good square look, Mr. BARRY PAIN slams the door in my face, and I think I can hear him laughing on the other side at the bruise on my forehead.  That’s not kind treatment, but it promotes curiosity.  As for “The Celestial Grocery,” I can only say of it that it is in its way a masterpiece.  Mr. PAIN sometimes gives way to a touch or two of sentiment, but he abstains from sloppiness.  His book is not only witty and humorous but fresh and original in style.  It is admirably written.  His prose is good,—­which is moderate praise, striking a balance between the pros and cons of criticism. Prosit! To all holiday-makers who like quaintness and fun touched with pathos and refinement, I say again, buy and read In a Canadian Canoe.

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE HEIGHT OF FASTIDIOUSNESS.

Elder Brother.  “HULLO, FRANK!  HOW IS IT YOU’RE NOT IN MOURNING FOR POOR AUNT GRACE?”

Frank.  “AH—­WELL—­FACT IS, I TRIED ON SIXTEEN OR SEVENTEEN HAT-BANDS, AND COULDN’T GET ONE TO SUIT ME!”]

* * * * *

“PUGS” AND “MUGS.”

(A QUOTATION WITH A COMMENT.)

  “The faithful study of the fistic art
  From mawkish softness guards the British heart.” 
  The study of the betting British curse
  From swift depletion guards the British purse!

* * * * *

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO.  IV.

SCENE—­The Wiertz Museum at Brussels, a large and well-lighted gallery containing the works of the celebrated Belgian, which are reducing a limited number of spectators to the usual degree of stupefaction.  Enter CULCHARD, who seats himself on a central ottoman.

Culchard (to himself).  If PODBURY won’t come down to breakfast at a decent hour, he can’t complain if I—­I wonder if he heard Miss TROTTER say she was thinking of coming here this morning.  Somehow, I should like that girl to have a more correct comprehension of my character.  I don’t so much mind her thinking me fastidious and exclusive.  I daresay I am—­but I do object to being made out a hopeless melancholiac! (He looks round the walls.) So these are WIERTZ’s masterpieces, eh? h’m.  Strenuous, vigorous,—­a trifle crude, perhaps.  Didn’t he refuse all offers for his pictures during his lifetime?  Hardly think he could have been overwhelmed with applications for the one opposite. (He regards an enormous canvas, representing a brawny and gigantic Achilles perforating a brown Trojan with a small mast.) Not a dining-room picture.  Still, I like his independence—­work up rather well in a sonnet.  Let me see. (He takes out note-book and scribbles.) “He scorned to ply his sombre brush for hire.”  Now if I read that to PODBURY, he’d pretend to think I was treating of a Shoe-black on strike!  PODBURY is utterly deficient in reverence.