appy, while we can, and good luck to you, Ladies all, in
1892. Leap year!" quoth the Baron. "Over you go like the villagers in
the German story, after the sheep, into the sea of matrimony, where
may you all get on swimmingly." _A propos_, Mesdames BLYTHE and GAY
say that the Christmas Number of _Woman_, produced by a number of
women, is as full of attractive power as the Magnetic Lady herself.

"ARROWSMITH's Shilling Sensational, by 'a New Author,'" quoth the
Baron, "would, methought, serve _pour me distraire_." The "New Author"
uses the remarkably new device of a mole on the lost child's breast.
Isn't that original? _Miss Box_ and _Miss Cox_ are lost, and found.
"Have you a mole on your left breast?" "Yes!" "Then it is both of
you!" Charming! So useful is the explanation that "Hanwell is a little
village, a few miles from London." Perhaps it is the locality, there
or thereabouts, where this thrillingly interesting tale--which could
have been told in fifty pages, and needn't have been told at all--was
written. Well, well, "All's Hanwell that ends Hanwell," and "I've
galloped through a worse story before now," quoth the Baron, yawning,
and so to bed.

[Illustration: Turning over the pages.]

In _John Leech, His Life and Work_ (BENTLEY) Mr. FRITH quotes from an
anonymous but obviously not an original authority, the dictum, "It is
the happiness of such a life (as LEECH's) that there is so little to
be told of it." Mr. BENTLEY has produced two handsome volumes worthy
the reputation of his ancient and honourable house. They enshrine
admirable reproductions of some of LEECH's best work, selected by
the trained hand and sympathetic eye of Mr. FRITH. These are and will
remain the chief attractions of a work to which the Baron, in common
with the civilised world, has been looking forward to with interest,
and of whose realisation he regrets to hear so disappointing an
account from his trusty "Co." It is difficult to find dates in this
higgledy-piggledy chance-medley of facts and opinions. But we all know
that LEECH died in October, 1864. It was in _Mr. Punch's_ pages that
he found the true field for his heaven-born genius For twenty years at
least he was one of the most prominent, best known, and best liked men
in England. Surely within that period there must lie to the hand of
the dilligent seeker material for a memoir worthy to be linked with
the name of JOHN LEECH. Mr. FRITH has not given us such a book,
and criticism is o