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.

My “Faithful Co.” informs me that he has been reading some very excellent Sketches of England, by a “Foreign Artist,” and a “Foreign Author.”  The latter is no less a person than the genial representative of the Journal des Debats in London, Mons. P. VILLARS.  My “Co.” says that, take it all round, this is one of the best books upon La Perfide Albion he has ever read.  Both scribe and illustrator are evidently fond of the “Foreigners” they find in the British Isles.  Mons. VILLARS, however, makes one startling assertion, which has taken my “Co,” by surprise.  The “Foreign Author” declares that “laughter never struck his ears.”  Now our Monsieur is an admirable raconteur, and if he ever told one of his capital stories to an Englishman of average intelligence, he must have heard laughter.  He has also read a rather strange work called, What will Mrs. Grundy say? My “Co.” declares that, considering its subject, the book, which is not without merit, might be recommended as a disciplinary exercise during Lent.

Says “Co.  Junior,” to the Baron, “Sir, I’ve just come across AUSTIN DOBSON and his Four Frenchwomen.”  “Hold!” cries the Baron, frowning.  “No scandal.”  “Nay, Sir,” quoth “Co.  Junior,” nervously. “’tis but the title of a book.”  “That is another thing,” says the Baron, waving his hand, “proceed!” “It is about Mlle. DE CORDAY, Madame ROLAND, the Princesse DE LAMBALLE, and Madame DE GENLIS.  I recommend it, Sir. Tolle, Lege! “And with a bow “Co.  Junior,” withdraws from the presence.