circulation of the book. Back to his room again--into easy chair--p. 100--_Happy Thought_. This book is about ships and sea, The Baron will be a Skipper!--and so he skips, skips, with great relief, until "A sail in sight appears,"--spell it "sale," and there's a picture of it--"He hails it with three cheers!" Now the Story, at p. 134, begins in good earnest, and, except for the idle dilletante reader, all the foregoing, from the first Chapter, might go by the board--that is, as far as the Baron can make out. He speaks only for himself. The Chapter describing the sale by auction is first-rate; no doubt about it. The Baron's spirits, just now down to zero, rose to over 100 deg.. On we go: Throw over OSBOURNE, and come along with Louis STEVENSON of _Treasure Island_. Bah! that exciting Chapter was but a flash in the pan: brilliant but brief: and "Here we are!" growls the Baron, "struggling along among a lot of puzzling lumber in search of excitement number two, which does not seem to come until Chapter XXIV., p. 383." Then there is a good blow out--of brains, a scrimmaging, a banging, and a firing, and a scuffling, and a fainting, and one marvellous effect. And then--is heard no more. The Baron harks back, harks for'ard. No: puzzlement is his portion. Who was who, when everybody turned out to be somebody else? Where was the Money? or more important, Where is the Interest? "Well, that I cannot tell," quoth he, "but 'twas a famous queer Sto-_ree_!" Perhaps the Baron, reading against time, did not do it justice; or, perhaps he did. Anyway, meeting a Lady-Stevensonian admirer, the Baron ventured to communicate to her his great disappointment; whereupon she timidly whispered, "Well, Baron, to tell you the truth, I quite agree with you. I found it awfully tedious--except the sensations; but everybody is praising it; so please, O please, do not betray my secret!" "Madam, a lady's secret, even the universally-known _Lady Audley's Secret_, is inviolable when intrusted to Your devoted Servant, THE BARON DE B.-W." * * * * * SUMMERUMBRELLA. [Illustration] I long for sunshine, such as there must be In Egypt, blazing on the native Fellah; I see no sun or sky, I only see My own Umbrella! "No sun, no moon," as HOOD wrote long ago, "No sky," no star--called, by the Romans, _stella_-- Like negative November here below, My own Umbrella! Think not of "AMARYLLIS in the shade"! Can I play tennis in the rain with BELLA, Holding aloft, while through the flood I wade, My own Umbrella? I'm sick of sitting in the Club to scoff; I'll take a walk. Hang me! Some English "fellah" Has left his rotten gamp, and carried off My own Umbrella! * * * * *