student. Bell drew a man hanging, and Sass, the master, told him to leave the studio, "as such a career," as the man hanging, "is a bad example to your fellow-pupils." Now Mr. Frith ought to have given Bell a triumphant exit speech—he ought to have said to Sass, "Sir, I was only illustrating what should be the fate of every one of your successful pupils—to be hung on the line. Good day." Exit Bell. Then he recounts how Jacob Bell, who, like Sothern, had a taste for such practical jokes as are utterly indefensible on the score of good taste and gentlemanly feeling, dressed up as a woman, and went to a Quakers' Meeting House, where he sat among the female portion of the congregation. Thinking he was discovered, this nice young man "took fright," and bolted. Here Mr. Frith should have made the jovial Jacob subsequently explain that "he left because the women were all jealous of him, as he was the only 'Bell' among them." Mr. Frith, full of his fun, jests, and humour, must be congratulated on having stuck to the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

And if anyone wants a first-rate ghost-story for the coming Christmas time, let him get Mr. Frith's book, and read how the prosaic and sensible Mr. Westwood saw a ghost. It is simply but exquisitely told, and were it not that Mr. Frith had previously owned to his complicity with Sothern in some of his "spiritualistic" demonstrations, there would be no sort of ground for suspecting him capable of joking on such serious subjects. The book is full of good stories, among which The Mysterious Sitter and Beckford at Fonthill are about the best. There is already a rail round Mudie's counter, and in front of all Smith's stalls, to keep off the crowds from taking away Frith's latest production without paying. Many of us are eye-witnesses to the fact of the rails in front of Smith's bookstalls all the way down the line wherever a train runs. Mr. Frith's very good health, and, as his friend Rip-Van-Winkle Jefferson used to say, "May he live long an' prosber."

De Omnibus Rebus, by the author of Flemish Interiors. An odd book to be taken up at odd times. Amusing and chatty with a good deal of shrewd observation. He who rides may read; and as it is published by Nimmo, this firm in this instance might adopt the old Latin motto, "'Nimmo' mortalium omnibus horis sapit;" i.e. "Nimmo is wise to bring out a book for the omnibus hours of mortals."

Our Own Bookworm.