on CHARLES LEVER; after which, go as you please, but finish with "_the
last fashionable novel_," wherein our M.A., in his Merriest-Andrewest
mood, treats us to an excellent parody.

The Baron has appointed an extra Reader, and this Extra-Ordinary
Reader to the Baron has just entered upon the discharge of his duties
by reading _Monte Carlo, and How to Do It_, by W.F. GOLDBERG, and
G. CHAPLIN PIESSE (J.W. ARROWSMITH). He reports in the following
terms to his loved Chief:--This book achieves the task of combining
extraordinary vulgarity with the flattest and most insipid
dulness--not a common dulness, but a dulness redolent of low slang
and dirty tap-rooms. The authors seem to plume themselves on their
marvellous success in reaching Monte Carlo, which, with their usual
sprightly facetiousness, they call "Charley's Mount." They are good
enough to tell such of the travelling public as may want to get there,
that the train leaving Victoria at 8.40 A.M. reaches Dover at 10.35.
Stupendous! These two greenhorns took their snack on board the steamer
(Ugh!), instead of waiting until they reached Calais, where there
is the best restaurant on any known line. Instead of going by the
_Ceinture_, they drove across Paris. The greenhorns arrive at Monte
Carlo, and then settle on their quarters. Anyone but an idiot would
have settled all this, and much more, beforehand. One gentlemanly
greenhorn, who wishes us to think that "_il connait son Paris_," talks
of "suppers of Bignon's" (which must be some entirely new dish),
and informs us that, "at the Hôtel de l'Athenée, the staff esteem it
rather a privilege, and a mark of their skill in language, to grin
and snigger when sworn at in English." Oh, sweet and swearing British
greenhorn! now I know why the French so greatly love our countrymen.
But why, oh why do you imagine that you have discovered Monte Carlo?
For the details of the journey, and the instructions to future