DOI Heft:
December 31, 1880
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17694#0310
December 31, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI,
305
usual in the Trade,—why, then, he interferes with my business. I
bring my action, and hope to win it; and so, as a tradesman, I feel
that Mr. Broavzer was wronged." There was no reply to these
arguments, but I pity the Reviewers.
TO MAUD.—A Birthday Roundel.
An empty purse! It's true we often say
This weary world of ours knows nothing
worse,
And yet I send you, on this festive day,
An empty purse.
Do not consign to an untimely hearse
The friend who treats you in this heartless
way.
Don't let your pretty lips invoke a curse,
But let me wish you happiness, and may
You guess the reason from this little verse
Why at your feet to-day I humbly lay
An empty purse.
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
The worst thing about Mrs. Henniker's new Novel, published
by Hurst and Blackett, is its title. There is a Londo?i-Journadsh,
penny-plain-twopence-coloured smack about Foiled which is mis-
leading. My Baronite says he misses the re-iterated interjection
which should accompany the verb. "Ha! Ha! Foiled!!" would
seem to be more the thing—but it isn't. The story is a simple one,
wound about
anold theme.
It is well con-
structed, and
admirably
told. All the
characters
are what are
called So-
ciety people;
but Mrs.
Henniker
has ^studied
them in the
d r a wi ng-
room, not
from the
area-rail-
ings, and re-
produce s
them on her page with vivid strokes. Some of her acquaintances
will probably feel uneasy when they read about Lord Huddersfield;
whilst others will be quite sure that (among their sisters), they recog-
nise 3Irs. Anthony Gore. Those not in Society of to-day will find
reminiscences of Becky Sharp in Mrs. Gore; whilst big-boned, good-
natured, simple-hearted Anthony, pleasantly recalls Major Dobbin.
The book is full of shrewd observation, and fine touches of
character-drawing, with refreshing oases of flower-garden and
moor in Yorkshire and Scotland.
*lr tT tt W W
Those who like a good " gashly" book should, my Baronite says,
forthwith send for Lord Wastwater (Blackwood). The plot is so
eerie, and its conclusion so incredulous, that the practised novel-
reader, seeing whither he is being led, almost up to the last page
expects the threatened blow will be averted by some more or less
probable agency. But Mr. (or Miss) Sydney Bolton is inexorable.
Lord Wastwater is dead now, and there can be no harm in saying
that the House of Lords is well rid of his impending company. He
would have made a sad Duke.
♦ ^ ^ %t ^
_ A little more than a year ago, in celebration of the seventieth
birthday of Henriette IIonner, there was published a volume con-
taining reproductions in photogravure of some of the works of that
charming painter. Madame Ronner knows the harmless, necessary
cat as intimately as Rosa Bonheur knows the horse or the ox. She
has painted it with loving hand, in all circumstances of its
strangely-varied life. No one knows, my Baronite says, how pretty
and graceful a thing a cat is, till they study it with the assistance
of Madame Ronner. Cassells afford opportunity of making this
study by presentation of a new and cheaper edition of the volume,
with cats m all attitudes purring round an interesting essay on them-
selves, and their Portraiture, contributed by Mr. H. M. Spielmann.
# * * * # *
"Wishing all of you, Constant Riters and Constant Readers, a Yery
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I am, yours ever,
The Blithesome Baron de Book-Worms.
CHRISTMAS NUMBEES.
{By a Comfurt-lovmg Old Curmudgeon.)'-
Ye=i, the boys home from school are all playing the fool
With the house and its fittings from garret to basement.
The girls, too, are back, and continual clack <<*xw±
Goes on all day long, to home comfort's
effacement. r4$m/%X
The pudding's as sticky, the holly as
pricky,
The smell of sour oranges awful as evtr;
Stuffed hamper-unpackers, and pullers of
crackers,
At making of litter and noise just as
clever.
The stairs are all rustle, the hall's"full of
bustle,
Cold draughts and the banging of doors "v ^
are incessant.
They 're nailing up greenery, putting up M scenery,'
Ready for plays; 'tis a process unpleasant!
A strong smell of size, dabs of paint in one's eyes,
And ''rehearsals" don't add to the charm of one's drawing-
room.
My pet easy-chairs are all bundled down-stairs,
To leave the young idiots stage-space and more jawing-room
For " Private Theatricals." Wax on my hat trickles
From " Christmas Candles," that spot all the passages.
Heart-cheering youthfulness ? Common-sense truthfulness
Tell us, at Christmas, youth's crassest of crass ages.
From kitchen to attic plates polychromatic,
From some " Christmas Number," make lumber. Good Heavens!
Ye young Yule-tide stuffers, ice know, we old buffers,
The true " Christmas Numbers" are—Sixes and Sevens!
SPORTING NOTES.
Old Year.—" Over! "
New Year.—" Don't quite see my Way ! "
The Friendlies in " Mars."—We are beginning to know more
and more about the planet Mars every day. There are newspapers
in Mars. Their journalists are going to communicate (by electric
riash-light signals) news to Earth. Look out for '' Pars from Mars."
The Pa's probably intend having a good time of it when they get
away for a Christmas holiday.
305
usual in the Trade,—why, then, he interferes with my business. I
bring my action, and hope to win it; and so, as a tradesman, I feel
that Mr. Broavzer was wronged." There was no reply to these
arguments, but I pity the Reviewers.
TO MAUD.—A Birthday Roundel.
An empty purse! It's true we often say
This weary world of ours knows nothing
worse,
And yet I send you, on this festive day,
An empty purse.
Do not consign to an untimely hearse
The friend who treats you in this heartless
way.
Don't let your pretty lips invoke a curse,
But let me wish you happiness, and may
You guess the reason from this little verse
Why at your feet to-day I humbly lay
An empty purse.
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
The worst thing about Mrs. Henniker's new Novel, published
by Hurst and Blackett, is its title. There is a Londo?i-Journadsh,
penny-plain-twopence-coloured smack about Foiled which is mis-
leading. My Baronite says he misses the re-iterated interjection
which should accompany the verb. "Ha! Ha! Foiled!!" would
seem to be more the thing—but it isn't. The story is a simple one,
wound about
anold theme.
It is well con-
structed, and
admirably
told. All the
characters
are what are
called So-
ciety people;
but Mrs.
Henniker
has ^studied
them in the
d r a wi ng-
room, not
from the
area-rail-
ings, and re-
produce s
them on her page with vivid strokes. Some of her acquaintances
will probably feel uneasy when they read about Lord Huddersfield;
whilst others will be quite sure that (among their sisters), they recog-
nise 3Irs. Anthony Gore. Those not in Society of to-day will find
reminiscences of Becky Sharp in Mrs. Gore; whilst big-boned, good-
natured, simple-hearted Anthony, pleasantly recalls Major Dobbin.
The book is full of shrewd observation, and fine touches of
character-drawing, with refreshing oases of flower-garden and
moor in Yorkshire and Scotland.
*lr tT tt W W
Those who like a good " gashly" book should, my Baronite says,
forthwith send for Lord Wastwater (Blackwood). The plot is so
eerie, and its conclusion so incredulous, that the practised novel-
reader, seeing whither he is being led, almost up to the last page
expects the threatened blow will be averted by some more or less
probable agency. But Mr. (or Miss) Sydney Bolton is inexorable.
Lord Wastwater is dead now, and there can be no harm in saying
that the House of Lords is well rid of his impending company. He
would have made a sad Duke.
♦ ^ ^ %t ^
_ A little more than a year ago, in celebration of the seventieth
birthday of Henriette IIonner, there was published a volume con-
taining reproductions in photogravure of some of the works of that
charming painter. Madame Ronner knows the harmless, necessary
cat as intimately as Rosa Bonheur knows the horse or the ox. She
has painted it with loving hand, in all circumstances of its
strangely-varied life. No one knows, my Baronite says, how pretty
and graceful a thing a cat is, till they study it with the assistance
of Madame Ronner. Cassells afford opportunity of making this
study by presentation of a new and cheaper edition of the volume,
with cats m all attitudes purring round an interesting essay on them-
selves, and their Portraiture, contributed by Mr. H. M. Spielmann.
# * * * # *
"Wishing all of you, Constant Riters and Constant Readers, a Yery
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I am, yours ever,
The Blithesome Baron de Book-Worms.
CHRISTMAS NUMBEES.
{By a Comfurt-lovmg Old Curmudgeon.)'-
Ye=i, the boys home from school are all playing the fool
With the house and its fittings from garret to basement.
The girls, too, are back, and continual clack <<*xw±
Goes on all day long, to home comfort's
effacement. r4$m/%X
The pudding's as sticky, the holly as
pricky,
The smell of sour oranges awful as evtr;
Stuffed hamper-unpackers, and pullers of
crackers,
At making of litter and noise just as
clever.
The stairs are all rustle, the hall's"full of
bustle,
Cold draughts and the banging of doors "v ^
are incessant.
They 're nailing up greenery, putting up M scenery,'
Ready for plays; 'tis a process unpleasant!
A strong smell of size, dabs of paint in one's eyes,
And ''rehearsals" don't add to the charm of one's drawing-
room.
My pet easy-chairs are all bundled down-stairs,
To leave the young idiots stage-space and more jawing-room
For " Private Theatricals." Wax on my hat trickles
From " Christmas Candles," that spot all the passages.
Heart-cheering youthfulness ? Common-sense truthfulness
Tell us, at Christmas, youth's crassest of crass ages.
From kitchen to attic plates polychromatic,
From some " Christmas Number," make lumber. Good Heavens!
Ye young Yule-tide stuffers, ice know, we old buffers,
The true " Christmas Numbers" are—Sixes and Sevens!
SPORTING NOTES.
Old Year.—" Over! "
New Year.—" Don't quite see my Way ! "
The Friendlies in " Mars."—We are beginning to know more
and more about the planet Mars every day. There are newspapers
in Mars. Their journalists are going to communicate (by electric
riash-light signals) news to Earth. Look out for '' Pars from Mars."
The Pa's probably intend having a good time of it when they get
away for a Christmas holiday.