Such were the Baron's anticipations as to the joys in store for him on reading _The Wrecker_, by Messrs. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON and LLOYD OSBOURNE. The Baron hit on a plan, he must isolate himself as if he were a telephone-wire. "Good," quoth he, "Isolation is the sincerest flattery,--towards authors." The friend in need, not in the sense of being out at elbows, appeared at the right moment, as did the Slave of the Lamp to _Aladdin_. "Come to my house in the mountains," said this Genius, heartily; "come to the wold where the foxes dwell, not a hundred miles from a cab-stand, yet far far away,--amid lovely scenery, in beautiful air, to quiet reposeful rooms, with the silence of the cloister and the jollity of the Hall where beards wag all, in the evening, when the daily task is done." "Friend REGINALD SYDE, I thank thee," responded gratefully the Baron. "I am there!" And in less time than it takes to go the whole distance in a four-horsed coach with a horn blowing and the horses blown, the Baron, travelling by special express, was there,--all there! The Authorities on the line made no extra charge for taking _The Wrecker_ as luggage. The weather was favourable for reading; an interminable downpour, when one is grateful for any book, even a _Dictionary of Dates_, or the remains of a _Boyle's Court Guide_. The Brave Baron shut himself into his room, laid in stores of tobacco and grog, decided, in the course of half an hour, on a comfortable position, and then laid himself out for the perusal, not to say the study, of _The Wrecker_. Introductory Chapter excellent,--appetising. "_Oliver_ asks for more," murmurs the Baron to himself, settling down to "the Yarn." Chapter I. Now a strange thing happened. The Story broke off! suddenly--inexplicably. Descriptions, yes, by the handful, by the cartload--all excellent, no doubt--and much to be appreciated by a reader with nothing on earth to do the whole year round; but, about page 53, the Baron began to be uneasy, shifted his pillows, refilled pipe, took "modest quencher," and then turned to grapple with _The Wrecker_. No good. Where the deuce had the Story got to? When would the excitement come in? Where was the sensation? Toiling on, went the Baron, stopping frequently to wish he had a dictionary wherein he might ascertain the meaning of strange, uncouth words and phrases, and to anathematise the Authors separately or together. Had OSBOURNE interfered with STEVENSON, or was STEVENSON allowing OSBOURNE to have his say, reserving himself for a grand _coup_ at half-price? Would OSBOURNE chuck STEVENSON overboard, or was it to be t'other way off? At page 90 the Baron decided he would take a walk round, even if it were pouring cats and dogs, and exclaiming, "Air, air, give me air!" he rushed forth. It was fine. A brisk walk and a talk--just like King CHARLES "who walked and talked"--with his genial host REGI SYDE, restored the Baron's circulation, and made him wonder to himself at the reported great