Games/Humor Books

WHY I DON'T WRITE PLAYS. (From the Common-place Book of a Novelist.) Because it is so much pleasanter to read one's work than to hear it on the Stage. Because Publishers are far more amiable to deal with than Actor-Managers. Because "behind the scenes" is such a disappointing place—except in Novels. Because why waste three weeks on writing a Play, when it takes only three years to... more...

PURPLE PATCHES FROM LORD YORICK'S GREAT BOOK. (Special Review.) Lord Yorick's Reminiscences, just published by the house of Hussell, abound in genial anecdote, in which the "personal note" is lightly and gracefully struck, in welcome contrast to the stodgy political memoirs with which we have been surfeited of late. We append some extracts, culled at random from these jocund pages:—... more...

LETTERS TO ABSTRACTIONS. No. II.—TO SOCIAL AMBITION. DEAR SIR, OR MADAM, I had not intended to annoy you with another letter. But since I addressed you last week I have received one or two communications—not from you, bien entendu, for you are too wary to dispute the accuracy of what I have written; but from concrete human beings, who pretend to speak on your behalf, and deny that I have... more...

HEREINAFTERS. I. There are people in the world called tenants. I think nothing of them; Celia thinks nothing of them; jointly we do not think anything of them. However, as this is not so much a grammar as an explanation, I will get on with it. For the last two years we have been letting our flat. Naturally Celia has had to do most of the work; my military duties have prevented me from taking my share... more...

HOW TO CURE THE BOSCH. "Yes, I seen a good bit o' the Bosch, one way and another, before he got me in the leg," said Corporal Digweed. "Eighteen months I had with 'im spiteful, and four months with 'im tame. Meaning by that four months guarding German prisoners." "And what do you think of him at the end of it?" I asked. Digweed leant back with a heavily judicial... more...

THE "MODEL HUSBAND" CONTEST. SCENE THE FIRST—At the GALAHAD-GREENS'. Mrs. G.-G. GALAHAD! Mr. G.-G. (meekly). My love? Mrs. G.-G. I see that the proprietors of All Sorts are going to follow the American example, and offer a prize of £20 to the wife who makes out the best case for her husband as a Model. It's just as well, perhaps, that you should know that I've made up my mind... more...

GOING TO THE BANK. She thought she had got a bargain. It was only marked "20/-," and would have been double the price at any of the West-end places. So she whipped out her Japanese note-case, paid for it, and carried it off like a whirlwind lest the shopman should find he had made a mistake. But it was she who had made a mistake, and she broke the news to me at breakfast on the following... more...

THE WIFE-CATCHERS. A LEGEND OF MY UNCLE’S BOOTS. In Four Chapters. “His name ’tis proper you should hear, ’Twas Timothy Thady Mulligin: And whenever he finish’d his tumbler of punch, He always wished it full agin.” “You can have no idea, Jack, how deeply the loss of those venerated family retainers affected me.” My uncle paused. I perceived that his eyes were full, and his tumbler... more...

MYSELF, PUNCH, AND THE KEELEYS. I dined with my old friend and schoolfellow, Jack Withers, one day last September. On the previous morning, on my way to the India House, I had run up against a stout individual on Cornhill, and on looking in his face as I stopped for a moment to apologise, an abrupt “This is surely Jack Withers,” burst from my lips, followed by—“God bless me! Will Bayfield!”... more...

HOW MR. CHOKEPEAR KEEPS A MERRY CHRISTMAS. Mr. CHOKEPEAR is, to the finger-nails, a respectable man. The tax-gatherer was never known to call at his door a second time for the same rate; he takes the sacrament two or three times a year, and has in his cellar the oldest port in the parish. He has more than once subscribed to the fund for the conversion of the Jews; and, as a proof of his devotion to the... more...