The scenes of _Lure of Contraband_ (JARROLDS) are laid in the Devonshire of some hundred years ago. It is, as its title suggests, a tale of smuggling, and it contains an account of a hand-to-hand fight between the hero and the villain which I advise all members of the National Sporting Club to read. They may be shocked by the tactics of the villain, but at the same time they will see what a bout of fisticuffs meant in those days. Mr. J. WEARE GIFFARD is a master of atmosphere, and I, at any rate, lived happily in his Appledore, and imagined myself drinking prime (and cheap) French brandy in the Beaver Inn; while _Lieutenant Perkins_, who commanded the "preventive men," sat in his tall-backed chair by the fireplace and kept his eyes and ears open to detect anything that was suspicious. But he was not foolish enough to ask many questions about the French brandy. An excellent yarn, simply and straight-forwardly told. * * * * * [Illustration: _Customer._ "AND WHAT DO YOU THINK OF LLOYD GEORGE?" _Barber._ "THINK OF 'IM, SIR? WITH A MOP OF 'AIR LIKE 'E'S GOT--A NICE EXAMPLE TO THE NATION!"] * * * * * "A photograph of the Olympic games at Antwerp was transmitted yesterday to Paris, a distance of 200 miles, over a telephone wire. It is in the nature of an experiment, and if it succeeds Messrs. Cook hold out promises of further day trips to the Continent."--_Daily Paper._ Intending trippers must, of course, be proficient in the tight-rope wire.