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In order to assist the many fine specimens of moth in the Insect House, it is reported that several actor-managers owning fur coats have offered them a good home.
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The birds of paradise are no longer fed on beetroot. Since the all-red root has been denied them they protest against being called birds of paradise, and wish to be known simply as “birds.”
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[Illustration: OUR PERSEVERING OFFICIALS;
OR, THE RECRUIT THAT WAS PASSED AT THE THIRTEENTH EXAMINATION.]
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[Illustration: Private Saunders (whose battalion, having been sent back from the front line for “rest,” is compelled to spend the night in the street, its billets being still occupied by other troops—to cheery pal, who breaks into song). “’USH, GINGER—YOU’LL GIVE THE TOWN A BAD NAME.”]
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WHITEHALL WHISPERINGS.
(With apologies to the seers of the Sunday papers.)
A great port was swathed in bunting last week. I was there, but I must not say what caused this outburst of enthusiasm. But even the Censor can scarcely forbid my hinting that it was connected with a naval success of peculiar brilliance which must be suppressed because we wish to keep the Bosches guessing.
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Who was in Switzerland when he was regularly reported as being in attendance at War Council meetings? Who was actually supposed to have addressed a public meeting in England when in reality he was hundreds of miles away? I make no statement; I merely write the word “Austria.” To those who understand it will be enough.
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Have you noticed that for some weeks we have had no news from the Port of Danzig? I draw no deduction, but do not be surprised to hear in a few weeks that the Port of Danzig has ceased to exist.
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There is grave trouble at Scotland Yard. A Hun Colonel captured at Arras was found to have in his pocket a receipted bill from a London hotel of the previous week’s date. It would surprise you very much if I told you at which hotel “Mr. Perkins” stayed and what guests he entertained there.
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Why did the Liberian envoy call at the Foreign Office six times last week? His explanation, offered to an inquiring Pressman, that he had lost an umbrella, was naive, to say the least. I must not betray what I know, but I may hint that KING FERDINAND of Bulgaria is famous for the devious ways in which he carries on negotiations.
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A neutral diplomatist of considerable importance has never taken a holiday since the War began, and has always told his friends that he will never leave his post till peace comes. On an afternoon this week he was seen with beaming face buying a travelling rug and two portable trunks at one of London’s largest emporia. I wonder—yes, I wonder.