THE BARON'S Booking-Office is still decked about with holly,
For the Season that at any rate's conventionally "jolly,"
Is by no means wholly over, and the very hard-worked Baron
Feels rather like a sort of tired-out literary Charon,
With an over-laden ferry-boat, and passengers too numerous.
For seasonable "novelties"--and "notions" quaint and humorous
Still crowd on him, and claim his constant critical attention,
Some may escape his notice, but a few more he must mention
MARCUS WARD'S are good as usual, and his "Christmas Cheque Book"'s funny;
Though rather a sardonic "sell" to parties short of money.
CASTELL BROTHERS' Cards are charming, but the words "Printed in Germany,"
The patriotic Baron irk, or may he turn a Merman! He
Can't see why pictured prettiness should be beyond _home_-printing.
He doesn't want to dogmatise, but really can't help _hinting!_
_Scout's Head_, by LANGBRIDGE, boys will like. JEROME K. JEROME'S
_Stage-Land_,
Which BERNARD PARTRIDGE illustrates, might tickle e'en the sage land
Of Puritan Philistia at Clapham-Rise or Barnsbury.
And now let us the memory of Christmas Cards and yarns bury
In a right bowl of stingo, in the which the Baron cheerily
Drinks to his readers heartily, sincerely, and Happy-New-Year-ily!
Once upon a time Mr. LEWIS CARROLL wrote a marvellously grotesque,
fantastic, and humorous book called _Alice in Wonderland_, and on
another occasion he wrote _Through the Looking-Glass_, in which _Alice_
reappeared, and then the spring of Mr. LEWIS CARROLL'S fanciful humour
apparently dried up, for he has done nothing since worth mentioning in
the same breath with his two first works; and if his writings have been
by comparison watery, unlike water, they have never risen by inherent
quality to their original level. Of his latest book, called _Sylvie and
Bruno_, I can make neither head nor tale. It seems a muddle of all
sorts, including a little bit of Bible thrown in. It will be bought,
because LEWIS CARROLL'S name is to it, and it will be enjoyed for the
sake of Mr. FURNISS'S excellent illustrations, but for no other reason,
that I can see. I feel inclined to carol to CARROLL, "O don't you
remember sweet ALICE?" and, if so, please be good enough to wake her up
again, if you can.
M. FRÉDERIC MAYER'S International Almanack takes my breath away. It is
overwhelmingly international. Most useful to the International
Theatre-goer, as there are plans of all the principal theatres in
Europe, with the seats numbered, so that you have only to wire (answer
paid) to the Théâtre Français for _fauteuil d'orchestre_ Number 20, to
Drury Lane in the same way, to the Operahaus, Berlin ("Open Haus" sounds
so internationally hospitable) for _Parquet_ Number 200 (so as to get a
good view), to the Wallner Theater, Berlin, for something of the same
sort, or to La Scala, Milan, for the sixth _Sedie d'orchestra_ on the
left (as the numbers are not given--why?) and you'll be accommodated.
Then with ease the internationalist can learn when the Moon is full,
_Pleine Lune_, _Vollmond_, _Luna Piena_ and _Luna Ilena_ in five
languages. The Italian, the Spaniard, the French, the Englishman, the
German and the Dutchman can find out all about the different
watering-places of Europe, each one in his own native tongue, and all
about "the Court of Arches" in London and Madrid. There is the Jewish
and also the Mahommedan Calendar, but I see nothing about the Greek
Kalends. I am not quite sure that the Bulgarians will be quite
satisfied, and I should say, that the Aborigines of Central Africa will
have a distinct grievance, which M. FRÉDERIC MAYER will rectify after an
interview with Mr. STANLEY. It's a wonderful production, and as it gives
postal rates and cab-fares in ever so many languages, it will be of
great practical value to the traveller. But no list of cab-fares is
perfect without a model row with the driver in eight languages,
including some bad language and directions as to the shortest route to
the nearest police court.
Our good Doctor ROOSE _in urbe_, has just published a _brochure_,
dealing with the origin, treatment, and prevention (for there is
apparently no cure) of the fell disease to which, and for a multitude of
whose victims, Father DAMIEN died a martyr. If in the Doctor's treatment
of this subject after his own peculiar fashion _à la_ ROOSE, he can help
to alleviate present suffering and materially assist the crusade now
being undertaken against this common enemy, he will have contributed his
share of energy in starting 1890 hopefully.
Those who suffer from indigestion at this festive season, and wish to
intensify the effects of the malady, will do well to read a new book
entitled _Master of his Fate_, by J. MACLAREN COBBAN, who, if he does
not write well, that is, judging his style from a hypercritical purist's
point of view, yet contrives to interest you with a story almost as
sensational as that of _Hyde and Jekyl_. The _Master of his Fate_ might
have had for its second title, _Or, The Accomplished Modern Vampire_,
the hero being a sort of a vampire, but not one of the good old school.