OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
The Danvers Jewels, published by Richard Bentley and Son, and written by an anonymous author who dedicates the work to his sister “Di,” (from whom he received some assistance in the story, otherwise he would “never have said ‘Di’”) is a short and well-told sensational novelette in a shilling volume. There is a genuine vein of humour running through it, which is so artistically managed as at first to escape the reader’s attention, who becoming more and more irritated with the stupidity of the supposed narrator, gradually discovers that the story which is being recounted by a middle-aged Indian Colonel, who prides himself on being remarkably astute, and on possessing a perfectly marvellous insight into character, is being recounted by a conceited, shallow-pated old ass. I think it a fault that at the very last, by some such accident as being in an assize town and being invited to sit on the bench, he does not see the villain thoroughly unmasked, placed in the dock, and condemned to death, or at least penal servitude for life. The story, excellent as it is, seems to me to want this finish. By the way, why, for no conceivable purpose, quote on the title-page a line from the Old Testament which, as every one remembering its context and after reading the book must see, has no apparent bearing on the subject? Mistake this.
Deadman’s Rock. By “Q.” Have Messrs. Louis Stevenson and Rider Haggard combined under the signature of “Q.” to write at all events the first part of the weird and exciting Romance entitled Deadman’s Rock? If not let those two authors look to their laurels. There is much in this book to remind the reader of Treasure Island, especially the fiendish Sailor’s uncouth chaunt, “Sing hey for the deadman’s eyes, my lads,” which, however, is not a patch upon Mr. Stevenson’s “Ho! Ho! Ho! and a bottle of rum,” in Treasure Island. Then there is one line in “Q.’s” story, “And here a strange thing happened,” which must call to mind Mr. Rider Haggard’s patent of “and now a strange thing happened.” “Q.”—rious coincidence, isn’t it? But a “coincidence” is not likely to annoy Mr. Haggard.
In the first part the most impatient reader will find that he cannot afford to skip a couple of lines without detriment to the narrative, but in the second part he may skip handfuls, as the lovemaking is common-place, and time is wasted over the tragedy which is written by one of the heroes, and over the description of their life in London. But on the other hand the scene in the gambling-house is exciting and artistically worked up,—and coming immediately after this, the lovemaking is uncommonly tame,—and the scene at the Theatre is also very good, but after this there is a lull in the excitement until the end approaches, when there is one very strong situation. But the actual finish is weak. So the summing up is that the first part is first-rate, and the second part is, on the whole, second-rate. But who is “Q.”?
That is the Q. and what is the A.? Deadman’s Rock is not a good book for very nervous persons or children: for the latter Almond Rock would be far preferable.
THE MUSE IN MANACLES.
(By an Envious and Irritable Bard, after reading “Ballades and Rondeaus,” just published, and wishing he could do anything like any of them.)
Bored by the Ballade, vexed by Villanelle,