lisher performed an act
of perspicuity rare indeed. He not only accepted the manuscript, but its
author as well.

So that is the story of "Walking-Stick Papers," and it does not cause me
to droop if you say I talk of matters of not such great moment. What a
joy it would have been if some friend had jotted down memoranda of this
sort concerning some of Elia's doings. The book is a garner of some of
the most racy, vigorous and genuinely flavored essays that this country
has produced for some time. Dear to me, every one of them, as clean-cut
blazes by a sincere workman along a trail full of perplexity and
struggle, as Grub Street always will be for the man who dips an honest
pen that will not stoop to conquer. And if you should require an
accurate portrait of their author I cannot do better than quote what
Grote said of Socrates:

Nothing could be more public, perpetual, and indiscriminate as to
persons than his conversation. But as it was engaging, curious, and
instructive to hear, certain persons made it their habit to attend
him as companions and listeners.

Owd Bob has long been the object of extreme attachment and high spirits
among his intimates. The earlier books have been followed by "Broome
Street Straws" and "Peeps at People," vividly personal collections that
will arouse immediate affection and amusement among his readers. And of
these books will be said (once more in Grote's words about Socrates):

Not only his conversation reached the minds of a much wider circle,
but he became more abundantly known as a person.

Let us add, then, our final memorandum:

Fifth Memo--These essays are the sort of thing you cannot afford to
miss. In them you sit down to warm your wits at the glow of a droll,
delightful, unique mind.

So much (at the moment) for Bob Holliday.

THE APPLE THAT NO ONE ATE

[Illustration]

The other evening we went to dinner with a gentleman whom it pleases our
fancy to call the Caliph.

Now a Caliph, according to our notion, is a Haroun-al-Raschid kind of
person; one who governs a large empire of hearts with a genial and
whimsical sway; circulating secretly among his fellow-men, doing
kindnesses often not even suspected by their beneficiaries. He is the
sort of person of whom the trained observer may think, when he hears an
unexpected kindness-grenade exploding somewhere down the line, "I'll bet
that came from the Caliph's dugout!" A Caliph's heart is not