Baron)—"to confine your extracts from the Introduction to an extent not exceeding one-third of the whole." "Willingly, my dear 'Caspeg,'" replies the Baron, who does not like being dictated to, and, to gratify your wish to the utmost, he will make no extracts at all from the book, a proceeding which ought mightily to delight "Caspeg, London." What next? Will publishers send to the Baron, and request him not even to breathe the names of their books? By all means. He has no objection, as, whether sent to him for review, or purchased by him pour se distraire, the Baron only mentions those he likes, or, if he mentions those he dislikes, 'tis pro bono publico, and there's an end on't. Mrs. STANLEY appreciates humour, as the following anecdote will show—But, dear me, the Baron is forgetful—he begs "Caspeg's" pardon; he mustn't quote. Mrs. STANLEY can be truly sympathetic with sorrow, as the following story proves—no, "Caspeg," the story must not follow. Never mind—the Baron's dear readers will read it for themselves if they feel "so dispoged." The Baron supposes that all this was written and drawn while Mrs. STANLEY was Miss DOROTHY TENNANT, because her recorded opinion, probably, as a spinster, is (and here the Baron "quotes" not, but "alludes"), that you can find better artistic material in this line at home, than you can obtain by seeking it abroad; yet when she married, off she went to Milan, Venice, and so forth. For pleasure, of course, not work; but work to her is evidently pleasure. May happiness have accompanied her everywhere! The drawings are pretty, rather of the goody-good "Sunday-at-home-readings" kind of illustrations. And what on earth has a sort of pictorial advertisement for "Somebody's Soap" got to do with Street Arabs? "Washed Ashore; or, Happy At Last," might be the title of this mer-baby picture, in which two naked children, not Street Arabs, or Arabs of any sort, are depicted as examining the inanimate body of a nondescript creature, half flesh and half fish, which has been thrown up by the waves "to be left till called for" by the next high-tide, when, perhaps, its sorrowing parents, Mr. and Mrs. MERMAN, or its widowed mother, Mrs. MERWOMAN, arrayed in sea-"weeds," may come to claim it and give it un-christian burial. But that the Baron, out of deference to the wishes of "Caspeg, London," does not like to quote one single line, he could give Mrs. STANLEY'S own account of how this picture of the Mer-baby came to be included in the Street Arab Collection. For such explanation the Baron refers the reader to the book itself. "Caspeg," farewell!

I have, the Baron says, commenced the first pages of The Last Days of Palmyra. Good, so far; but several new books have come in, and Palmyra cannot receive my undivided attention, says

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

P.S.—My faithful "Co." has been reading Ferrers Court, by JOHN STRANGE WINTER, author of Bootle's Baby and a number of other novelettes of like kind. He says that he is getting just the least bit tired of Mignon, and the plain-spoken girls, and the rest of them. By the way, he observes that it seems to be the fashion, judging from the pages of Ferrers Court, in what he may call "Service Suckles," to talk continually of a largely advertising lady's tailor. If this custom spreads, he presumes that the popular topic of conversation, the weather, will have to give place to the prior claims for consideration of Somebody's Blacking, or Somebody-else's Soap. This is to be regretted, as, in spite of the sameness of subject of the Bootle's Baby series, JOHN STRANGE WINTER is always more amusing than nine-tenths of his (or should it be her?) contemporaries. B. De B.-W. & Co.

P.S. No. 2.—The Baron wishes to add that on taking up the Bride of Lammermoor in order to refresh his memory before seeing the new drama, he was struck by a few lines in the description of Lucy Ashton, which, during rehearsals, must have been peculiarly appropriate to her representative at the Lyceum, Miss ELLEN TERRY. Here they are:—"To these details, however trivial, Lucy lent patient and not indifferent attention. They moved and interested Henry, and that was enough to secure her ear." "Great Scott!" indeed! Perfectly prophetic, and prophetically perfect. B. DE B.-W.

AN EFFECTIVE MILITARY MANOEUVRE.

"The day of cocked hats and plumes is past and gone. This head-dress is utterly unsuited for active service."—Military Correspondent's Letter to Times.

SUGGESTION, IN CONSEQUENCE, FOR NEW COSTUME FOR GENERAL OFFICERS—SO THAT THEY MIGHT BE MISTAKEN BY THE ENEMY FOR HARMLESS GENTLEMEN-FARMERS ENGAGED IN AGRICULTURAL PURSUITS.

STALKING THE SAGACIOUS STAG.

Sporting Notes from Our Special Representative.

I had an invite from JEPSON, a Stock Exchange acquaintance, who has rented a Moor for the winter months, and who, happening to hear that I and my two foreign friends were in the neighbourhood, most kindly asked me to come and have a look at his box, and bring them with me.

"I hear," he writes, "that the deer are very lively, and if you want to show your foreign friends some first-rate British Sport, you can't do better than bring them."

Need I say that I jumped at this. Coming along on the top of the coach, that takes us to Spital-hoo, the place my friend has rented, I have been endeavouring to describe what I imagine to be the nature of the sport of Deer-stalking to the Chief and the Bulgarian Count. The former, who has been listening attentively, says that, from my description, stalking a stag must be very much the same as hunting the double-humped bison in Mwangumbloola, and that the only weapon he shall take with him will be a pickaxe. I have pointed out to him that I don't think this will be any use, as in deer-stalking I fancy you follow the stag at some distance, but he seems resolute about the pickaxe, and so, I suppose, I must let him have his way. The Bulgarian Count was deeply interested in the matter, and says that evidently the proper weapon to use is a species of quick-firing, repeating Hotchkiss, and that he has one now on its way through Edinburgh, the invention of a compatriot, that will fire 2700 two-ounce bullets in a minute and a-half. I fancy, if he uses this, he will surprise the neighbourhood; but, of course, I have not said anything to interfere with his project.

We have arrived at Spital-hoo all safe and sound, and JEPSON has given us a most cordial welcome. But I must now have once more recourse to my current notes.

I have now been something like five hours on the tramp, plodding my way through a deep glen in a pine forest, but have not yet come across any sign of a stag, I started with the Chief and the Count, but the former soon went off at a tangent somewhere on his own hook, and the latter, who had got his Hotchkiss with him and found it heavy work to drag it up and down the mountain paths, I have left behind to take a rest and recuperate himself. I pause in my walk and listen. The forest is intensely still. Not a sign of a stag anywhere.

JEPSON is left at home, as he is expecting a couple of local Ministers to tea, but he has told me I'm "bound to come across whole herds of them," if I only tramp long enough. Well, I've been at it five hours, and I certainly ought to have spotted something by this time. By Jove, though, what's that moving in the path ahead of me? It