Punch: Punch (100.1891)

March 21, 1891.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

141

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

The Baron can highly recommend The Wages of Sin, by Lucas
Malet. "Iam informed," says the B. de B.-W., " that this is the
nom de plume of an Authoress. This Malet should be Femalet."
Be this as it may, the Baron, who is discretion itself, will not attempt

to penetrate beyond the
veil. Some of the writing
is a bit tall; but thank
heaven, my old eesthetic
friend, "O-the-pity-of-it"
occurs only once; and 0
the pity of it when he does
so, and gives a '1 Maudle
and Postlethwajte " tone
to the passage in question.
What does '' huffle'' mean ?
(Vol. III., p. 82.) Genius
has a right to create words ;
and when Genius does so,
the very sound of the word
conveys its meaning with
and frequently without
the context. "But I'm
huffled," says the Baron,
"if I understand it here."
Still "huffled" is a good-
substitute for strong lan-
guage, when you're ruffled. Don't let the light-hearted reader
be deterred by the slow pace of Yolume One; but stick to it, and
avoid skipping. A selfish mean cuss is the "hero," so to style him ;
and personally, the Baron would consider him in Society as a first-
class artistic bore. The character is drawn with great skill, as are
they all. The description of Mrs. Crookendon's after-dinner party
is as life-like as if it were a well-staged scene in a well-written
and well-cast Drama.

"I have been dipping into Country House Sketches, by C. C.
Rhys," says the Baron, "and have come to the conclusion that if
the author, youthful I fancy, would give himself time, and have
the patience to ' follow my Levee,' the result would be a Jack
Hinton Junior, with a smack of Soapey Sponge in it." The short
stories are all, more or less, good, and would be still better but for a

certain cocksureness about them which savours of the man in a
country house who will insist on telling you a series of good stories
about himself, one after the other, until the guests in the smoking-
room, in sheer despair of ever getting their turn of talking about
themselves, or of turning on the tap of their own good stories, light
their candles, yawn, and go pensively to bed.

My "Faithful Co." informs me that he has been reading some
very excellent Sketches of England, by a " Foreign Artist," and a
" Foreign Author." The latter is no less a person than the genial
representative of the Journal des Debats in London, Mons.
P. Yillabs. My " Co." says that, take it all round, this is one of
the best books upon La Perfide Albion he has ever read. Both
scribe and illustrator are evidently fond of the "Foreigners" they
find in the British Isles. Mons. Yillabs, however, makes one
startling assertion, which has taken my " Co." by surprise. The
" Foreign Author " declares that "laughter never struck his ears."
Now our Monsieur is an admirable raconteur, and if he ever told
one of his capital stories to an Englishman of average intelligence,
he must have heard laughter. He has also read a rather strange
work called, What will Mrs. Grundy say f My " Co." declares that,
considering its subject, the book, which is not without merit, might
be recommended as a disciplinary exercise during Lent.

Says" Co. Junior," to the Baron, "Sir, I|'ve just come across Austin
Dobson and his Four Frenchwomen,'1'1 "Hold! " cries the Baron,
frowning. " No scandal." "Nay, Sir," quoth " Co. Junior," ner-
vously. " 'tis but the title of a book." " That is another thing,"
says the Baron, waving his hand, " proceed ! " "It is about Mile.
de Cobday, Madame Roland, the Princesse de Lamballe, and
Madame de Genlis. I recommend it, Sir. Tolle, Lege ! "„ And
with a bow " Co. Junior," withdraws from the presence.

Quoth the Baron, " I was looking again into Saint Monica, just to
see if I might like it any better than I did on the first occasion—
which, "with me hand upon me hearrt," as Doctor O'Q. says, I
cannot say I do,—when I came upon the following misprint,—" This
woman, nevertheless, worshipped him as the god of her idoltary."
It's a beautiful word, "idoltary," and so much better than the
ordinary way of spelling it. So, after all, there is more in Saint
Monica than I had expected. In fact, its chief fault is that it is
too much spun out; and, just at this time, Saint Monica mustn't be
associated in any sort of way with the House at Cambridge where
they spin. The Babon de Book-Wobms.

TO A DEBUTANTE.

Fate Maiden of unclouded brow

Who, gaily, 'mid the gay the gayest,
To England, Home, and Duty now
Oblation payest.

Gay seeming,—if the milliner's

Can cheer, the florist's homage sightly ;
And yet, unless my fancy errs,

Thou shudderest slightly.

Is it a sigh for childhood's bliss,

A dread of what is coming, come what
May matrimonially—or is

It draughty somewhat ?

St. James's corridors are long

As Art, as Life thy raiment brief is
(Except the train, of course)—and strong
Mamma's relief is.

I a vulgar phrase, " Tour mother knows
You're out," at length. Such triumphs
too dear

Are sometimes purchased. I suppose
She fidgets you, dear.

"The Countess !-bow, child, to the Earl!—
Those terrible Hyde Pabkes ! Their posies
Look quite too vulgar ; cut them, girl.

How red your nose is!

" Ouick! take the powder-puff, my love—
Not on your bouquet or your hair now !—
Don't bungle so; you '11 drop that glove-
Please take more care now.

" You stoop like any bourgeoise chit.

Who'd think you educated highly ?
No, not so stiff. Do blush a bit,
And simper shyly."

Ah! Maiden fair of cloudless air,

This kind of thing is hardly pleasant.
Indeed, I'm thankful not to wear
Thy shoes at present I

"THE FLOWERS THAT BLOOM, TRA-LAI"

In the Times for March 12th appeared a
notice of The Spring Flower Show, wherein
it was stated that a silver medal was awarded
to Mr. Babb for his "pretty collections, which
included the spurius Henry Irving " There's
an " o " omitted, of course, but it's the same
word. Who is the " spurious Hen by Ir-
ving " ? Where does this flower of the Drama

flourish, away from the Lyceum Theatre ?
What and where does Henbicus Sptjbius
play ? Does he appear in the Hare-Bells ?
Is he to bloom in Covent Garden? or is it,
after all, only a plant ? There is only one
Henbicus Ibvingus, and he's not "spurius"

QUEER QUERIES.

Health.—I am not an invalid, but I suffer
from giddiness, a feeling of suffocation, with
excruciating pains, and apparent cessation of
the heart's action. I am also so nervous,
that, whenever the door is opened, I begin
to scream loudly. My mental feebleness
finds vent in puns that have alienated my
oldest friends. Could some Correspondent
explain these symptoms ? I do not believe
in Doctors, but am taking "Soft-sawder's
Emulgent Balsam of Aconitine." It does not
seem to have done me much good yet, but
that is probably due to my not having tried
it long enough.—Ratheb Anxious.

A Dancing-on-Nothing Gibe.—Talk of
The Dancing Girl at the Haymarket—of
course people toill talk—why she 's nothing
to the girls who dance to M. Jacobi's inimit-
able ballet-music at the Alhambra. Here
they have a magic show, which "puzzles the
Quaker;" and I don't mind admitting that
I was the quaker when I saw a fair and comely
young lady up in the air standing still and
dancing on nothing at all! Certainly "Aero-
lithe" is as good as any of her marvellous
predecessors, the Yanishing Girl included.
As a conjuror, Mr. Cabl Hebtz, who I take
to be the inventor of the above illusion,
is also uncommonly neat, and this " Ten
o'Clock," to all lovers of the marvellous, can
be recommended by

The Faculty fob Amusement.