OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
Reading edition
Our B. A. (i.e., "Baron's Assistant") begs to congratulate Mr. Gerald Campbell very heartily on the success of The Joneses and the Asterisks (John Lane). It is no easy task to write a story in a series of what may be called monological dialogues,—dialogues, that is to say, in which only one party speaks while the rest are understood,—and yet to keep that lightness of touch and that sparkle of wit without which dialogues become mere barren boredom. This is the task that Mr. Campbell has brilliantly accomplished. The Joneses and the Asterisks is as keen and telling a piece of social satire as it has been the B. A.'s good fortune to come across for many a long day.
Thursday. June 27, Mid-day. The Baron opens ventilators, doors, windows. Then, at haphazard, he takes up a book. Its title, What is heat?... Answer immediately given by thermometer, "95° in the shade." That's heat! And if that isn't, what is? The second title of book is, A Peep into Nature's Most Hidden Secrets. But the Baron is not Paul Pry; he doesn't want to peep; at all events he cannot undertake any exertion until about November, say, when he will be delighted to peruse the work of Mr. Frederick Hovenden, F.L.S., F.G.S., F.R.M.S.,—"Three single Fellows rolled into one." "Let me descend to the ice-cellar, or in cool grot let me sit, with a soothing iced beverage and a choice Havannah; let me read there About the North Pole, and Gunter's Tales of Ices," quoth the
Burdened Baron de Book-Worms.
SHAKSPEARE ON THE SITUATION.
Caius Marcius Coriolanus Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n. Tullus Aufidius L-rd S-l-sb-ry.
Act IV., Sc. 4. Antium (Downing Street). Before Aufidius's House.
Cor. O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn, Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, Whose hours, whose bed, whose meals, and exercise, Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love Unseparable, should, within this hour, On the dissension of a doit, break out To bitterest enmity: so, fellest foes, Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep, To take the one the other, by some chance, Some trick, not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends, And interjoin their issues. So with me: My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon This enemy town. * * * * Auf. (entering, Sc. 5). Say, what's thy name? Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done, To thee particularly, and all the Volces, Great hurt and mischief.... Now, this extremity, Hath brought me to thy hearth. Auf. O Marcius, Marcius! Each word thou has spoken hath weeded from my heart A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter Should from yond' cloud speak divine things, And say, "'Tis true," I'd not believe them more Than thee, all noble Marcius.—Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grainèd ash a hundred times hath broke. .... I do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour.... Why, thou Mars! I tell thee We have a power on foot.... O, come, go in, And take our friendly senators by the hands.... Cor. You bless me, gods! Auf. Therefore, most absolute Sir, if thou wilt have The leading of thine own revenges, take The one half of my commission. But come in: Let me commend thee first to those that shall Say "Yea" to thy desires. A thousand welcomes And more a friend than e'er an enemy; Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand! most welcome! [Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius.
Toby's Mem.—Wednesday, July 3.—"Dog Days begin." Go down to coast. "My bark is on the sea!" Avoid going south for fear of the Muzzle-man.
IN THE SHADE.
Lord R-s-b-ry. "Who'd be a Minister?"
Sir W. V. H-rc-rt. "Who, indeed? Why I Wouldn't do it if they asked me!"
HOW ROMANTIC!
She. "I say, this is pretty awful! Poor little Miss Messup!—It says here that 'Shortly after the Wedding she discovered he wasn't really a Baron!'"
He. "Well. Think of the poor Johnny when he found out she wasn't really an Heiress!"