Punch (103.1892)

November 26, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 249

GALLANTRY REWARDED.

Lady {having had a fall at a Brook, and come out the wrong side,—to Stranger, who has caught her Horse). " Oh, I'm so much obliged to

you ! now, do you mind just bringing him over ? "

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Books from the publishing house _ of Fisher Unwin are always
goodly to look upon, the public having to thank him for something
new in form, binding, and colour, in other series than the Pseudonym
Library. In a new edition of The Sinner's Comedy, just issued at
the modest price of Eighteenpence, he has solved a problem that has
long baffled the publisher, and bothered the public. Few like the
appearance of a book with the pages machine-cut; fewer still can
spare the time to cut a book. Mr. Fisher Unwin compromises by
presenting this dainty little volume with the top pages ready cut,
the reader having nothing to do but to slice the side-pages, a labour
which no book-lover would grudge, seeing that it leaves the volume
with the uncut appearance dear to his heart. The story, told
in 146 pages, is, my Baronite says, worthy the distinction of its
appearance. The characters are clearly drawn, the plot is interest-
ing, the conversation crisp, and the style throughout pleasantly
cynical. The author, John Oliver Hobbes, has a pretty turn of
aphorism. " A man's way of loving is so different from a woman's " ;
and again, " Genius is so rare, and ambition is so common." Here
be truths, old enough perhaps, but cleverly re-set.

Some people complain that politics are dull. They should read
the parliamentary and extra-parliamentary utterances of the Member
for Wrottenborough. They appear weekly in that rising young
paper, the Sunday Times, and an extremely readable selection of
them has lately been published "in book form," for the enlivening
of the Recess. Adapting the Laureate's lines, the Baron would say,-—
"They who would vote for an M.P. whose sense with humour chimes,

AVill read the Member for Wrottenborough, all in the Sunday Times —

A paper our sires paid Sevenpence for, along of its grit and go,
Seventy years ago, my Public, seventy years ago ! "

For whimsical audacity, and quaint unexpectedness, Mr. Pain, in
his latest book, Playthings and Parodies, would be hard to beat.
In this there is a good back-ground of shrewd observation. He does
not propose to make your flesh creep, or your eyes run torrents. He
simply succeeds in _ making you laugh. In "The Processional
Instinct," Mr. Pain informs us that he has discovered that our private
life is circular, and our public life is rectilineal. Shakspeare, who,
being for all time, and not merely for an age, recommends this
author to the general public when he says that everybody '4 should
be so conversant with Pain."

The Memories of Dean Hole is rather a misleading title ; " but,"
says the Baron, " I suppose the terra. 4 Reminiscences ' is played out.
The word ' Memories' seems to suggest that someone, whether
Dean Hole, or Dean Corner, or any other Dean, had more than one
memory, as indeed those persons appear to possess who mention their
' good memory for names,' and their ' bad memory for dates,' and vice
versa. Soit! " quoth the Baron, in excellent French, " you may take
it from me (if I '11 part with it) that the Hole book is by no means a
half-and-half sort of book, but is vastly entertaining." The stories
of " The Cloth" form the most entertaining part of the work. The
Baron wishes success to this work of the Dean in Holey Orders, and
suggests that the volume should be re-entitled Gathered Leaves from
Dean Hole's Rose Garden, a better title than " Reminiscences."

Marion Craavford's Don Orsino (published by Macmillan &
Co.) would be worth reading were it only for the colour of its word-
painting, and for its high-comedy dialogue. Yet is Mr. Craw-
ford rather given to pause in his story, for the sake of moralising
on the tendencies of the age; and the reader, patient though he
may be, when he has become interested in the personages of the
novel, does not care to be button-holed by a digression. Marion
Crawford's recipe for commencing an amorous duologue (early in
Vol. III.), which is to lead up to a declaration of love, is deliriously
ingenious. It begins with the gentleman taking a seat, and his first
remark is upon the chair. Mr. Crawford evidently remembers the
old story of how the tenor who knew but one song, " Tn my Cottage
near a Wood," used to introduce it into any scene of any Opera by
the simple process of making his entrance alone and finding a chair on
the stage. " Aha ! " quoth he. " What's this ? A chair Y- and made
of wood ! Ah ! that word! how it reminds me of my 'umble home,
' my cottage near a wood.' " Cue for band ; chord ; song. In this
instance, the love-scene, admirably led up to on the above plan, is
strikingly powerful; it is the work of a master-hand. The denou-
ment is b©tn artistically original and, at the same time, ordinarily
probable. May all readers enjoy this excellent novel as much as
has the sympathetic Baron de Book-Worms.

Classical Question.—If some schoolboys, home for Christmas
holidays, wanted Sir Augustus Druriolanus to give them a
Christmas Box (not a private one at the Pantomime), what Ancient
Philosopher would they mention ? Why—of course—" Aristippus."