I have a house, and, then again,
  An extra room to take a guest;
    And in my house I have a spouse. 
  It’s good for me; I don’t protest.

  By her is every virtue taught;
  Man does as he is told, and ought;
    He has to eat his own conceit,
  So, “Just the place for John!” I thought.

  The unsuspecting guest arrives;
  But (note the worthlessness of wives)
    Does he endure the kill-or-cure
  Refining process?  No, he thrives.

  He’s led to think that he has got
  The very virtues I have not;
    Her every phrase is subtle praise
  And oh! how he absorbs the lot.

  She finds his wisdom full of wit
  And listens to no end of it;
    And if he dash tobacco-ash
  On carpets doesn’t mind a bit.

  All that the human frame requires,
  From flattery to bedroom fires,
    Is his; and I must self-deny
  To satisfy his least desires.

  I have a friend; his name is John;
  I tell him he is “getting on”
    And “growing fat,” and things like that.... 
  He pays no heed.  He’s too far gone.

  HENRY.

* * * * *

    “PUPILS wanted for Pianoforte and Theory.—­J.G.  Peat, Dyer and
    Cleaner.”—­New Zealand Herald.

“That strain again!  It had a dying fall.”—­Twelfth Night, Act I., Sc. 1, 4.

* * * * *

    “The lowest grade of porter is the grade from which railway employees
    in the traffic departments gravitate to higher positions.”—­Daily
    Paper.

The EINSTEIN theory is beginning to capture our journalists.

* * * * *

  There was a Society Sinner
  Who no longer was asked out to dinner;
        This proof of his guilt
        So caused him to wilt
  That he’s now emigrated to Pinner.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  MORE ADVENTURES OF A POST-WAR SPORTSMAN.

Post-War Sportsman."WOT’S THE MATTER?”

Mrs. P.-W.S."WHEN I WANT HIM TO JUMP THE FENCE HE JUST STOPS AND EATS IT.  WHAT AM I TO DO?”

P.-W.S. “COME ALONG WI’ ME, MY DEAR; I’LL SHOW YOU.  ’E CAN’T EAT A GATE.”]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(By Mr. Punch’s Staff of Learned Clerks.)

In the war-after-the-war, the bombardment of books that is now so violently raging upon all fronts, any contribution by a writer as eminent as Lord HALDANE naturally commands the respect due to weapons of the heaviest calibre.  Unfortunately “heavy” is here an epithet unkindly apt, since it has to be admitted that the noble lord wields a pen rather philosophic than popular, with the result that Before the War (CASSELL) tells a story of the highest interest in a manner that can only be called ponderous.  Our