VOL. 4, No. 11.

THE CHRISTMAS PUBLICATIONS.

A new departure in the publication of Christmas books was made this season by the American publishing houses. The magnificent, high-priced art works which for several years past have been the leading feature of the holiday book display, have given place to less expensive but equally sumptuous books. The twenty-five and fifty dollar volume has been replaced by pleasing editions at from four to twelve dollars, while the French custom of issuing, besides the ordinary editions, limited editions on Holland, Japan, and India paper, with illustrations on vellum, etc., has been adopted. In this way all tastes and all purses can be suited.

In

Probably no branch of American industry has taken such rapid strides within the last few years as has the art of making books. From the texture of the paper to the finishing touch to the binding, the product of the American publisher nowadays is little short of perfection. illustrating, too, the advance has been satisfactory. Undoubtedly, a great part of the illustrations used in American books has been prepared in Paris or Munich. But this very fact indicates a demand by the American public for what is best. It indicates the education of the artistic taste of a nation which, not so many years ago, delighted in crude coloring, and admired without reservation a class of art-products which has happily almost entirely disappeared, and which only shows itself periodically in the shape of colored supplements to the holiday numbers of English weeklies.

However, American artists are well represented this year. Irene E. Jerome's new volume, In a Fair Country, presents a series of drawings from nature unsurpassed in delicacy of sentiment and skill of execution even by her own former works. The text by Thomas Wentworth Higginson needs no recommendation. Good wine needs no bush. No lover of nature, no

A. SCHADE VAN WESTRUM,

EDITOR.

lover of art can pass this dainty volume without desiring to possess it. Another volume in praise of the soothing calm of the country, is The Quiet Life, illustrated by E. A. Abbey and Alfred Parsons. Abbey at his best" has become a set phrase. Like all true artists he gives his whole heart, his best endeavor to all he undertakes, and The Quiet Life thus becomes one more fresh laurel to be added to his crown.

Nature never seems sweeter than at the approach of winter. Heart and mind never feel deeper her alluring beauties and soothing, beneficial whisper through softly stirring foliage, than in her dying hours. Mrs. Deland's Florida Days shimmers with the sunny atmosphere of the land of palms. The series of essays in which she describes the beauties of this paradise in the South are scented with the odor of orangeblossom and tinted with the brilliancy of the southern sky. Louis K. Harlow's illustrations worthily perfect the text. The seventeen fullpage plates, four in color, and two etched, and the numerous illustrations in the text were drawn from nature and idealized by the poetic interpretation of art.

Tennyson's Song of the Brook sparkles out among the fern and chatters over stony ways and babbles on the pebbles in an edition illustrated by Wedworth Wadsworth, who renders with rare fidelity the peculiar loveliness of English landscape.

Samuel Lover's Low Back'd Car has been illustrated by William Magrath and C. H. Reed. The illustrations have been printed by photogravure process from copper plates in a delicate brown; the vignettes by C. H. Reed have been engraved on wood. In the édition de luxe the plates have been reproduced directly from the author's original drawings.

Blackmore's Lorna Doone has been published in a beautifully illustrated edition. The drawings, several hundred in number, are by such artists as George Wharton Edwards, W. H. Drake, Charles E. Copeland, Margaret McD

Pullman and many others. The volume also contains a map of Exmoor, the scene of the story. The book is bound in cloth, half morocco, and full morocco.

Notable among the products of American artists this year, is also The Rivals, illustrated by Mr. Frank, M. Gregory, late of the Salmagundi Club. This volume contains five large full-page water-colors and upwards of forty-five black and white sketches in wash. Mr. Gregory shows in this work his perfect mastery of the difficult art of figure-drawing.

Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. have added a new triumph to their long list of éditions de luxe. Hawthorne's Marble Faun in its new holiday dress is alike a worthy monument to its creator, a beautiful holiday gift, and a permanent memorial of Rome, its art treasures, and archaeological remains. The cloth binding of the ordinary edition rivals the best work of Riviere and the edition in full polished calf and the large paper edition in full vellum binding are equally sumptuous.

In another part of this volume will be found reviews of many other gift-books, such as the Weird Tit-Bits, Humorous Tit-Bits, Classic Tales, Folk-Lore and Legends, etc., neat little volumes, sumptuously bound; of the a'Artagnan Romances, Wild Flowers of the Pacific Coast, etc. The first place among the books for young folks published this season, belongs to Andrew Lang's The Blue Fairy Book. The old stories of Perault and of Madame d'Aulnoy, from the Cabinet des Fees and of Grimm, mingle with Norse tales and fables from the Arabian Nights, with Scotch traditions and Asiatic folk-lore. And through it all is discernible the genial touch of the editor, of that charming vir doctissimus, Mr. Andrew Lang. The Blue Fairy Book has the advantage of being equally interesting to grown and to little children. Andrew Lang, and Andrew Lang alone, perfectly understands the art of being erudite and amusing at the same time. To the young and to those who read for pleasure only, this volume will be a bundle of exciting narratives, of wondrous tales. To the student it will be doubly welcome as an invaluable addition to the study of folk-lore. It is fully illustrated and beautifully bound. In these days of uncut books, the smooth, shiny gilt edges of this volume should be doubly welcome.

A superb edition of Mother Goose's rhymes was published last year too late for the Christmas season. The book is entitled: Mother Goose's Rhymes and Melodies. The music is by E. T. Lane and the illustrations are by J. L. Webb. The melodies are pleasing and simple, well adapted for little voices. The illustrations

are all that can be desired, original and quaint, and artistically reproduced in water-color.

The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood and Cinderella; or, The Little Glass Slipper, illustrated by G. W. Brenneman with full-page designs in colors and monochrome are also among the most attractive books offered to the little ones this year. Thomas Nast's Christmas Drawings for the Human Race is the first collection of his works which has been published. It flows over with the good cheer of Merry Christmas, the innocent happiness of the little ones, and the lighthearted contentment of their elders which characterize the closing days of the year. Christmas is the season of peace on earth and goodwill to all men. It is also the season of civil war stories for the young.

More pleasing is the subject of Mr. Knox's new volume of travel, The Boy Travellers in Mexico. These intrepid globe-trotters enjoy life to its full extent, and visit all that is worth seeing in the sister republics of Central America with their entertaining guide. The Three Vassar Girls "do" Russia and Turkey, Mr. Butterworth plays cicerone to a select Zig-Zag party in the British Isles, and Mr. Stockton conducts a tour through Eastern Europe. Mr. Ober's Club "Knocks about " in Spain.

Harper's Young People, St. Nicholas, Lothrop's Annual, The Pansy, and the other periodicals for the young have been tastefully bound and offer tempting bills-of-fare for the year.

In Christmas cards as in books more taste is displayed than ever before. The designs are unusually clever, the coloring is quiet and tasteful.

In art a happy preference for excellent etchings and engravings shows itself above the love for high-priced and very mediocre oil-paintings. The aquarelle has a bright future before it.

A survey of the Christmas publishing world this season shows a marked superiority over former years. Rare taste has been displayed in every department. The paper manfacturer, the printer, and the binder, without whose hearty co-operation the publisher's attempts are vain, have bravely done their best. American artists have shown the high standard to which art has attained in the North American Republic. The age of indiscreminate booking-making is evidently past. The age of mature judgment and critical taste has begun. With the pleasing certainty of this for to-day and the happy anticipation of it for years to come, there only remains one duty to be fullfilled; and that is, to wish to those who have worked so bravely to make our holidays bright, to publishers, artists, printers, and binders, a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. And the editor joins to this his best wishes to the gentle reader.

Selected Current Readings.

THE NECKLACE.

At the end of a week they had lost all hope. And Loisel, who had aged five years, declared: "We must consider how to replace that ornament."

Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, consulting their memories, sick both of them with chagrin and with anguish.

They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds which seemed to them exactly like the one they looked for. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-six.

Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.

He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers, and all the race of money lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life, risked, his signature, without even knowing if he could meet it; and, frightened by the pains yet to come, by the black misery which was about to fall upon him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and of all the moral tortures which he was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, putting down upon the merchant's counter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Mme. Loisel took back the necklace, Mme. Forestier said to her, with a chilly man

ner:

"You should have returned it sooner, I might have needed it." Mme. Loisel now knew the horrible existence of the needy. She took her part, moreover, all on a sudden, with heroism.

That dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their servant; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garrett under the roof.

She

She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious care of the kitchen. washed the dishes, using her rosy nails on the greasy pots and pans. She washed the dirty linen, the shirts, and the dish-cloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried the slops down to the street every morning, and carried up the water, stopping for breath at every landing. And, dressed like a woman of the people, she went to the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, her basket on her arm, bargaining, insulted, defending her miserable money sou by sou.

Each month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.

Her husband worked in the evening making a fair copy of some tradesman's accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous a page.

And this life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury, and the accumulations of the compound interest.

Mme. Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished households-strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, skirts askew, and red hands, she talked loud while washing the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window, and she thought of that gay evening of long ago, of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so fêted.

What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? who knows? How life is strange and changeful! How little a thing is needed for us to be lost or to be saved.

But, one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Élysées to refresh herself from the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman leading a child. It was Mme. Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.

Mme. Loisel felt moved. Was she going to speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she was going to tell her all about it. Why not?

She went up. "Good-day, Jeanne."

"THE LECTURER FIXED A COLD AND FISHY EYE UPON MR. WILLIAMS. From" Lectures before the Thompson Street Poker Club."

Copyright, 1889, White & Allen, New York.

And she smiled with a joy which was proud and naïve at once.

Mme. Forestier, strongly moved, took her two hands.

Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste. It was worth at most five hundred francs!"-GUY DE MAUPASSANT, in The Odd Number.

Whiffles, and Gus Johnson, Professor Brick, Elder Jubilee Anderson, and a select party of gentlemen from Weehawken.

Elder Jubilee Anderson, of special committee, submitted his report. At the last meeting it had been decided to give a dinner on Inauguration Day, free for club members and two dollars apiece for invited guests, and he had been ap

pointed to select a caterer. After a long and careful search, he had found a gentleman in Weehawken who was able and willing to provide the club with a dinner.

"C. O. D. ?" thoughtfully.

"Y-yezzar," admitted the Elder, with regret. 'Cordin' ter de constitution I done my bes' ter git credic 'n' give de club's note fer de paymink in thutty days, but the gemman he say he kuddent do 'zackly dat, but ef de club wanted ter pay cawsh down 'n' den wait thutty days fer dinnah, he'd fix it dat way so's ter 'blige de club, an'”

"De club's note am skured by de club's honah," said Mr. Williams, haughtily.

Yezzah," returned the Elder. "I'splained dat, but de mo' I talked 'bout de club's honah, de furders we seemed ter git from de dinnah,

'Am de gen'leman outside? "asked the Rev. Mr. Thankful Smith.

"Yezzah. Dat's him danci'n on de landin' ter keep warm."

'Sho'm in," said the Rev. Mr. Smith.

The Elder opened the door, and a half-frozen gentleman from Weehawken Heights sidled in and humbly took up a position near the stove. A deep silence fell. The Rev. Mr. Thankful Smith regarded the stranger with great benevolence for several minutes, and then said: "Yo' name am Beesly?"

'Yo' knows Bre'r Willyums 'n' Bre'r Whiffles, Beesly?" queried the chairman.

"Yas, Boss, 'deed I does-gottum on de slake," said Mr. Beesly, sadly, but firmly.

"Fer how much am Bre'r Willyums 'n' Bre'r Whiffles hung up, Beesly?" queried the chair. "Mistah Willyums t'ree dollahs 'n' twonny cents, 'n' Mistah W'iffles two dollahs 'n' a quartah," he announced.

"Didn'I tole yer to sen' dat bill ter my office?" haughtily demanded Mr. Williams.

“Ordah!" ruled the chair. "Beesly," he ontinued, "I see dat yo' hez hed too much

speeunce to catah fer dis club. De kummittee 'll browse round in some naberhood whar Bre'r Willyums's lunch route hezn't spiled de credick. Dat's all, Beesly."

'Kint I stay 'n' c'lect my money ?" asked Mr. Beesly, who had just emerged from his chill, and was prepared to spend the evening.

"Not dis evenin', Beesly. Bud yo' kin darnce outside 'n' keep yo' eye skint until de show's ovah," ruled the chair. "Good evenin', Beesly.'

Mr. Beesly meekly departed. The gavel fell, and Mr. Williams mounted the rostrum with a jaunty air, blew a kiss to the secretary, winked at the chairman, smiled at Mr. Whiffles, and, announcing his subject as 'De Deal," spoke as follows:

"De hones' dealah am aller caffle ter dole de kyards slow, 'n' let all de mo'ners see, dat de deal am squar’—”

At this juncture the door slowly swung open a few inches, and Mr. Beesly's head cautiously appeared. His eyes sought out Mr. Williams, then rested upon Mr. Whiffles, and then his head mournfully withdrew and the door closed again.

“De Dealah,” continued Mr. Williams, endeavoring to appear at his ease-"de dealah kint swinnle' ceptin' when he's got a confederick, in' de confederick walks in wif a tray full ob-"

Here the door slowly opened and a chill, accompanied by the sad countenance of Mr. Beesly, again made its appearance; the rueful eyes sought Mr. Williams and Mr. Whiffles, and then the vision vanished. Mr. Williams said: "I-I jes'-jes' found out dat —I—"

Here, again, the door slowly opened, Mr. Beesly's head did not appear, but a tremulous, sad voice murmured, sepulchrally:

"Kin I spoke wif Mistah W'iffles jes'-jes' a minnit befo' I froze ter deff?"

A gruesome silence fell. Mr. Whiffles arose, still in his trance, slowly moved toward the door, and vanished. For a few minutes there was no sound, and then the corridor without echoed to the strains of activity, a cyclone and an earthquake appeared to roll together down the stairs, and all was still. Mr. Williams listened a moment, then continued his lecture.

Again the voice:

"I wanter spoke wif Mistah Willyums."
Mr. Williams moved toward the door.
"Niggahs," he said, "I'm a-goin'."
So saying he vanished.

Again a grisly silence reigned. Professor Brick tiptoed softly to the door, locked it, and applied his ear to the panel, by which process, according to well-known laws of acoustics, he