Punch (89.1885)

October 24, 1885.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

i 93

TOPICS OF TO-DAY.

Treated by Dumb-Crambo Junior.

'Ot toe man, and the Sublime Porte.

Ma said 0 near. Calling out the Stormy Meeting of the ServianS-

(P)reserves.

kup-tcbina.

Small All-'ot-ments.

OUE BOOKING-OFFICE.

Royalty Restored, in Two "Volumes, by Mr. Fitzgeeald Molloy,
■who professes to give us a social history of the Wits and Beauties of
the Merry Monarch's Court. The work is written in a pleasant style,
tinged with an affectation of the mannerisms of the period he is
describing, which assimilates fairly well with the quotations from
Eveltn-, Pepys, and such well-known writers. But such a social
history ought to have been a chronique scavdaleuse, otherwise it
tells us very little with which we were not already acquainted.
The horrors of the Plague, details of the Great Fire, the story of
the Popish Plot and of that scoundrel, Titus Oates, neither a Wit
nor a Beauty of the Court, should have had no place in this social
history. If the vie intime of Charles and his dissolute Court
cannot throw into the shade the Btories of the Regency, then in these
days of memoirs and revelations, we shall gradually come to look
upon the Second Chaeles and his friends as much maligned, and to
consider whether, by some typographical error in History, the Merry
Monarch is not a misprint for the Moral Monarch. From the expec-
tations which Mr. F. Molloy in his preface had raised, we were
disappointed with this latest edition of the story of the Beauties
and the Beast.

As one volume of a most useful, and in every sense, readable series
called The World's Workers, brought out by Messrs. Cassell & Co.,
the eldest daughter of Chables Dickens has published a collection
of incidents in her father's life "most likely," she thinks, "to
interest and to appeal to young people." The result, at all events,
is most acceptable to the grown-up, old, and middle-aged, who know
their Dickens pretty well by heart, and have read all that can be
told about him in the Life and Letters. Whether this present
little work—a labour of the purest affection—will lead children to
read Chaeles Dickens's works, or whether this is by any means the
best way to give them a Dickensian taste, is open to question, and
must remain a matter of individual opinion and experience. For
ourselves we should say decidedly not; that the ordinary course being
the reverse of what " Mamie Dickens" has attempted, that is to say,
that a perusal of the bookstleadsto an inquiry into the writer's private

andjpersonal.'character,'.while a knowledge of,the latter would not be,
to most people, any inducement to read his (books. The two things
are to the external public entirely distinct, though we can under-
stand how naturally they come to be closely associated in the mind
of so devoted an admirer as his own daughter. Still, whether for
young or for old, this little book, coming from such a source, will be
gratefully received. We wish it had appeared at Christmas time,
which to some of us, is peculiarly associated with the name of
Charles Dickens, whose Carol or Chimes, or whatever might
happen to be his story for the time, was sure to be one of the Christ-
mas literary presents bought for the elder boys, while the Annual of
our old friend Peter Parley went to the younger ones. Pleasant
Christmas mornings those! New silver coinage, fresh from the
Mint, wonderful books in brilliant bindings, with highly coloured
illustrations inside, and then the prospect of grand festivities in the

evening

Another volume of the same series is given up to Handel. The
monographeress is Eliza Claeke (is it "Mrs.''or "Miss"?), and
her book we recommend to everyone who, wanting to learn all about
the great Composer, is pressed for time, and can only take a turn at
the Handel for half-an-hour, or so. It is amusing to be reminded
that he wrote an Oratorio called Theodora, which the great ladies of
the day would not go to hear, because the story_ was not sufficiently
interesting to suit them. But the plot was evidently not the same
as Saedotj's Theodora, which Sarah Bebnhabdt has made her own
particular character, as Handel calls his plot " a Christian story,"
which the French dramatist's certainly is not. We know very little
of Handel from himself. He was not a man of letters—very few
could be found; but he left a wealth of notes, with which the world
has been thoroughly satisfied.

Solomon's Mines, by Rides Haggaed. What a weird name ! It
sounds like a sort of first cousin to Rogue Riderhood, only infinitely
more tragic and grim. What awfully overpoweringly thrilling
works ought to come from the brain of a man with such a name as
this. I regret that Mr. Dumb Cbambo Junior is not on the spot
to furnish us with a fancy portrait of '' the " IIideb Haggard. Post
equitem sedet atra ctira must be his motto. However, what we have
to do with, just now, is his latest book called Solomon's Mines. This
ought to have been worked up into as powerful a romance as Treasure
Island. But the promise of its commencement is not fulfilled. There
is a false ring about the narrative, which deprives it of that absorbing
interest which ought so to master the reader that he cannot put aside
the book for a moment until he has reached the end, and learnt how
the heroes have escaped. The introduction of a low comedian into
it (Oh, Rider Haggaed ! not up to your own name by any manner
of means!)—a naval officer with an eye-glass and gutta-percha
collars—is a mistake, as forced humour must always be. Then the
almanack and the eclipse, among savages, have done similar service
on several previous occasions, while a parallel can be found for the
use made of the Lieutenant's false teeth, in somebody's wig in an
Indian tale (the name of which does not recur to ua at the moment;
but, by the way, what a good title—Somebody's Wig !) where the
would-be scalper is terrified by all the hair comins off in his hand,
while the scalped one remains in the best possible health and spirits.
Solomon's Mines, all the same, is worth reading. It is clever; if
anything, it is just a bit too clever. But in future please don't forget
that your name is Ridee Haggaed, and " write as sich." Yes, Sir,
if there is anything in a name, you ought to have been the Author of
The Headless Horseman.

A VERY SPOTLESS SPOT;

Or, The Real Hygeia.

"Dr. Tidy, the Medical Officer of Health for Islington, states in his
Report that of the 113 specimens of food, submitted in the course of the year
for analysis, not one was adulterated or contained anything injurious to
health."—Daily Paper.

0 happy Townlet, joined to Town!

0 Islington the Blest!

Whose groceries have gamely stood

The analytic test;

What, other district doth exist

Whereof it may be said
No sweepings figure in its tea,
No bone-dust in its bread ?

You need not fear, in this retreat

Of virtue which will wash,
To lunch on sirloin that is horse,
Or butter that is " bosh."

The milky mother of the herd

Would be surprised to see
Her ill-used product quite devoid
Of all impurity!

Here e'en the goodies children suck

Are unadulterated,
And someundoctored brand of wine

Seems specially created.
An Officer of Health ! Why, sure,
This place can hardly need, 'un,
And Merry Islington henceforth
Must change its name to Eden.

The Real ".Bueeer State."—Old Bachelordom.

vor,. lxxiix.