The towpath critic's remarks are trite
(_Off Ayling's Yard in a stiffish breeze_),
Yet I study religiously morn and night
Whole columns consisting of words like these.
* * * * *
[Illustration: MANNERS AND MODES.
THE COMPANY-PROMOTER'S PROBLEM--HOW TO UTILISE THE BOOM IN SPRING.]
* * * * *
THE GENIUS OF MR. BRADSHAW.
(_By our Literary Expert._)
No one will be surprised to hear that the Christian name of Mr.
BRADSHAW was George. Indeed, it is difficult to think what other name
a man of his calibre could have had. But many people will be surprised
to hear that Mr. BRADSHAW is no longer alive. Whatever one thinks
of his work one is inclined to think of him as a living personality,
working laboriously at some terminus--probably at the Charing Cross
Hotel. But it is not so. He died, in fact, in 1853. His first book--or
rather the first edition of his book[1] was published in 1839; yet,
unlike the author, it still lives. He is, in fact, the supreme example
of the posthumous serial writer. I have no information about Mr.
DEBRETT and Mr. BURKE, but the style and substance of their work are
relatively so flimsy that one is justified, I think, in neglecting
them. In any case their public is a limited one. So, of course, is Mr.
BRADSHAW'S; but it is better than theirs.
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