Mr. JAMES PAYN has the peculiar gift of writing a novel as if he were telling you a story _viva voce_ and interesting you in it, not only by reason of its plot, but also by his way of narrating it. There is a spontaneity about his style which to the Baron is most refreshing: it is like listening to two clever men, one of whom is telling the story, and the other is enlivening it with his sharp and appropriate comments, always dropped in parenthetically. Mr. PAYN is a good hand at keeping a secret, and it is not for the BARON DE B. W. to tell beforehand what the novelist keeps as a little bit up his sleeve till the last moment. Why call it _The Burnt Million_? To what tremendous conflagration involving such a fearful loss of life does the title point? The story will interest the Million and delight Thousands. Excellent as is the dialogue generally, the Baron ventures to doubt whether any ordinary person (and no one of these characters is a genius) ever begins a sentence with "Nay." Anent _The Burnt Million_, the Baron's advice to persons in search of a novel is, "_Tolle, lege!_" Also the Baron says, get _La Revue de Famille_ at HACHETTE's. _Un Foyer de Theatre_, by M. AUDEBRAND, for all interested in the history of the French Drama, is delightful reading. Don't miss _Causerie Litteraire_, by Mr. CHARLES BENOIST. The Baroness says, read "Poor Mr. Carrington" in _Temple Bar_. _Lippincott's Magazine_ this month is heartily welcome,--we should say, BRET HARTE-ily welcome. Capital story, by B. H., "A Sappho of Green Sprigs." (_Signed_) BARON DE BOOK WORMS & CO. * * * * * ODDS ON THE BEDMAKERS. [A proposal for the abolition of Bedmakers is being discussed in Cambridge.] _Chorus of Undergraduates:--_ There are things we could spare; we could watch without weeping A Tutor's extinction, a Dean's disappearance. And Professors who drone while their pupils are sleeping, Though they went at a loss, we should welcome the clearance. And Proctors who blandly demand six-and-eightpence, And, while toiling themselves, send all petticoats spinning; And Porters who tick off our names for our gate-pence; And Bull-dogs who help to withhold us from sinning. And the juvenile Don who thinks "Dons should be firmer," And the elderly Don who is painfully nervous-- We could see them depart without even a murmur, So our Bedmakers stay to amuse and to serve us. We have watched, while we trembled, the pomps and the maces, Stern emblems of rule, with the Esquire Bedell come; We have heard of the Senate, its edicts and graces,-- Take the lot, if you like, you may have them and welcome. But the "Bedder"? No, no. Come, we offer a wager: We will bet she survives who of beds is the maker! Any answer? Not one; for, in spite of her age, her Attractions are such that there isn't a taker. * * * * *