war, of having man bridesmaids, is being made by Lady Diano
Manners."--_Provincial Paper_.

We had not previously noted this custom, but are glad that Lady
DIANO--whose name also is new to us--is dispensing with it.

* * * * *

An ex-Waac domestic named Mary Ann
Took a place with a strict vegetarian;
He cautioned her, too,
That beer was taboo,
But she simply replied, _"Ca ne fait rien. "_

* * * * *

[Illustration: _He_. "WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO BY WAY OF PEACE
CELEBRATION?"

_She_. "MY DEAR BOY, WHAT _CAN_ ONE DO, EXCEPT JUST CARRY ON?"]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

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

_Mr. Standfast_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) is the third book of the
super-spy trilogy that Colonel JOHN BUCHAN has given us, as a kind of
supplement to his more official record of the War. We have the same
hero, _Hannay_, as in _Greenmantle_ and _The Thirty-Nine Steps_, the
same group of associates, reinforced for purposes of love-interest by
a young and attractive female, and the same arch-Hun, now identified
as the _Graf von Schwabing_. Also the affair pursues much the same
hide-and-seek course that gave the former adventures their
deserved popularity. I entirely decline even to sketch the manifold
vicissitudes of _Hannay_ (now a General), tracking and being tracked,
captive and captor, ranging the habitable and non-habitable globe,
always (with a fine disregard for the requirements of book-making)
convinced that the next chapter will be the last. Three criticisms
I cannot avoid. To begin with, Colonel BUCHAN is really becoming
too lavish with his coincidences. Secondly, I found it odd that the
spy-hunters, after employing so many ruses and so much camouflage that
one might say they almost refused to recognise their own reflections
in a mirror, should proceed to the opposite extreme and arrange all
their plans, with engaging frankness, over the telephone. Finally, the
tale, though full of admirable disconnected moments, does not carry
one along sufficiently quickly. _General Hannay_ was, I thought, too
apt to interpolate lengthy reminiscences of active service, just when
I wanted to get on with the matter in hand. Pace in such affairs is
everything, and my complaint is that, though the hunt had yielded some
capital sport, its end found me with my pulse rather disappointingly