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"I dearly love reading a ghost-story," quoth the Baron, "when, as the
song says, 'The lights are low, And the flickering shadows, Softly
come and go.' And I did hope that _Cecilia de Noël_ was going to be
just the very sort of book for a winter's fireside. Disappointed.
There is a ghost in it, and there's _Cecilia de Noël_ (good
Christmassy name, isn't it?) who instructs the ghost in his neglected
Catechism; for the ghost is as much an Atheist as the unbelieving
Sadducee in this same story, who, after all, is not converted. 'Alas!
Poor Ghost!' Very poor ghost! Bring me another ghost!" cries the
Baron. No other ghost is forthcoming to the invocation, but a book is
placed in his hands entitled _Fourteen to One_. The Baron was about
to dismiss it as a betting book--judging by its title--when his eye
caught the name of ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS as authoress. So he read
many of the short stories therein. She has in many places the touch of
DICKENS. All are good; but for pathos, keen observation, and dramatic
surprise, "give me," says the Baron, emphatically, "the short story of
_The Madonna of the Tubs_." Admirable! Those who take and act upon the
Baron's tip, will do well to ask for _Fourteen to One_, and see that
they get it.
What are the Baron's sentiments as to Christmas things? He refused
to have anything to say to games and cards. Cards--well, we all know
whose books some puritanical party said _they_ were. But these comic
and artistic Christmas Cards of RAPHAEL TUCK do not come into that
category; and same is to be said of Messrs. HILDESHEIMER's, so there's
an end on't. Henceforth, says the Baron, "No Cards."
"Come to me, O ye children," as some one sings--ARTHUR CECIL for
choice--and it might be adapted for the occasion by the Publishers
of _Chatterbox_, in which box there's a prize. Messrs. ROUTLEDGE go
in for the old, old tales. They've kindly given _Mother Hubbard_ a
new dress; and as for their Panorama of the "Beasteses," it is like
a picture-walk in the Zoo. _Some Historic Women_, well selected by
DAVENPORT ADAMS, who should have styled it _Christmas Eves by Adams_.
With Mrs. MOLESWORTH's _Bewitched Lamp_ the Baron's Assistant is much
pleased. Pictures ought to have been in oil, and there should have
been a Wickéd Fairy in it,--but there isn't.
My "Co." reports that Mrs. GRIMWOOD's long-expected book, _My Three
Years in Manipur_ (BENTLEY), is worthy of the theme, and adds a fresh
laurel to the chaplet worn by the lady on whose breast the QUEEN
pinned the Red Cross. The moving story is told with a simplicity that
looks like the development of the highest art. But the heroine of
Manipur is unmistakably artless. She is content to jot down, as if
she were writing a letter home, her impressions of what she sees,
and her account of what passes before her eyes. She has the gift of
reproducing with a few strokes of the pen, portraiture of anything
that has struck her. The only thing missed is detailed report of her
own brave bearing through the fearful night when the Residency was
attacked, and during the dreadful days that followed on the flight
towards Cachar. No one reading Mrs. GRIMWOOD's narrative would guess
what splendid part she played in that tragedy. Fortunately that has
been told elsewhere, and the omission is an added charm to a book that
has many others--including a portrait of the author.