OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
"I dearly love reading a ghost-story," quoth the Baron, "when, as the song says, 'The lights are low, And the flickering shadows, Softly come and go.' And I did hope that Cecilia de Noël was going to be just the very sort of book for a winter's fireside. Disappointed. There is a ghost in it, and there's Cecilia de Noël (good Christmassy name, isn't it?) who instructs the ghost in his neglected Catechism; for the ghost is as much an Atheist as the unbelieving Sadducee in this same story, who, after all, is not converted. 'Alas! Poor Ghost!' Very poor ghost! Bring me another ghost!" cries the Baron. No other ghost is forthcoming to the invocation, but a book is placed in his hands entitled Fourteen to One. The Baron was about to dismiss it as a betting book—judging by its title—when his eye caught the name of ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS as authoress. So he read many of the short stories therein. She has in many places the touch of DICKENS. All are good; but for pathos, keen observation, and dramatic surprise, "give me," says the Baron, emphatically, "the short story of The Madonna of the Tubs." Admirable! Those who take and act upon the Baron's tip, will do well to ask for Fourteen to One, and see that they get it.
What are the Baron's sentiments as to Christmas things? He refused to have anything to say to games and cards. Cards—well, we all know whose books some puritanical party said they were. But these comic and artistic Christmas Cards of RAPHAEL TUCK do not come into that category; and same is to be said of Messrs. HILDESHEIMER's, so there's an end on't. Henceforth, says the Baron, "No Cards."
"Come to me, O ye children," as some one sings—ARTHUR CECIL for choice—and it might be adapted for the occasion by the Publishers of Chatterbox, in which box there's a prize. Messrs. ROUTLEDGE go in for the old, old tales. They've kindly given Mother Hubbard a new dress; and as for their Panorama of the "Beasteses," it is like a picture-walk in the Zoo. Some Historic Women, well selected by DAVENPORT ADAMS, who should have styled it Christmas Eves by Adams. With Mrs. MOLESWORTH's Bewitched Lamp the Baron's Assistant is much pleased. Pictures ought to have been in oil, and there should have been a Wickéd Fairy in it,—but there isn't.
My "Co." reports that Mrs. GRIMWOOD's long-expected book, My Three Years in Manipur (BENTLEY), is worthy of the theme, and adds a fresh laurel to the chaplet worn by the lady on whose breast the QUEEN pinned the Red Cross. The moving story is told with a simplicity that looks like the development of the highest art. But the heroine of Manipur is unmistakably artless. She is content to jot down, as if she were writing a letter home, her impressions of what she sees, and her account of what passes before her eyes. She has the gift of reproducing with a few strokes of the pen, portraiture of anything that has struck her. The only thing missed is detailed report of her own brave bearing through the fearful night when the Residency was attacked, and during the dreadful days that followed on the flight towards Cachar. No one reading Mrs. GRIMWOOD's narrative would guess what splendid part she played in that tragedy. Fortunately that has been told elsewhere, and the omission is an added charm to a book that has many others—including a portrait of the author.
THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS AND CO.