SIR EDWIN ARNOLD's paper on Japan, in _Scribner_, for March, is
interesting and also amusing. The Japanese seemed to be a charming
people; and the Japanese women delightful as wives; but then they can
be divorced for being talkative.
_A propos_ of Japan, to judge from one of our LIKA JOKO's capital
illustrations of Hospital Nursing in _The English Illustrated
Magazine_, the Matron's room must be "an illigant place, intoirely";
while as for amusement, if the picture of a nurse giving a patient a
cup of ink by mistake for liquorice-water isn't a real good practical
side-splitter, the Baron would like to be informed what is? Then we
come upon a delightful little picture of "_The Pet of the Hospital_";
and so she ought to be, for a prettier pet than this nursing Sister
it would be difficult to find. What becomes of her? Does she marry a
"Sawbones," or run off with a patient? Anyhow, she must be a "great
attraction," and if anything were to happen to the Baron, and he
couldn't be removed to his own palatial residence, he would say, "Put
me in a cab, drive me to the Furniss Hospital, and let me be in Pretty
Pet's Ward."
The Baron has just been dipping into Mr. JUSTIN HUNTLY McCARTHY's
"Pages on Plays" in _The Gentleman's Magazine_. JUSTIN HUNTLY
expresses his opinion that "_The Dancing Girl_ will almost certainly
be the play of the season; it will probably be the principal play of
the year." "Almost certainly" and "probably" save the situation. The
Baron backs _The Idler_ against _The Dancing Girl_ for a run. In the
same Magazine Mr. ALBERT FLEMING has condensed into a short story,
called _Sally_, material that would have served some authors for a
three-volume novel.
It is a pleasure for the Baron to be in perfect accord on any one
point with the Author of _Essays in Little_, and in proportion to
the number of the points so is the Baron's pleasure intensified. Most
intending readers of these Essays, on taking up the book, would be
less curious to ascertain what ANDREW LANG has to say about HOMER
and the study of Greek, about THÉODORE BE BANVILLE, THOMAS HAYNES
BAYLEY, the Sagas, and even about KINGSLEY, than to read his opinions
on DICKENS and THACKERAY, placing DICKENS first as being the more
popular. The Baron recommends his friends, then, to read these Essays
of ANDREW's, beginning with THACKERAY, then DICKENS; do not, on any
account, omit the delightfully written and truly appreciative article
on CHARLES LEVER; after which, go as you please, but finish with "_the
last fashionable novel_," wherein our M.A., in his Merriest-Andrewest
mood, treats us to an excellent parody.
The Baron has appointed an extra Reader, and this Extra-Ordinary
Reader to the Baron has just entered upon the discharge of his duties
by reading _Monte Carlo, and How to Do It_, by W.F. GOLDBERG, and
G. CHAPLIN PIESSE (J.W. ARROWSMITH). He reports in the following
terms to his loved Chief:--This book achieves the task of combining
extraordinary vulgarity with the flattest and most insipid
dulness--not a common dulness, but a dulness redolent of low slang
and dirty tap-rooms. The authors seem to plume themselves on their
marvellous success in reaching Monte Carlo, which, with their usual
sprightly facetiousness, they call "Charley's Mount." They are good
enough to tell such of the travelling public as may want to get there,
that the train leaving Victoria at 8.40 A.M. reaches Dover at 10.35.
Stupendous! These two greenhorns took their snack on board the steamer
(Ugh!), instead of waiting until they reached Calais, where there
is the best restaurant on any known line. Instead of going by the
_Ceinture_, they drove across Paris. The greenhorns arrive at Monte
Carlo, and then settle on their quarters. Anyone but an idiot would
have settled all this, and much more, beforehand. One gentlemanly
greenhorn, who wishes us to think that "_il connait son Paris_," talks
of "suppers of Bignon's" (which must be some entirely new dish),
and informs us that, "at the Hôtel de l'Athenée, the staff esteem it
rather a privilege, and a mark of their skill in language, to grin
and snigger when sworn at in English." Oh, sweet and swearing British
greenhorn! now I know why the French so greatly love our countrymen.
But why, oh why do you imagine that you have discovered Monte Carlo?
For the details of the journey, and the instructions to future
explorers, are set out with a painful minuteness which not even
STANLEY could rival. As for Monaco, dear, restful, old-fashioned,
picturesque Monaco, whither the visitor climbs to escape from
the glare and noise of Monte Carlo, the greenhorn dismisses it
scornfully, as having "no interest." How much does this ten-per-center
want? He "waggles along the Condamine;" he mixes with many who
are "pebble-beached;" he speaks of his intimates as "Pa," "The
Coal-Shunter," "Ballyhooly," &c., and declares of the French soldier
that "the short service forty-eight-day men don't have a very
unkyperdoodlum time of it." There's wit for you, there's elegance!
Then he becomes Jeromeky-jeromistically eloquent on the subject of
fleas, throws in such lucid expressions as "chin music," "gives him
biff," "his craft is thusly," and, altogether, proves himself and
his fellow-explorer to be a couple of the slangiest and most foolish
greenhorns who ever put pen to any sort of paper. I can imagine
the readers who enjoy their stuff. Dull, swaggering, blatant,
gin-absorbing, red-faced Cockneys, who masquerade as sportsmen,
and chatter oaths all day. "Ditto to you," says the Baron to his
Extra-Ordinary Reader, and backs his opinion with his signature,