* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerics._)

_The Snare_ (SECKER) impressed me as a tale emphatically prededicate to the
footlights. Actually, by the way, Mr. RAFAEL SABATINI has dedicated it "to
LEON M. LEON, who told me this story"--which, of course, only strengthens
my belief. Anyhow, it has every mark of the romantic drama--a picturesque
setting, that of the Peninsular War, rich in possibilities for the scenic
and sartorial arts; and a strongly emotional plot, leading up to a
situation that could be relied upon to bring down the house. I shall, of
course, not tell you the plot. It contains a jealous husband, an
injudicious wife, a hero and heroine, a villain (of foreign extraction) and
a god in the machine, who is none other than our IRON DUKE himself. And the
situation in the last Act offers as pretty a piece of table-turning as any
audience need desire. I wish I could explain how the DUKE plays with his
enemies, and finally--but no, I said I wouldn't, and I will keep my word.
Two little carpings, however. Surely it is wrong to speak of "catch
half-penny" journalism in the time of WELLINGTON. My impression is that the
journalists of those days caught at least fourpence by their wares. And I
confess to an emotion of disappointment when the heroine bounced up at the
court-martial and said that the hero couldn't have committed the murder
because he was "in her arms" at the time. Of course he hadn't been; and I
very much doubt whether any Court would have believed her for two minutes.
But leading ladies love saying it, so I suppose the very out-worn device
will have to be retained in the stage version. I look forward to this with
much pleasure.

* * * * *

That clever lady, ELINOR MORDAUNT, has collected into the volume that she
calls _Before Midnight_ (CASSELL) a series of short stories of a psychic
(though not always ghostly) character, which, while not very eerie, or on
the same high level, are at their best both original and impressive. The
first of them, which affords excuse for a highly-intriguing cover-picture,
is at once the most spooksome and the least satisfactory. That is to say
that, though it opens with a genuine and quite horrible thrill, the
"explanation" is obscure and tame. Far more successful, to my mind, is "The
Vision," a delicate little idyll of a Midland schoolmarm, to whom is shown
the death of