"Please," I said (my spirit was quite broken)--"please, for God's sake, don't send a man. Not this morning at any rate. Put it off, there's a good fellow." "But I thought there was something wrong--" "Oh, no, not at all. It's a hideous mistake. My line never behaved better in its life. It's a positive joy to me." I have it on Mr. BALFOUR'S authority that all truth cannot be told at all times. But I had lost the set. * * * * * [Illustration: THE THIRST FOR EDUCATION. _Mother_. "Wot's all this 'ubbub goin' on indoors?" _Daughter_. "Baby's bin and licked 'Erbert's 'ome lessons orf 'is slate."] * * * * * "On Friday, March 7th, Messrs. ----, on the instructions of the executors of the late Mr. ----, are selling by auction in pneumonia and acute influenzal pneu-built cottages situate in Chapel Street."--_Provincial Paper_. Personally we were not bidding. * * * * * [Illustration: _Staff Officer (accustomed to staff-car pace)._ "HERE, CABBY--LET ME OUT. I'D RATHER WALK." _Antique Jehu (who thinks he has to do with a "shell-shock" case)._ "IT'S ALL RIGHT, SIR. I'M GOING VERY CAREFUL." _S.O._ "I KNOW. BUT I'M SO AFRAID OF SOMETHING RUNNING INTO US FROM BEHIND."] * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. (_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._) When a story bears the attractive title of _The House of Courage_ (DUCKWORTH); when it begins in the Spring of 1914 with a number of pleasantly prosperous people whose faith in the continuance of this prosperity is frequently emphasised ("as if they had a contract with God Almighty" is how an observant character phrases it); and when, in the first chapter, the hero has an encounter with two Germans in a Soho restaurant--well, it requires no great guessing to tell what will happen before we are through with it. And, in fact, Mrs. VICTOR RICKARD'S latest is yet another war-story; though with this novelty, that the hero's experiences of service are almost entirely gained in a German prison-camp. As perhaps I need not say, both divisions of the tale are admirably written. It is hardly the author's fault that the earlier half, with its pictures of a genial hunting society in County Cork, is distinctly more entertaining than the scenes of boredom and brutality at Crefeld, well-conveyed as these are and almost over-realistic and convincing. Inevitably too the scheme is one of incident rather than character. One has never any very serious doubt that in the long run the hero, _Kennedy_, will marry the girl of his choice, despite the fact of her engagement to the clearly unworthy _Harrington_. But as part of the long run was from Crefeld to the Dutch frontier, over every obstacle that you can imagine (and a few more, including an admirable thrill almost on the post), one is left with the comfortable feeling that the prize was well earned. You will