| Scene: A Recruiting Station in Ireland. In order not to lose a stalwart recruit who happens to be under the standard height measurement the examining officer makes a brilliant suggestion to sergeant O'Flanagan— | —which suggestion sergeant O'Flanagan carries out with a highly satisfactory result. |
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
(By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.)
Coasting Bohemia is the attractive title of a series of essays upon men and matters by Mr. Comyns Carr, issued in a portly volume published by Macmillan. During the last forty years Mr. Carr, eminently a clubable man, has made the acquaintance and enjoyed the friendship of a galaxy of painters, authors and actors. He was equally at home with Millais, Alma-Tadema, Rossetti, Burne-Jones, Whistler, George Meredith, Henry Irving and Arthur Sullivan. A shrewd observer, quick in sympathy, apt in characterisation, he has much that is interesting and informing to say of each. Perhaps the chapter on Whistler is the most attractive, since in some respects his individuality was the most pronounced. In a couple of brief sentences, pleasing in the slyness of their gentle malice, Mr. Carr hits off a striking quality in the character of the Whistler we most of us knew. "At times," he writes, "Whistler was even greedy of applause, and, provided it was full and emphatic enough, showed no inclination to question its source or authority. There were moments indeed when, if it appeared to lack volume or vehemence, he was ready himself to supply what was deficient." Mr. Carr has in his time played many parts. He made a start at the Bar, but did not get further than the position of a Junior, which suited him admirably. As a critic, he cannot plead in extenuation the dictum of Disraeli that critics are those who have failed in Literature and Art. He has written several successful plays, was English editor of L'Art, was among the founders of the New Gallery, and remains established as one of our best after-dinner speakers. Of such is the kingdom of Bohemia. From these various sources he draws a stream of reminiscence that runs pleasantly through many pages. The only drawback to the delight with which I read them arose from the circumstance that the volume was uncut. Why should a harmless reviewer be compelled to "coast Bohemia" armed with a paper-knife, interrupted, when he comes to an exceptionally interesting point, by necessity for cutting a chunk of pages? R.S.V.P., Messrs. Macmillan.
The ease with which the nuptial knot
In Yankee-land is severed—such is
The underlying theme of what
The Letter of the Contract touches;