OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
Palindromes, by G. R. Clarke, is a series of cruelly ingenious verbal cranks—"cranks" seems to be the word, since they are neither quips, quirks, puns, nor jests, consisting of sentences so arranged that, read backwards or forwards, they are precisely the same. An example of this is, "Was it a rat I saw?" The illustrations are comically amateurish, and amateurishly comic, but one of the best, "Selim smiles," is rather in the early Thackerayan style of pictorial art. The palindromical amusement will probably develop itself, as the acrostic family has done, and we shall soon be reading in "Answers to Correspondents" that their puzzle is referred to in "The Palindromical Editor." The little book is published, as any experienced joker in Scotland might have guessed, by Messrs. Bryce and Sons, Glasgow, and if you buy it, "Bang goes a shilling."
Approbation from Mr. Punch is praise indeed, and where he has given his favourable opinion of any book, it immediately attracts the public attention, and goes to any number of editions. So has it chanced with Frith's Recollections, which has now reached its third edition; and once Mr. Punch spoke well of the Jubilee Edition of Pickwick, which has now been re-issued with some of the original sketches by "Buss,"—to many it will be a surprise that Mr. Pickwick ever took a buss, except under the mistletoe at Dingley Dell,—which are fairly clever, though one of them, the cricketing scene, might have been omitted without damaging the artistic character of the republication. There is a sketch by John Leech, illustrating the moment in the Bagman's Story when the old arm-chair wakes up Tom Smart, and assumes the form and features of a gouty, but wickedly sly, old gentleman, which alone is "worth all the money." It is a real Christmas picture; and indeed a small volume of Tales from Pickwick, illustrated by fanciful and humorous artists, would make a capital Christmas Book of the good old Dickensian sort. Mr. Punch has given the hint: fiat!
By the way, I see an advertisement of a book quoting opinions of the Press as to its being "the funniest book of the present reign." Heavens! It is only necessary to mention Pickwick, which is replete with such real fun, as makes the reader roar with laughter irrepressible, besides being full of genuine humour.
Baron de Book Worms.
"I believe," said Mrs. R.'s nephew, meditatively, "that Paris will have a 'Directory' again." "Why not?" retorted Mrs. Ram. "Why shouldn't Paris have a Directory? London has—Kelly's Directory—and most useful it is!"
THE LAY OF LAWRENCE MOOR!
A True Story.