nt. "Now you've got him! Finish him! Put him out!" they shouted.

But Ralph, chivalrous as always, drew back, bowed formally to his
opponent and quietly awaited his recovery.

Presently, after a courteous enquiry and an assurance from the Mauler
that he was quite ready, the pair exchanged a warm handshake and renewed
their combat.

Taking a deep breath, Ralph advanced with cat-like tread and flashing
eyes upon his adversary. Knowing from painful experience what to expect,
the latter circled cautiously away, covering his face with his hands.
But Ralph, realising that time was short, determined not to be baffled.
Combining the agility of the chamois with the ponderous strength of the
hippopotamus, he crouched low and sprang like a tiger through the air
upon the unhappy Mauler, striking him full on the solar plexus. White to
the lips, the Mauler fell squirming to the floor, while Ralph
nonchalantly adjusted a lock of hair which had floated loose.

"_One--two--three ..._" the voice of the referee was like the voice of
inexorable Fate ... "_four--five--six ..._" Lady Margaret gripped her
brother's arm till his hair stood on end ... "_seven--eight ..._" The
Countess of Snecks fainted with a loud shriek ... "_nine--Out_"!

The great fight was won. The House of Tamerton was saved.

Clad in his claret-coloured dressing-gown, the new champion pressed his
_fiancee_ against the yellow facings and stroked her fair hair fondly
with his boxing-gloves.

"My little wife!" he whispered.

And the vast area of Corinthia rang with emotional cheers.

* * * * *

Illustration: _Sentry (suddenly appearing)._ "HALT! WHO GOES THERE?"

_Brown._ "ER--SEASON!"

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

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

Far too rarely does the conscientious reviewer enjoy such a chance as
has come to me now, a chance to let himself go in the matter of praise
without stint or reservation. As a reward doubtless for some of my many
unrecorded good deeds, there has come into my hands a slender volume
called _Naval Occasions_ (BLACKWOOD), which seems to me to be the most
entirely satisfactory and, indeed, fascinating thing of its kind that
ever I read. The writer chooses for his own sufficient reasons to
disguise himself as "BARTIMEUS," and under that name I have to ask him
to accept my very sincere gratitude. The little book contains
twenty-five sketches, mo