Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol 150, February 9, 1916

Tommy. 'Ere, Ted, what's the matter? Ted (ex-plumber). Wy, I'm goin' back for me baynet, o' course.
The German claim that as the result of the Zeppelin raid England's industry to a considerable extent is in ruins is probably based on the fact that three breweries were bombed. To the Teuton mind such a catastrophe might well seem overwhelming.
A possible explanation of the Government's action in closing the Museums is furnished by the Cologne Gazette , which observes that if one wanted to find droves of Germans in London one had only to go to the museums. But if the Government is closing them merely for purposes of disinfection it might let us know.
Irritated by the pro-German conversation of one of the guests at an American dinner-party the English butler poured the gravy over him. The story is believed to have greatly annoyed the starving millionaires in Berlin. They complain that their exiled fellow-countrymen get all the luck.
Is the Office of Works feeding Germany? We have lately learned that no bulbs are to be planted in the London parks this season; and almost simultaneously we read in the Frankfurter Zeitung a suggestion that, as bulbs are so cheap owing to the falling-off in the English demand, they should be used as food by the German housewife. What has Mr. Harcourt to say about this?
Mr. Ted Heaton, a noted Liverpool swimmer, is acting as sergeant-instructor to the Royal Fusiliers at Dover, and is expected to have them in a short time quite ready for the trenches.
A London magistrate has ruled that poker is a game of chance. He was evidently unacquainted with the leading case in America, where, on the same point arising, the judge, the counsel and the parties adjourned for a quiet game, and the defendant triumphantly demonstrated that it was a game of skill.
In an article describing the wonders of modern French surgery Mrs. W.K. Vanderbilt mentioned that she had watched an operation in which a part of a man's rib was taken out and used as a jawbone. Pooh! said the much-married general practitioner who read it, that's as old as Adam.