Mr Reach has not done justice to himself in the selection of a title for his volume. _Claret and Olives_ are rather apt to be misunderstood in the present day, owing to the practices of previous authors, who have been in the habit of vending the properties of the deceased Joseph Miller under some such after-dinner disguise. _Wine and Walnuts_ was an old title, whereof we have an indistinct recollection; our impression at this moment being, that the wine was corked and the walnuts woefully shrivelled. Then followed _Nuts and Nutcrackers_—maggoty enough, and filled with devil’s-dust that might have choked a member of the League. _Grog and Biscuits_ we presume to have been a feeble sort of production, emanating from a disappointed mind, working on a heritage of wrong. _Sherry and Cheroots_ did not amalgamate. _Alcohol and Anchovies_ gave token of a diseased intellect and a ruined constitution. _Tumblers and Talk_—a Glasgow publication, if we recollect aright—had little circulation except among bibulous members of town-councils, or similar corporations. _Ale and Æsthetics_ was but an unfortunate specimen of alliteration. How many editions of _Beer and ‘Baccy_ have been printed, we know not; but we are not aware as yet that the author has made his fortune. With all these beacons before him, we could wish that Mr Reach had announced his book under some other name. He is not to be confounded, as an author, with the issuers of such catch-pennies. Putting aside even his present work as one of limited interest—though we should be puzzled to name any tourist who writes more pleasantly than our author—his novel of _Leonard Lindsay_ displays a carefulness of composition, and a life-like painting, in the style of Defoe, which contrasts remarkably with the slip-shod trash now forming the staple commodity of the circulating libraries. There is the right stuff in him, visible throughout whatever he attempts; and if at times his taste is liable to exception, we believe that aberration to be solely owing to the exigencies of the times, which leave far too little leisure to most men to revise and consider their productions.