OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
Leaves of a Life. So Montagu Williams, Q.C., and Worthy Beak, styles his Reminiscences. The Leaves are fresh, and will be Evergreen. Nothing in his Life has become him so well as his leave-ing it. I fancy that the most popular part of it will be the early days—his salad days—when his leaves were at their greenest. Certainly, to all old Etonians, the opening of Volume One must prove the most interesting part of the two books; and after this, in point of interest to the general reader, will rank all the stories about persons whose names, for evident reasons, the learned Reminiscenser cannot give in full. When you read about what enormities "C——" committed, and what an unmitigated scoundrel "D——'s" brother was, there is in the narrative a delightful element of mystery, and an inducement to guess, which will excite in many a strong desire for a private key, which, of course, could not be placed in any publisher's hands, except under such conditions as hamper the trustee of the Talleyrand Memoirs.
Mr. Williams has better stories of Sergeant Ballantine than the latter had of himself in his own book. But I should like more of the Montagu out of Court—more of the behind-the-scenes of the cases in which he was engaged or interested. All his book is written in a dashing style, and there would be an enormous demand for a third volume, which might be all dash—C—— D—— E——; every letter of the alphabet dash—a dash'd good book, in fact, giving us the toothsome fond d'artichaut after the "leaves" have been disposed of. But that this should be the strong feeling expressed not alone by the Baron De B.-w., but by very many readers, is proof sufficient of the art with which these Reminiscences have been compiled, so as, according to Sam Weller's prescription for a love-letter, to make us "wish there was more of it." By the way, I doubt whether Whateley's Evidences of Christianity was the work that Montagu Williams was dozing over during "Sunday Private" in pupil-room; doesn't he mean Paley's Evidences? Also, wasn't the old College Fellow's name spelt Plumtre, or Plumptre, not Plumptree? However, the Baron is less likely to be right than the Magistrate, who is evidently blessed with a wonderfully retentive memory.
My faithful Co. reports that he has read On the Children, a not very interesting novel, by Annie Thomas, otherwise Mrs. Pender Cudlip. The story deals with a young girl, who, after serving in a village newspaper shop, marries the local nobleman, and no doubt lives happily ever afterwards. Persons who are interested in the doings of the class Jeames calls the "hupper suckles," will perhaps be a little disappointed, as, truth to tell, the narrative is rather homely. Many of the characters seem to have that exaggerated awe of rank which used to be characteristic of the tales in the London Journal. The book should, however, be welcome in the homes of some of the lower middle class.
Baron de Book-Worms & Co.
Mr. Parker Smith, the recently elected M.P., appeared in the House looking Partickularly happy.
