are afraid it is a case of exaggerated ego,” answered St. Peter. “He keeps walking up and down, occasionally striking his chest with his clenched fist, and muttering to himself: ’I am the kaiser! I am the kaiser!’”
“Dear me! that is really very sad,” said the chancellor in a still kindlier tone. “Now I happen to be the bearer of a communication from my imperial master; perhaps it might cheer him up to hear it.”
“What is it?”
“Why, the emperor has just issued a decree, providing that in future he shall have the use of the nobiliary particle; from henceforth he will have the right to call himself ’Von Gott’.”
“Step right in, your excellency,” interrupted St. Peter. “I am very sure the new Graf will be much gratified to learn of the honor done him. Third door to the right. Mind the step. Thank you.”
A story about Lord Kitchener, who was often spoken of as “the most distinguished bachelor in the world,” is being told. A young member of his staff when he was in India asked for a furlough in order to go home and be married. Kitchener listened to him patiently then he said:
“Kenilworth, you’re not yet twenty-five. Wait a year. If then you still desire to do this thing you shall have leave.”
The year passed. The officer once more proffered his request.