AT THE ALHAMBRA.—­Claude Duval, a new monologue, music by EDWARD SOLOMON.  Mr. FRANK CELLI has to “stand and deliver” the lines of Messrs. BOWYER and MORTON.  As the description “monologue” is not suggestive of music, why didn’t the authors invent a special name for the entertainment, and call it the “Solomonologue”?  Most expressive.

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE

The Dead Man’s Gift, by HERBERT COMPTON; the title of which might lead one to imagine something very weird and uncanny.  Nothing of the sort.  Mr. COMPTON doesn’t wish to “make your flesh creep” like the Fat Boy in Pickwick.  It is only the story of a tea-planter’s romance, though the finding of the gift is most exciting.  Interesting and well written.

The Cabinet Portrait Gallery, published by CASSELL & Co., with portraits of most of our Celebrities, by Messrs. DOWNEY, is excellent.

[Illustration:  “Blackie and Son.”]

Christmas Books now make their appearance, and the first and principal offenders in disturbing the Calendar are Messrs. BLACKIE & SON.  “Among the names,” says the Baron’s juvenile assistant Co.  Junior, “we recognise one of our boys’ most favourite authors, G.A.  HENTY, who this year gives them another exciting historical tale, By England’s Aid, which deals with the closing events of the War of Independence in Holland.  Also Maori and Settler, a story of the New Zealand War, when young England was quite a settler for the Maori.  Both recommended. Hal Hungerford, by J.R.  HUTCHINSON, is a good book for boys, and A Rash Promise, or, Meg’s Secret by CECILIA SELBY LOWNDES, is an equally good one for girls, and finally The Girls’ Own Paper Annual, and The Boys’ Own Paper Annual, are two very handsome capitally illustrated gift-books.”  Now the Baron’s cheerful assistants have done their work, he himself, has something to say.

“No, my dear and venerable Mr. T. SIDNEY COOPER, R.A.,” says the Baron to that eminent octogenarian Academician, whose “reminiscences” BENTLEY AND SON have just published; “if you are correctly quoted in the P.M.G., your memory is absolutely at fault in describing DOUGLAS JERROLD as ‘Editor of Punch.’  He never was.  Your account of the doings at the hebdomadal board of the Punch Staff College must be taken with several pinches of salt, as never once in your lengthy career have you been present at any one of these symposia.  No matter.  Your health, and book!”

[Illustration:  A Cigarette-Maker’s Romance.]