Punch, or The London Charivari | Page 3

fits with
my limited "screw," And you will not find me shrink long from
admitting A dear little chap like you!
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
[Illustration]
The Baron's Assistant Reader reports as follows to his chief--If you
want a really refreshing book, a book whose piquant savour and quaint
originality of style are good for jaded brains, buy and read In a
Canadian Canoe by BARRY PAIN, the sixth volume of the
Whitefriars Library of Wit and Humour (HENRY & Co.). Most of the
stories and, I think, the best that go to make up this delightful volume
have already appeared in _The Granta_, a Cambridge magazine, which
London papers are accustomed to speak of as "our sprightly
contemporary." They now seek and are sure to obtain a wider public
and a more extended fame. There is in these stories a curious mixture
of humour, insight and pathos, with here and there a dash of grimness
and a sprinkling of that charming irrelevancy which is of the essence of
true humour. Occasionally Mr. BARRY PAIN wings a shaft against the
comfortably brutal doctrines of the average and orthodox householder,
male or female. But on these occasions he uses the classical fables and
the pagan deities as his bow, and the twang of his shot cannot offend
those who play the part of target and are pierced. Read the four stories
from the "Entertainments of Kapnides" in the "Canadian Canoe" series,
or, "An Hour of Death," "The Last Straw," and "Number One Hundred
and Three" in "The Nine Muses Minus One," and you will see at once
what I mean. Then for run-away, topsy-turvey wit I think I would back
"The Story of the Tin Heart" and "The Camel who never got Started,"
against most stories I know. Mr. BARRY PAIN's stories sometimes
make me feel as if I had got hold of the key-handle of things which
have hitherto been puzzles to me. I turn it, open the door ever so little

to peep inside, and before I have taken a good square look, Mr.
BARRY PAIN slams the door in my face, and I think I can hear him
laughing on the other side at the bruise on my forehead. That's not kind
treatment, but it promotes curiosity. As for "The Celestial Grocery," I
can only say of it that it is in its way a masterpiece. Mr. PAIN
sometimes gives way to a touch or two of sentiment, but he abstains
from sloppiness. His book is not only witty and humorous but fresh and
original in style. It is admirably written. His prose is good,--which is
moderate praise, striking a balance between the pros and cons of
criticism. _Prosit!_ To all holiday-makers who like quaintness and fun
touched with pathos and refinement, I say again, buy and read In a
Canadian Canoe.
BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE HEIGHT OF FASTIDIOUSNESS.
Elder Brother. "HULLO, FRANK! HOW IS IT YOU'RE NOT IN
MOURNING FOR POOR AUNT GRACE?"
Frank. "AH--WELL--FACT IS, I TRIED ON SIXTEEN OR
SEVENTEEN HAT-BANDS, AND COULDN'T _GET ONE TO SUIT
ME!_"]
* * * * *
"PUGS" AND "MUGS."
(_A QUOTATION WITH A COMMENT._)
"The faithful study of the fistic art From mawkish softness guards the
British heart." The study of the betting British curse From swift
depletion guards the British purse!
* * * * *
THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO. IV.
SCENE--_The Wiertz Museum at Brussels, a large and well-lighted
gallery containing the works of the celebrated Belgian, which are
reducing a limited number of spectators to the usual degree of
stupefaction. Enter CULCHARD, who seats himself on a central
ottoman._
Culchard (_to himself_). If PODBURY won't come down to breakfast
at a decent hour, he can't complain if I--I wonder if he heard Miss
TROTTER say she was thinking of coming here this morning.
Somehow, I should like that girl to have a more correct comprehension
of my character. I don't so much mind her thinking me fastidious and
exclusive. I daresay I _am_--but I do object to being made out a
hopeless melancholiac! (_He looks round the walls._) So these are
WIERTZ's masterpieces, eh? h'm. Strenuous, vigorous,--a trifle crude,
perhaps. Didn't he refuse all offers for his pictures during his lifetime?
Hardly think he could have been overwhelmed with applications for the
one opposite. (_He regards an enormous canvas, representing a brawny
and gigantic Achilles perforating a brown Trojan with a small mast._)
Not a dining-room picture. Still, I like his independence--work up
rather well in a sonnet. Let me see. (_He takes out note-book and
scribbles._) "He scorned to ply his sombre brush for hire." Now if I
read that to PODBURY, he'd pretend to think I was treating of a
Shoe-black on strike! PODBURY is utterly