Punch (92.1887)

Januaey 1, 1887.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

5

TURNING OVER NEW LEAVES.

(By Our Oxen Paper-Knifer.)

The Hon. Hallam Tennyson has been playing the part of the

sweet little cherub—
he has been keeping
watch o 'er the life of
poor.Jrac7>;. And while
he has been stalking
his hero, he has not
neglected his talk
about his adventures.
Don't you see what
we are driving at—
Jack and the Bean-
stalk, (Macmillan &
Co.). Randolph Cal-
decott's illustrations
are full of spirit and
humour, and the Lau-
reate's son would pass
with honour any ex-
amination in hexame-

Reviewing the Books. " te™- A book for

children of all ages!
The Zand of Little People, (Hildesheimer & Co.,) will also be
vastly popular with little people and big.

Poems done by Weatherly, sparkling and ftatherly,
Miss Dealy's judicious, with pencil dealyciou3 !
And so we sum it all up. But here is another book which children
will clamour for. The Queen of the Pirate Isle (Chatto and
Windus). It is full of hearty fun, or rather Bret Hartey fun, and
the illustrations by Miss Kate Greenaway are excellent. A capital
sea-story—quite a first-floor-fronter—is The Cruise of the Black
Prince, by Commander Lovett Cameron. Older boys will delight in
The Chronicle of the Coach, by J. D. Champlin, Junr. A rapid
journey with plenty of wheel and very little wo, from London to
Ilfracombe. E. L. Chichester's clever cuts—not with the whip,
but with the pencil—add materially to the pleasure of the trip. Glad
Hours (Ward and Lock), by Miss Muriel Evelyn, is an attractive
volume. This version of "Evelyn's Diary," and all the pictures illus-
trating it, will be a favourite amongst the Tinymite Party. The
Babes in the Wood, (Raphael Tuck). The old, old story with
capital new wood-cuts by Wiegand. Ought to be called The Babes
on the Wood. But supposing they are not wood-cuts ? Supposing
they_ are some "process,"—copper ? zinc ? "Of whatis the old man
zincing ? " This is frivolous—let us inspect The Knight and the
Ladij (Eyre and Spottiswoode), Tom Hood's capital ancient
ballad with a number of admirable new illustrations by Edward
Jessop. The Theatre Annual, is a capital one this year, and con-
tains a wonderful variety in prose and verse. Among the principal
contributors beside the editor Clement Scott, are E. L. Blanchard,
Godfrey Turner, H. Savile Clarke, W. Archer, Bram Stoker,
and Violet Pane. Unwin's Annual is a good one, with a good title
—The Witching Time. It consists of excellent stories well told,
under the editorship of Henry Norman.

Doubtless we get a great deal too much Christmas literature" at
Christmas-time, and next year it is to be hoped the Publishers will
try a change, and give us tales of frost and snow at Midsummer,
and let us read verses celebrating the delights of sultry weather,
the river, and the sea, at Christmas. As Mr. Punch enjoyed his
Christmas by anticipation somewhere about last August, he does not
want to hoar any more about it. It is a relief to turn to Captain
Hawley Smart's Outsider (White & Co.). This story will probably
be an " insider " during the festive season. It will be inside many
a boudoir, library, and smoking-room, and add to warmth and
geniality by its dashing spirit and cheery good humour. Romantic
Spain (Ward and Downey) is a good book to read when the snow is
on the ground, or during the intervals of water-pipes bursting.
J. A. O'Shea tells of his personal experiences in perturbed Spain
from the abdication of Amadeus to the entry of Don Carlos.
The book is full of adventure, and abounds in picturesque descrip-
tion. Yery little guide-book and less history, for which the reader
will be truly thankful. Margaret Jermine (Macmillan & Co.), by
Fayr Madoc, might be described, in the language of vintages, as " a
very fair Medoc." There is an excellent bouquet about the first
volume, which, had it been sustained through the remaining two,
would have supplied a novel of note. But there is scarcely sufficient
body in the story to justify its dilution into three volumes. It would
have been more successful as a big one-volume tale. In Biding for
Ladies (Thacker & Co.) Mrs. Power O'Donoghue (more power to
her—not that she wants it) Bhows no signs of "falling off." Indeed,
she shows her readers how to become riders, and to stick on grace-
fully. She sketches her pupils " in their habits as they ride," and
gives them a bit of her mind about bits, and tells them all about

spurs on the" spur of the moment.—We heartily welcome the initial
Number of Scribner's Magazine. The Messrs, Scribner were^the
pioneers of that excellence in get up, printing, illustration, "and
literary value, which have made the American periodicals of this
class famous throughout Europe. Their latest venture shows they
have by no means forgotten their rare skill and admirable taste in
such matters. The Number before us is well printed, capitally
illustrated, and contains a great variety of valuable literary work.
Of especial note is "Reminiscences of the Siege and Commune of
Paris," by E. B. Washburne, Ex-Minister to France. This Maga-
zine is well charged—the charge, we may note, is the harmless but
necessary shilling—and, though there is no chance of its "blowing
up," there is every prospect of its "going off" in England in a
manner that will prove, in all respects, satisfactory to its promoters.

FATHER CHRISTMAS AND THE CHILD.

A Seasonable Colloquy, after a Celebrated Model.

" You are old, Father Christmas," the young child said,

" Yet you 're true to your time to a day,
Though your hair is so white, and your nose is so red.

Tell me how you keep going, I pray."

" I am yet a mere youth," Father Christmas replied,

"Though I have such a jolly long past.
If you've got a warm heart, and shun sourness and pride,

You may keep up your youth to the last."

" You are old, Father Christmas," the young child remarked,

" And you do not take pills, I '11 be bound ;
Yet, considering how you have gobbled and larked,

Your health seems remarkably sound."

"As for Cockle & Co.," Father Christinas replied,

" They 're devoid of attractions for me;
For the Jots that I take won't upset my inside,

Since I give even more, don't you see ! "

"You're a brick, Father Christmas," the young child said,
"Yet you 're rather like Bardolph, between us.

Say why do they give you a flushed figure -head,
That reminds one so mueh of Silenus ? "

" Most Artists are muffs," Father Christmas replied,
" When true fancy, convention-clogged, slumbers ;

But judge me, dear child, by my fame far and wide,
Not my pictures in cheap Christmas Numbers ! "

THE OLYMPIANS.

A Wondereul place this Olympia. Quite handy to the Addison
Road Station. Good omen in the name of "Addison," suggesting

numbers of Spectators. Nothing so
extensive has yet been seen in Lon-
don. A regiment of cavalry oould be
equipped from the stables,—cavalry
of all ages, and of many nationalities.
As for infantry, there are the tiniest
ponies there to suit the requirements
) of any nursery. We happened to look
in while two of the Elephants were
rehearsing. One of them evidently
liked his part, but the other was
inclined to throw his up, judging by
the movement of his trunk. How-
ever, he was not more troublesome
than any other Actor would have been
Going Underground to Olympia. under similar circumstances ; and, on

consideration of being permitted to intersperse a considerable amount
of "gag," which he did by roaring with laughter, of course, and
trumpeting (his form of advertising himself), he consented to under-
take the paTt, and went through it in a 'manner that promised well
for its success with the public. The Olympians were in their
working dresses. The gods and goddesses seemed very tired. JEolus
was making a tremendous noise in practising the wind instruments,
and Apollo and Diana were arranging to rehearse the stag-hunt as
we were leaving. More, after our official visit.

A list of the guests at the New Club last week included one " M. de
Several." No more comprehensive name since the days of Lot.

Playing " the Dues " with him.—The Coab did it. At the last
meeting with his Chief he had been hauled over them, and, in a
temper, he resigned. They call him Lord Random Churchill now.