THE Baron, on behalf of small Baronites, thanks Messrs. CASSELL & Co.
for _Fairy Tales in Other Lands_, by JULIA GODDARD, as they are dear old
friends with new faces.
One of the Assistants in the Baronial Office says, that _The Coming of
Father Christmas_ is most exquisitely heralded by E. F. MANNING, in the
daintiest of books. 'Tis published by FREDERICK WARNE & Co. So if you
warne't to make a nice present, you know where to go and get it.
If DEAN AND SON are "limited," their stock is unlimited; and, all things
considered as far as possible, the Baron's Chief Retainer opines that
the picture-books from the Deanery of DEAN AND SON are still the best,
and, in kind, the most varied for children. "Which nobody can Dean-y!"
_The Little One's Own Wonderland_ is a delightful realm, wherein the
very little ones can wander with interest through coloured pictures and
easy fairy tales. Among the coloured picture series, the _Old Mother
Hubbard of_ 1793, with its contrast, _Old Mother Hubbard of To-day_, is
very amusing.
J. S. FRY AND SONS send out through SELL'S Advertising Agency samples of
their daintiest specialities in _bonbonnières_. Being issued by a SELL,
one fears a take in; but as 'tis all good, the agency of SELL secures a
Sale. The chocolates are sure to go down with everyone.
We all know what the sincerest form of flattery is, and certainly our
dear old pet, _Alice in Wonderland_, whose infinite variety time cannot
stale, will gracefully acknowledge the intenseness of the compliments
conveyed in _Olga's Dream_, as written by NORLEY CHESTER, illustrated by
Messrs. FURNISS AND MONTAGU (the illustrations will carry the book), and
published by Messrs. SKEFFINGTON. It would be a preternaturally wise
child who could quite grasp some of the jokes and up-to-date allusions.
However, the real original _Alice_ (_in Wonderland_, and _Through the
Looking-glass_) with the great Master's, JOHN TENNIEL'S, illustrations,
is still, as _Mr. Sam Weller_ said of the Governor, "paramount."
Light and airy are the _Soap Bubble Stories_ blown by FANNY BARRY
through her pen-pipe. Wonder is that, in this advertising age, she
didn't dedicate them to PEARS.
The Baron's Assistant has a word to say about the Diaries for this next
year. If you want a useful Diary, the B. A. would recommend the
"Registered Back-loop Pocket Diary," got up, like a sportsman, in the
best of leathers by JOHN WALKER & Co., or, "as Friend JOHNNIE observes,"
HENRY IRVING would say--"to put it briefly, 'WALKER--London.'"
The Baron has recently received two books, not strictly speaking
"Christmas Books," though they are, _et cela va sans dire_, books
published at Christmas-tide, the one practical and parliamentary, the
other philosophical and phenomenal; the former dedicated to the Right
Honourable ARTHUR BALFOUR by LUCY, and the latter dedicated to Lord
HALIFAX by LILLY. Two prettier names for authors, or rather, to judge of
the writers' sex by the sound of the names, for authoresses, could not
well be chosen. But authors masculine they are, the pair of them. Mr. W.
S. LILLY is to be congratulated on his very taking title, _The Great
Enigma_, and all classes of readers will be glad to be informed that it
has nothing whatever to do with the Irish Question. If any reader
expects to find the Great Enigma solved by the LILLY who toils and
spins, then he must not be surprised if the author says to him in
effect, "_Davus sum, non Oedipus._"
From _A Diary of the Salisbury Parliament_, by Mr. H. LUCY, anyone can
quaff or sip, just as his thirst for Parliamentary knowledge may be
feverish or moderate, but healthy. It is thoroughly interesting, most
amusing, and really valuable for reference withal. 'Tis written, too, in
so impartial a spirit, that it would be difficult to gather from these
pages to which political Party the Diarist belongs, but for his
exuberant eulogy of the wonderful Grand Old Man. Mr. LUCY is the
Parliamentary PEPYS. The sketches are by an Old Parliamentary Hand,
yclept HARRY FURNISS, and assist the reader unfamiliar with the House of
Commons to form a pretty accurate idea of the men who are, and of the
men who were, and what they wear, and how they wear.
[Illustration: A Reviewer.]
The most interesting part of JAMES PAYN'S latest novel, _A Stumble on
the Threshold_, to Cambridge men or Camford men (for in this story the
names are synonymous), will be the small-beer chronicle of small College
life in their University some thirty years ago. The slang phrases of
that remote period are perhaps somewhat confused with those of a more
modern time, just as an old Dutch Master will introduce his own native
town and the costume of his fellow-countrymen into a picture
representing some great Scriptural subject, thus bringing it, so to
speak, up to date, and giving us an artistic realisation of what may be
concisely termed "the historic present." In the second volume (this
novel is complete in two volumes) the sketches of river-life, including
a delightful one of the old lock-keeper, are refreshingly breezy. The
story, slight in itself, is skilfully worked out; and the only
disappointing part of it--that is, at least to the Baron's thinking--is,
that the villain of the earlier part of the tale does not turn up again
as the real culprit, though the Baron is certain that every reader must
expect him to do so, and must feel quite sure that, in spite of the
author's reticence on the subject, it was _he_ who really committed the
murder, and escaped even the author's detection, unless, out of sheer
soft-heartedness towards the puppets of his own creation, JAMES PAYN
knowingly let him off at the last moment. The judicial portion of the
novel, including the scene in the Coroner's court, is just what would
have been expected from an impartial "J.P."
* * * * *
A DEGREE BETTER.--The Degree of Doctor of Music is to be revived at
Cambridge. The duties will be to attend ailing Musicians and Composers.
When appointed, the Doctor will go out to Monte Carlo, or thereabouts,
to see how Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN is getting on. Sir ARTHUR will, of
course, regulate his conduct at the tables by the prescriptions of his
Medical Adviser.
* * * * *
MR. WAGGSTAFF AND HIS DOCTOR.--He was ordered by his Doctor to walk two
miles a day. "Can't do it in London," was the patient's reply; "never
walk more than one mile. But," he said, brightening up, "I'll go to
Paris, as one mile there is equal to double the distance in England.
How's that? I'll tell you. I do half a mile out, half a mile back: one
mile; _et voilà two_!"
* * * * *
"LITTLE TICH" AND "COLLINS."--The former, not the _Little Tich_ of Drury
Lane Pantomime, but Sir HENRY TICHBORNE, Bart., has, for absence of mind
and body, thus not fulfilling his duties as High Sheriff, been fined by
Mr. Justice COLLINS five hundred pounds--_quids pro quo_--unless he can
show some just cause or impediment. "He wants TICH-ing up a bit,"
thought Mr. Justice, but he didn't say so.
* * * * *
REPORTS OF CRACKERS.--If among our old friend SPARAGNAPANE & Co.'s
Crackers there are any that will "go off" better than others it will be
those called _The True Lovers' Code Cosaques_. This is the latest
addition to the School-Board Education Code for the Christmas Holidays.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF!"
_Mrs. Brown_ (_a victim of secret social ambitions_).
"OH, AS FOR POOR MRS. ROBINSON, _HER_ ONLY OBJECT IN
LIFE IS TO DROP ALL HER OLD FRIENDS AND KNOW TITLED
PEOPLE! ISN'T IT LOATHSOME AND SICKENING?"
_Mrs. Jones_ (_who is consumed inwardly by just the same
desire_). "YES, INDEED, IF IT'S TRUE! BUT WHAT MAKES YOU
THINK SHE WANTS ANYTHING SO _UTTERLY_ DESPICABLE AND
MEAN?"
_Mrs. Brown_ (_naïvely_). "BECAUSE SHE WAS SO PRECIOUS
HARD ON MRS. SMITH FOR TRYING TO KNOW LORD AND LADY
SNOOKS!"]
* * * * *
"THE MISSING WORD." (?)
THIS is "The Maiden All Forlorn," bowed
down with burdens scarce to be borne,
Waiting a blast on Hope's clarion horn, loud
as the "Cock that crew in the morn."
Bucolic, wheat-crowned, she--_Micawber_
seems she, waiting for something to turn up--somehow.
Poor Agriculture! Care's merciless vulture
has harried her vitals, and furrowed her brow.
All are her friends--so each talker pretends--
from CHAPLIN the cheery, to WINCHILSEA wise,
And valorous MUNTZ, who the land-question
shunts, and "goes the whole hog" for Protection and rise;
With rollicking LOWTHER, who's no Malagrowther,
but larkily hints that the look-out is mournful;
And NETHERSOLE, rustic and most nubibustic,
of law and of logic complacently scornful.
Poor latter-day Ceres! Quidnuncs and their
queries will hardly restore her her loved long-lost daughter,
(Fair Profits) whom Pluto ("the Foreigner")
stole. Vainly landlords and farmers breathe forth fire and slaughter
At Free Trade--that Circe on whom they've
no mercy,--and howl down the speeches of those she's enchanted.
The one "Missing Word" may sound wholly
absurd to cool sense, but to them 'tis the one thing that's wanted.
HOARE's wrath fiercely waxes. Reduction
of Taxes? Low Rents? More improvements in modes of production?
Pooh! SAUNDERS and RILEY must be far
more wily to get _him_ to yield to their Red Rad seduction.
He stands midst his ruins (like MARIUS) making
of faith in Protection an open confession.
'Tis Duties on Food will alone do us good,
nought else can now cure "the prevailing depression."
The Missing Word! Maiden Forlorn, 'tis a
poser you put to the country, the cliques, and the classes,
The Landlord, The Farmer, the Labourer!
Say they agree, what response may you hope from "the Masses."
Those tiresome "Consumers"? Old myths
and new rumours are like the East wind, Maiden, mighty unfilling;
Bucolic ideas and crude panaceas won't help
you, though with them all Fad-dom is thrilling.
Yes, Fads make strange bedfellows, WINCHILSEA
tells us, in this far more wise than he's wholly aware of.
But CHAPLIN-_cum_-WALSH cannot turn back
time's tide. And _Punch_, who _all_ interests has to take care of,
Must tell you in kindness, that only sheer
blindness can say of Protection the true Missing Word it is,
Though men, my poor Maiden, with worries
o'erladen, will lend ear to Quackdom's most arrant absurdities!
* * * * *
Suggestions for New Musical Publications.
A COMPANION to _The Stars of Normandy_, to be entitled, _The North
Pole-Star_ (the words by COLD-WETHERBY), to be sung by CHARLES VERY
CHILLEY. If sung at St. James's Hall, admission generally, one shilling.
Freeze-seats, nothing.
"_The Carnival_" is announced, as "MOLLOY'S last hit." We hope not. We
trust that it is only Misther JAMES MOLLOY's _latest_ hit. "Never say
die!"
As a companion to "_Come Dance the Romaika_," will be published, "_Come
Read the Romeike_," set up and composed by the Press Cutting Agency.
* * * * *