taken to restrict the
circulation of _Punch_, and its price has been raised to Sixpence. The
Proprietors believe that the public will prefer an increase of price to a
reduction of matter.

Readers are urged to place an order with their Newsagent for the regular
delivery of copies, as _Punch_ may otherwise be unobtainable, the shortage
of paper making imperative the withdrawal from Newsagents of the
"on-sale-or-return" privilege.

In consequence of the increase in the price of _Punch_ the period covered
by subscriptions already paid direct to the _Punch_ Office will be
proportionately shortened; or the unexpired value will be refunded, if
desired.

The next issue of _Punch_ (March 28th) will be a Navy Double Number, price
Sixpence. The Proprietors regret that arrangements for this Number were
completed before the further drastic restrictions in the paper supply were
announced.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Unlucky One_ (_after perusing latest list of honours_).
"NEVER HAVE HAD ANY LUCK. MONTHS AGO I SAVED A SERGEANT CHAP FROM A ROTTEN
PLACE--CARRIED THE FELLOW ALL THE WAY BACK--AND TOLD HIM NOT TO SAY A WORD
ABOUT IT!"

_Friend._ "WELL, WHAT'S WRONG? HAS HE BEEN TALKING?"

_Unlucky One._ "NOT A WORD, CURSE HIM!"]

* * * * *

THE MUD LARKS.

When I was young, my parents sent me to a boarding school, not in any hopes
of getting me educated, but because they wanted a quiet home.

At that boarding school I met one Frederick Delane Milroy, a chubby
flame-coloured brat who had no claims to genius, excepting as a
_litterateur_.

The occasion that established his reputation with the pen was a Natural
History essay. We were given five sheets of foolscap, two hours and our own
choice of subject. I chose the elephant, I remember, having once been kind
to one through the medium of a bag of nuts.

Frederick D. Milroy headed his effort "THE FERT" in large capitals, and
began, "The fert is a noble animal--" He got no further, the extreme
nobility of the ferret having apparently blinded him to its other
characteristics.

The other day, as I was wandering about on the "line," dodging Bosch crumps
with more agility than grace, I met Milroy (Frederick Delane) once more.

He was standing at the entrance of a cosy little funk-hole, his boots and
tunic undone, sniffing the morning nitro-glycerine. He had swollen
considerably since our literary days, but was wearin