Fair be the towns by the river-side, Maidenhead, Richmond, Henley, Kew, Crammed with cottages far and wide, The thing for people like me and you; But I think of the haunting forest-lights And a path that wanders from tree to tree, Where the man of the cottage might walk o' nights, The cottage that doesn't belong to me. And it may be wrong, But it won't be long Before the feeling becomes too strong And I'll go and jolly well get that cottage That doesn't belong to me. * * * * * Illustration: A NEW AQUATIC SPORT HAS BEEN INVENTED. IT IS KNOWN AS "PLANKING," AND CONSISTS IN STANDING UPON A BOARD TOWED BY A FAST MOTOR-BOAT. SOME WHO HAVE TRIED IT CONSIDER THE PLEASURE OVER-RATED. * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. (_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._) _Reality_ (CASSELL) deserves to rank high amongst the novels of the present season; it has, indeed, qualities that will cause it, if I am not mistaken, to outlive most of them. The chief of these I can best express by the word colour; by which I mean not only a picturesque setting, but temperament and a fine sense of the romantic in life. Perhaps I ought to have known the name of MISS OLIVE WADSLEY already. As I did not, I can only be glad that _Reality_ has rectified the fault; I shall certainly not again forget a writer who has given me so much pleasure. The scene of the story is laid in Vienna, chiefly in musical Vienna, and the protagonists are the young widow, _Irene van Cleve_, and the violinist, _Jean Victoire_, whom she marries despite the well-founded objections of her noble family. Some of the family, too, are quite excellently drawn, notably a Cardinal, who, though he has little to do in the tale, manages to appear much more human and less of a draped waxwork than most Eminences of fiction. I have said that the objections of _Irene's_ relations were justified, the fact being that _Jean_ was not only a genius, but the most scatterbrained egoist and vulgarian. Naturally, therefore, the alliance turned out a failure; and the process is quite admirably portrayed. I liked least in the book the end, with its sudden revelation of a superfluous secret. Had the secret not been so superfluous it might have vexed me to have been so long kept in ignorance of it. But this is a small matter. The chief point is that _Reality_ has the pulse of life in it--in a word that it confirms its title; which, indeed, is about the highest praise that a critic can bestow. * * * * *