The Leviathian.

Southern Cross, Volume 1, Issue 37, 9 December 1893, Page 12

The Leviathian.

(By Eamblep )

Dear reader, do you want to forget the existance of such disagreeable things as influenza and the 4th of the month ? Do you seek relief, temporary, it may be, but complete, from the cares that infest the day ? Of course you do, and equally of course you will feel grateful to the man who puts you in the way of attaining such a pleasant consummation. To secure it, it is necessary to look in at Wesney Bros Leviathan Gift Depot. It is getting up in years now, has long passed through various stages of businesshood, but seems to grow stronger with advancing years —a fact due, no doubt, to the application of the commercial elixir of life, in the shape of attention and energy on the part of its proprietors. This aspect of the subject, however, brings us into the realm of the proasic, from which we have promised that you shall escape for a time. Look at those windows ! What a blaze of colour ! Pictures of all kinds, conspicuous among them the gorgeous presentation illustrations of the Xmas numbers of Home and Colonial weeklies, jostle each other. But let us enter and hasten on, past the group of school committeemen painstakingly selecting the annual prizes, and past other patrons of the old Leviathian. Here we are at the stand devoted to Christmas cards. No need to ask you to halt. You do that involuntarily. The “ Bail up !” of the bushranger of olden days was not more potent than the demand upon your attention of the mute loveliness here arrayed before you. Cards—how poorly the word expresses the wealth of ingenuity, the artistic ability that has been displayed in the evolution of these beautiful combinations of colour aud of form. What quaint conceits, what droll suggestions, what sacred associations, recalling memories of other days aud other lands, reveal themselves at every turn. But let us discriminate between some of these seasonable devices. Those fan, screen, and Venetian calendars, for instance. You think nothing could be prettier until you come to the hand-painted series of cards, mounted in plush, and of various design, from easel to horse-shoe. Exquisite works of art these, and not less so those glittering cementers of friendship, the jewel series of cards. And the booklets of the same pattern, where you have your favourite poem or song in the daintiest of dainty settings—choicer offerings at Affection’s shrine could not be proffered. But the chief glory of this section consists in the iridescent cards, wherein admirable perspective effects are secured. There are many beautiful examples of this, the finest, perhaps, being the view of the famous Niagara Falls, in which the lights of a steamer and the gleam of falling water are seen. Many of these cards cost money—though exceedingly cheap compared with the prices paid a few years ago for an article of the severely plain pattern —but should an economical pater or mater, blessed with more children than money, desired it they can have cards by the yard. Mr W. Wesney unfastened what looked like a roll of wall paper, covered with ever so many cards of all shapes and sizes, and declared that it was sold at—well a price within the reach of everybody. High over all, Old Father Christmas, with a bunch of holly in his hands, smiles down benignly on the scene, while counterfeit presentments of three varieties of the canine race—bull-dog, collie and teirier—keep watch and ward over this Christmas treasure house. Such indeed it is, and it may be added that a visitor with abundant opportunities of judging declared that nowhere in the colony had he seen a finer, larger, or more varied display of Christmas cards, Other departments are equally replete with wares suitable to the holiday, gift-giving season. Lovely brackets and mirrors in plush challenge admiration, and so do some candle and lamp shades in crinkled lace and tissue paper—fragile but exceedingly pretty. Nor must we fail to notice those handsome photo frames, the elegant pottery, the natty scent cases, in oak, leather, and plush, the display of sea-shell and fern work, the latest thing in fire-screens —the bric-a-brac, with brackets for flower pots, etc. Then there are the toys. They occupy, along with counters covered with large stocks of useful goods, a lot of wall and floor space. Of dolls, from the sedate papa and mama series, to flirtatious young blondes and brunettes, there is an almost almost endless variety, and as for pop guns —why the Maxim gun isn’t in it with one of Wesney Bros.’ “double poppers” —once heard never forgotten. Mechanical toydom is also well represented —revolving iridescent discs, the automatic contrivance styled “Rule Britannia!” warranted to instil patriotic principles into the mind of the most heedless juvenile, a variation of the familiar zoetrope,' and engines and carriages run on circular and purely non-political lines, are among a few of the things that will bring joy to youthful hearts. Then there are all sorts of lawn and parlour games, in two of which billiards and shooting galleries are completely eclipsed. After a fleeting glance at the china and silver ware, we come to the picture book stand. It is exceedingly attractive. One of the series is historically interesting —that in which the Mother Hubbard of 1793 is contrasted with the same dame in IS93 —and another, entitled “Clownland” can confidently he recommended as a specific for melancholy. Dip into its pages, and the most mirthless of mortals will laugh in spite of themselves. Passing on to a higher grade of literature, familiar friends, in the shape of

the annuals, are encountered, to say nothing of a host of other presentation volumes. There ! We emerge, into Dee street one® more, and the respite from everyday concernments is ended.