In consequence of the taking in or taking out of Nobodies' luggage,
the train had been considerably delayed, and this delay had been
protracted by the thirsty condition of the panting and enfeebled
engine. Stopping to water the horses in the olden days took much less
time, I should imagine, than stopping to supply the engine with water
in our own day. Be this as it may, the stoppages had already been
considerable, and the Baron was ruminating on the best method of
passing his valuable time for the next two hours, when it occurred
to him that in his bag he had been carrying about for some time past
three books, in the hope that there might occur some opportunity, of
which the Baron could avail himself, to peruse these works, and remark
upon them for the benefit of the select reading public. He took up
the first, read a few sketches of _Our Churchwardens_, but failing
to appreciate the subject, returned it to the bag, and went in for
_Monsignor_. Perhaps the weak state of health in which our engine
found itself, had not been improved by the additional weight imposed
on it, owing to having to carry _Monsignor_. "Uncommonly heavy," said
the Baron, when he arrived at the hundredth page; "I will keep it in
reserve for my lighter and gayer moments, when timely repression may
be necessary." So saying, he restored this to the same receptacle, and
made another dip in the lucky bag. This time he brought to the surface
_The Case of George Candlemas_, by GEORGE SIMS. Very nearly giving it
up was the Baron, on account of its title, so suggestive of the usual
vein of shilling shockers, and very glad is he that he did not do
so, as for the next hour and a quarter not only was the Baron really
interested, but highly amused, and it would have done the heart of
GEORGE SIMS, of _Horrible London_ and other emotional tales, good to
have seen the Baron chuckling over this capital short story, which is
as ingenious as it is genuinely droll. It belongs to the same genus
as the _Danvers Jewels_, though, in this latter, the idea of the
character of the narrator is more humorously conceived than is Mr.
SIMS's Baronet who acts as an amateur detective. The Baron highly
recommends this story, as he also does a short tale in _Blackwood_,
for this month, entitled, _A Physiologist's Wife_, by A. CONAN DOYLE.
The Baron's attention has been turned to five little volumes of _Love
Tales_, English, Irish, Scotch, American, and German. They form a
companion set to _Weird Tales_, published also by PATERSON & Co., and
a pocketable size, most useful for travellers.
_A propos_ of Travellers, why does not some English firm bring out a
series of Guide-books, of the size, and written in the style of the
_Guides Conty_, which, for travelling in France, are far and away
the best Guide-books I know. The _Guides Joanne_ are of course good,
steady, trustworthy Guides, but they don't attract the traveller's
attention to out-of-the-way places, and to the "things to do," in the
same pleasant way as do the writers in the _Guides Conty_. Where to
go, when to go, how to go, how to make the most of a short visit, what
to ask for, what to look for, what to take, and what to avoid, these
are details for which the _Guides Conty_ go in. They might be better,
perhaps, in the way of maps, but this is a fault of all Guides.
Wishing, when at Havre, to visit Merville-sur-Mer, and the celebrated
Corneville, with whose _cloches_ we are all acquainted, in vain I
searched the ordinary maps, and at last found quite a microscopical
place, and without the "Sur Mer," as there wasn't room for it in a map
of either the _Guide Joanne_ or _Conty_, I forget which. Why it seems
to be generally ignored I don't know, but in this respect it is a
fellow-sufferer with Westgate-on-Sea, whose name is on no sign-post
that ever I've seen in the Island of Thanet, though it may by this
time figure on some recent maps. The village of "Garlinge," which
is on the inland side of the L.C.&D. line, is to be found on every
direction-post and on every map, and the fashionable Westgate is, so
to speak, nowhere. BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
P.S.--Just attempted to read RUDYARD KIPLING's _On Greenhow Hill_, in
this month's _Macmillan_. No doubt very clever, and will be greatly
admired by Kiplingites, but, for me, time is too valuable and life too
short to study and appreciate it. I can't even read it: _dommage_, but
I can't.
In this month's number of _The Cabinet Portrait Gallery_ (CASSELL
& CO.) there is one of the best photographs of JOHN MORLEY I ever
remember to have seen. Not easy to take: this one is by DOWNEY.
No mistaking a photo by DOWNEY, and this one of JOHN MORLEY, the
Nineteenth Century ST. JUST, has a thoroughly downy look about the
face. Those of Lady DUDLEY and Sir FREDERICK LEIGHTON are not up to
the DOWNEY standard, specially Lady DUDLEY's.
In the _Fortnightly_ Mr. FRANK HARRIS has induced Mr. W.S. LILLY to
give us some personal reminiscences of Cardinal NEWMAN, together with
some letters of the Cardinal's to him. Interesting, but too brief.
Oddly enough, _à propos_ of "Reminiscences," there is in this same
Number a very amusing article by J.M. BARRIE on the manufacturing of
reminiscences. Very droll idea. "Read it," says the Baron.
In the _Contemporary_ Mr. WILFRID MEYNELL gives an interesting Memoir
of the great Cardinal and his contemporaries, and Mr. RUDYARD KIPLING
writes a tale entitled _The Enlightenment of Mr. Padgett, M.P._--of
which more when I've read it. * * * I have read it. It isn't a story,
so I was disappointed, and about as interesting to a story-seeker as
_The National Congress_, of which it treats, to the majority of the
Indian natives. But the dialogue is instructive and amusing, and will
enlighten many Padgetts. B. DE B.-W.
* * * * *
"UN PETTITT-HARRIS COMPLIMENT."--AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS and his
colleague in the authorship of the new piece at the National Theatre
are to be congratulated. As might have been anticipated from the
title, "there is money in it."
* * * * *