Who misinformed him? A worthy henchman, as indignant as was Sam Weller when he found his beloved master's name trifled with, writes to ask me, "Ain't nobody to be whopped for takin' this here liberty, Sir?" With the immortal Mr. Pickwick, the Baron replies, "Certainly not. Not on any account." And, whatever that sturdy henchman may murmur to himself, he at once obeys. "Bring me my books!" cries the Baron, "I am off to the review."

The Baron's Deputy writes, that he has again been steeping himself in poetry, and reports as follows:—Ionica (GEORGE ALLEN) is a little volume, which no admirer of true poetry should fail to possess. The author now calls himself W. CORY, but he was known by a different name to many generations of Etonians. His Muse generally wears a classical robe, but her speech is always delightfully musical. She has beautiful cadences, that haunt the memory like some old Volkslied. In spite of a careless confusion between "thou" and "you," I defy anybody to read "Heraclitus," to take only one instance, without a sense of pleasure which will compel him to learn the two verses by heart. But the Muse is pathetic, playful, and patriotic, too, when the occasion fits, and, whatever she sings, she sings with genuine taste and feeling. Would that we might hope for more of her pure music. So far the Deputy.

Was that excentric character in David Copperfield nameless, who was represented as sitting in some sort of slop-shop, wheezing out fiercely, "O my lights and liver! O goroo, goroo!" I think DICKENS didn't give him a name, good or bad; but his constant repetition of the above outlandish exclamations has impressed upon him an awful and terrific personality, which places him among the more popular creations of Dickensian genius. Of what is this à propos? you will ask the Baron. "Well," he will make reply, "it is à propos of cookery books, and bookery cooks; the latter being those who are not above teaching themselves from the sacred books of Cookery, and who can put in practice the lessons they learn therein. Now," quoth the Baron, "let me recommend you to ask at CHAPMAN AND HALL's for Hilda's 'Where Is It' of Recipes, a work got up as simply and substantially as a good dinner should be, with 'pages in waiting,' quite blank, all ready for your notes,—the book, like a dining-table, being appropriately interleaved; and there is, happy thought, a pencil in the cover-side most handy for the intending Lucullus." The season of Lent is an excellent one for cookery-books, because you can be studying for the dinner-giving season, and then—do not forget the generally excellent advice of your friend,

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

"WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK."

"THERE NOW, MR. MOSS! THERE'S A PICTURE FOR YER! WHY, HE'S REGULAR DOWNRIGHT BUILT FOR YER, THAT LITTLE 'ORSE IS! SUIT YER TO A T,—AND DIRT-CHEAP AT A HUNDRED-AND-TWENTY GUINEAS!"

"EXACTLY, MR. ISAACS. KNOCK OFF THE HUNDRED, AND HE'S MINE!"

THE RIVAL "JARVIES;"

OR, THE IRISH JAUNTING CAR.

AIR:—"The Low-backed Car."

"Honest John" sings:—

PAR ABOUT PICTURES.—Messrs. J. and W. VOKINS, Great Portland Street, have an interesting loan collection of some of the Old Giants of the English Water-colour School on view. There may be found TURNER, DE WINT, WILLIAM HUNT, HOLLAND, COPLEY FIELDING, STANFIELD, MULREADY, J.D. HARDING, besides many others. How good are the Old Giants, and their works are as bright and fresh as the day they were painted. Their reputations have not faded, neither have their pictures, and moreover, they are not likely to. And so say all of us! And so says, Yours paragonically, OLD PAR.

THE HUNDRED-AND-TEN-TONNER!

PROPOSED TUNNEL BETWEEN ENGLAND AND IRELAND.—An Irishman observed this would bridge over a lot of difficulties; he begged pardon, he meant it would