"Les Oiseaux."--Mrs. RAM says she pities any unfortunate man whose wife has a fearful temper. She knows one such husband who quite quails before his wife, "and I'm not surprised," adds Mrs. R., "for I know her, and she's a regular ptarmigan." * * * * * The Coming Census.--CARLYLE said, "The population of the British Empire is composed of so many millions, mostly fools." Will the Census be taken on the First of April? * * * * * [Illustration: KEPT IN THE STABLE. HEAD GROOM. "AH, MY BEAUTY!--YOU HAVEN'T HAD MUCH CHANCE YET--BUT WE SHALL HAVE SOME OPEN WEATHER _AFTER EASTER_!"] * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. [Illustration] The Baron can highly recommend _The Wages of Sin_, by LUCAS MALET. "I am informed," says the B. DE B.-W., "that this is the _nom de plume_ of an Authoress. This MALET should be Femalet." Be this as it may, the Baron, who is discretion itself, will not attempt to penetrate beyond the veil. Some of the writing is a bit tall; but thank heaven, my old æsthetic friend, "O-the-pity-of-it" occurs only once; and O the pity of it when he does so, and gives a "MAUDLE and POSTLETHWAITE" tone to the passage in question. What does "huffle" mean? (Vol. III., p. 82.) Genius has a right to create words; and when Genius does so, the very sound of the word conveys its meaning with and frequently without the context. "But I'm huffled," says the Baron, "if I understand it here." Still "huffled" is a good-substitute for strong language, when you're ruffled. Don't let the light-hearted reader be deterred by the slow pace of Volume One; but stick to it, and avoid skipping. A selfish mean cuss is the "hero," so to style him; and personally, the Baron would consider him in Society as a first-class artistic bore. The character is drawn with great skill, as are they all. The description of _Mrs. Crookendon's_ after-dinner party is as life-like as if it were a well-staged scene in a well-written and well-cast Drama. "I have been dipping into _Country House Sketches_, by C.C. RHYS," says the Baron, "and have come to the conclusion that if the author, youthful I fancy, would give himself time, and have the patience to 'follow my LEVER,' the result would be a _Jack Hinton Junior_, with a smack of _Soapey Sponge_ in it." The short stories are all, more or less, good, and would be still better but for a certain cocksureness about them which savours of the man in a country house who will insist on telling you a series of good stories about himself, one after the other, until the guests in the smoking-room, in sheer despair of ever getting their turn of talking about themselves, or of turning on the tap of their own good stories, light their candles, yawn, and go pensively to bed.