A young British private was on night guard at a lonely outpost in France, when suddenly he heard the tramp of an advancing regiment. “Halt!” he called. “Who goes there?”

“Irish Fusiliers.”

“Pass, Irish Fusiliers, all’s well.”

Silence reigned for some minutes and then he heard another regiment advancing. “Halt! Who goes there?”

“London Scottish.”

“Pass, London Scottish, all’s well.”

For some time there was silence, and then another regiment was heard. “Halt! Who goes there?”

“None of your d—— business!”

“Pass, Canadians, all’s well.”