"ARROWSMITH's Shilling Sensational, by 'a New Author,'" quoth the Baron, "would, methought, serve _pour me distraire_." The "New Author" uses the remarkably new device of a mole on the lost child's breast. Isn't that original? _Miss Box_ and _Miss Cox_ are lost, and found. "Have you a mole on your left breast?" "Yes!" "Then it is both of you!" Charming! So useful is the explanation that "Hanwell is a little village, a few miles from London." Perhaps it is the locality, there or thereabouts, where this thrillingly interesting tale--which could have been told in fifty pages, and needn't have been told at all--was written. Well, well, "All's Hanwell that ends Hanwell," and "I've galloped through a worse story before now," quoth the Baron, yawning, and so to bed. [Illustration: Turning over the pages.] In _John Leech, His Life and Work_ (BENTLEY) Mr. FRITH quotes from an anonymous but obviously not an original authority, the dictum, "It is the happiness of such a life (as LEECH's) that there is so little to be told of it." Mr. BENTLEY has produced two handsome volumes worthy the reputation of his ancient and honourable house. They enshrine admirable reproductions of some of LEECH's best work, selected by the trained hand and sympathetic eye of Mr. FRITH. These are and will remain the chief attractions of a work to which the Baron, in common with the civilised world, has been looking forward to with interest, and of whose realisation he regrets to hear so disappointing an account from his trusty "Co." It is difficult to find dates in this higgledy-piggledy chance-medley of facts and opinions. But we all know that LEECH died in October, 1864. It was in _Mr. Punch's_ pages that he found the true field for his heaven-born genius For twenty years at least he was one of the most prominent, best known, and best liked men in England. Surely within that period there must lie to the hand of the dilligent seeker material for a memoir worthy to be linked with the name of JOHN LEECH. Mr. FRITH has not given us such a book, and criticism is only partly disarmed by the comical reiteration of confession that he has failed in his appointed task. For what he has to say in the way of making known to the world the man JOHN LEECH, a very thin volume would have sufficed, even had he included the more useful of his remarks on LEECH's work and his method. But there being two volumes to fill, Mr. FRITH genially summarises _The Physiology of Evening Parties_, by Mr. ALBERT SMITH; _Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour_, and other not very high-class literature, whose only claim to being remembered is that LEECH illustrated them. Of _The Marchioness of Brinvilliers_, ALBERT SMITH's attempt to rival the attractions of the _Newgate Calendar_, Mr. FRITH positively gives two whole chapters! He allots one to the _Bon Gaultier Ballads_, and nineteen mortal pages to telling the _Story of Miss Kilmansegg_, with copious extracts from that easily accessible work.