THE ONE THING WANTING.
A year ago my hand I tried,
I wrote for you a verse or so,
To sing your praises far and wide
A year ago.
And, though your nature scarce could grow
More sweet, in you I then espied
An incompleteness. I was slow
To comprehend the thing denied
To make you perfect. Now I know—
A bicycle you did not ride
A year ago!
Our Booking-Office.—"Boconnoc." What a name! It is a "Romance of Wild Oatcake." It might almost be of Mild Oatcake. It is the story of an unprincipled boy, a flighty young married woman, and a sottish husband. The first third of the book is somewhat interesting, and pleasantly written. The second third is dull; and the last revives the reader's interest just a bit. But, on the whole, to quote Sir Charles Coldstream, in Used Up, "There's nothing in it." It is disappointing to those who expect much more than this from the author.—B. de B.-W.
The school-boy of to-day—what, after all, is Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?—is no longer to waste his time in poring over the musty classics! "He is to take an intelligent interest in other subjects than the dead languages," says Truth, which proceeds to give "as well worthy of being held up as a model for imitation elsewhere," the contents of an up-to-date examination paper, upon current events, recently set at Rugby school. This modern move is, doubtless, an excellent thing, but one which may be carried too far; and it would, we venture to think, be a pity if schools were to be, in the words of Mercutio, "too much afflicted with these new tuners of accents, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench." What if Pinero and Zangwill were substituted for Plato and Xenophon?
Trifles light as "Eyre."—The trustees of a St. John's Wood property may certainly be said to be "after the brass." If, however, their learned counsel is successful in obtaining the colossal amount claimed, he might then say, with Horace, "Exegi monumentum Eyrĕ perennius."
"Unpleasant Little Incident."—So the P. M. G. styled it. As the German Emperor and Empress were passing through Metz, somebody, from a café window, shouted, "Vive la France!" Several arrests were of course made, but apparently nothing more was heard of the Vox et præterea nil. This recalls a similar incident that occurred during the trial of Bardell v. Pickwick, "Put it down a 'we,' my Lord!" a voice in the gallery exclaimed, aloud. Search was made. Nobody. "If you could have pointed him out," said little Mr. Justice Stareleigh to Sam Weller, "I would have committed him instantly." Whereat "Sam bowed his acknowledgments," and the incident ended.
"Falls of Foyers."—A correspondent writes:—"I have seen a good many letters in the Times, headed "The Falls of the Foyers." Here and abroad I have seen many Foyers, and only fell down once. This was at the Théâtre Français, where the Foyer is kept highly polished, or used to be so. If the Foyers are carpeted or matted, there need be no "Falls."
Yours, Common Sense.
"Winter Comes" as a companion picture to "Autumn Leaves."
Transcriber's Note
Page 193: 'distinguised' corrected to 'distinguished'.
"... raising pale distinguished eyes to a Chippendale mirror,..."