of the great clock' is about 30in. long by
15in. wide."--_Liverpool Echo_.

"Imposing," indeed.

* * * * *

"Manchester's L6,000,000 scheme for obtaining water supplies
from Haweswater was approved last night at a meeting of
ratepayers in the Town Hall. The annual increased consumption
of water had been a little over a million gallons per head per
day."--_Daily Dispatch_.

The new slogan of the temperance enthusiasts--What Manchester drinks
to-day England will drink to-morrow.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Visitor_. "BUT THOSE ATTACKS OF MALARIA DON'T LAST
LONG, DO THEY?"

_Tommy_. "MINE ISN'T ORDINARY MALARIA. THE DOCTOR CALLS IT
'MALINGERING MALARIA.'"]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._)

I own that to find the publishers, those sometimes too generous
critics, writing upon the wrapper of _An English Family_ (HUTCHINSON)
an appreciation that bracketed it with _The Newcomes_, did little to
predispose me in its favour. Later, however, when I had read the book
with an increasing pleasure, I was ready to admit that the comparison
was by no means wholly unjustified. Certainly Mr. HAROLD BEGBIE has
written a very charming story in this history of the _Frothinghams_
and the growth of their typically English characters, maturing just
in time for the ordeal that has tested and (one is proud to think)
triumphantly approved the spirit of our country. In fact these memoirs
of _Hugh Frothingham_ are something more than an idle romance; there
is an allegory in them, and some touch of propaganda, cunningly
introduced in the fine character of _Torrance_, the great surgeon who
married one of the _Frothingham_ girls and was bombed in the hospital
raids. Through the varied activities of the family, as they develop,
passes the cleverly-shown figure of _Hugh_, the narrator, who,
starting with fairer prospects than any of the others, is ruined by
indolence and an income, and hardly saved by the War from degenerating
into the torpid existence of a social pussy-cat. _Hugh_ is an
admirable example of the difficult art of seemingly unconscious
self-revelation. Altogether I have found _An English Family_ greatly
to my taste, displaying as it does a dignity and breadth that recall
not unworthily the best traditions of the English novel. But did we
speak of _Serbia_ in 1914? I