es to prevent admirers from grabbing his
food to hand down to their children as heirlooms.

He is being measured for a complete outfit of holeproof clothing, and his
motor will be a Ford of seventeen thicknesses, with armoured steel windows,
and fitted with first-aid accessories, including liniment, restoratives and
raw steak. His entourage will include a day doctor, a night doctor, a
leading New York surgeon and a squad of stretcher-bearers.

It has been suggested to him that a further precaution would be not to
advise the Press of the date of his arrival; but that he considers would be
carrying his safety-first measures to a foolish extreme.

* * * * *

[Illustration: STOP-PRESS NEWS.

_Observant Visitor._ "I SAY--EXCUSE ME, BUT YOUR HAT IS KNOCKED IN."

_Farm Hand._ "WHOI, I'VE KNOWED THAT FOR THE LAST SEVEN YEAR."]

* * * * *

A TRAGEDY OF REACTION.

It was a super-poet of the neo-Georgian kind
Whose fantasies transcended the simple bourgeois mind,
And by their frank transgression of all the ancient rules
Were not exactly suited for use in infant schools.

But, holding that no rebel should shrink from fratricide,
His gifted brother-Georgians he suddenly defied,
And in a manifesto extremely clear and terse
Announced his firm intention of giving up free verse.

The range of his reaction may readily be guessed
When I mention that for Browning his devotion he confessed,
Enthroned above the SITWELLS the artless Muse of "BAB,"
And said that MARINETTI was not as good as CRABBE.

At first the manifesto was treated as a joke,
A boyish ebullition that soon would end in smoke;
But when he took to writing in strict and fluent rhyme
His family decided to extirpate the crime.

Two scientific doctors declared he was insane,
But likely under treatment his reason to regain;
So he's now in an asylum, where he listens at his meals
To a gramophone recital of the choicest bits from _Wheels_.

* * * * *

THE RETURN TO WOAD.

"The bride's mother was handsomely attired in heliotrope stain."--
_Canadian Paper._

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)

Whatever else may be said about Mr. ARTHUR COMPTON-RICKETT as a novelist,
it can at least be urged for him that he displays no undue apprehension of
the too-fa