The Baron's Diarist and Date Examiner makes the following exhaustive notes:—first that Mr. C. Letts describes some of his Pocket Diaries as "The Improved." There is nothing so good but what it could be better. Lett's admit this, and be satisfied with the latest edition of Letts' Annuals, which are prizes, though, until Jan. 1, blanks.

The Paradise of the North, by David Lawson Johnstone. When a gentleman chooses the North Pole as a Paradise, he must be allowed any amount of Latitude and Longitude. This explorer leaves his Chambers (the Publishers of that ilk) in order to get out of the world by the coldest route.

A note on Innes & Co. "Innes" has several Outs this season. Cheery name for a Christmas Publisher, "Innes." We take our ease at our Innes, and we read with pleasure their dainty books called, Bartlemy's Child, by Frances Compton, a very pretty story. L. B. Walford (the authoress of Mr. Smith) condescends to write For Grown-Up Children, a number of delightful tales.

Messrs. Osgood as good as ever. Why not follow up their Bret Harte Birthday Book (most Harte-tistically got up) with a Sweet-Heart Birthday Book? Madame Van de Velde has compiled this. Our sparklingest Baronite exclaims, "Velde done!"

Thanks to Marcus Ward & Co. for The Cottar's Saturday Night, by Robbie Burns. "Oh, wad some friend the giftie gi'e us!"—as anyone who would like this for a Christmas present may say, adapting the poet to his purpose.

"A most sweet story! A most charming story!!" gurgled the Baron, as, with sobs in his inner voice, talking to himself, he finished the penultimate chapter of Dolly. "Now, Mrs. Burnett, if you dare to kill your heroine, I swear I'll never forgive you, and never read another of your fatally-fascinating books." The Baron trembled as he commenced the last chapter of the simplest, most natural, most touching, and most exquisitely-told story he has read for many a day. How would it end? A few lines sufficed. "Bless you, Mrs. Burnett!" snivelled the Baron, not ashamed of dabbing his eyes with his kerchief. "Bless you, Ma'am! You have let 'em live! May your new book go to countless editions! May it be another Little Lord Fauntleroy, and may you reap a golden reward for this, your masterpiece of simple work, your latest story—Dolly!" The Baron is bound ("bound in morocco" as the slaves were, poor wretches!) to add that he wishes it had not been illustrated, for, as good wine needs no bush, so a perfect story, such as is this, needs no illustration; nay, is rather injured by it than not. There is only one small item of common-place in it, and that is making the would-be seducer a married man. Of course, to prove him so was the easiest and shortest way of saving his vain and feather-headed little victim. Perhaps an alternative would have involved complication, and might have marred the natural simplicity of the story. So critically the Baron states his one very small objection, and reverts with the utmost pleasure to the hours he spent over the tale, absorbed in every page, in every line of it; and herewith doth he, not only most strongly, but most earnestly recommend everyone to procure this book (published by E. Warne & Co.), for it is one that can be and must be given a place of honour by the side of Dickens and Thackeray, to be read again and again, here a bit and there a bit, when other works of fiction now enjoying a greater literary reputation (though 'twould be difficult to name them), shall be relegated to the lowest shelves of books that have had their day. "Dixi! Scripsi!" quoth The Learned Baron de Book-worms.

NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.