to many a two-legged prig, were the bipedal nincompoop capable of
learning it.

_The Glass of Supreme Moments_ is, perhaps, needlessly enigmatical,
and _Rural Simplicity_, _Concealed Art_, and _Two Poets_, strike one
as superfluously "unpleasant." Mr. PAIN seems slightly touched with
the current literary fad for making bricks with the smallest possible
quantity of straw. One halfpennyworth of the bread of incident to
an intolerable deal of the sack of strained style and pessimist
commentary, make poorish imaginative pabulum, though there seems an
increasing appetite for it amongst those who, unlike _Lucas Morne_ in
_The Glass of Supreme Moments_, plume themselves upon possession of
"the finer perceptions." _The Magic Morning_ is a "scrap" elaborately
sauced and garnished; the fleeting flavour may possess a certain
sub-acid piquancy, but such small dishes of broken meats are hardly
nourishing or wholesome.

Mr. PAIN has a delicate fancy and a graceful style, a bitter-sweet
humour, and a plentiful endowment of "the finer perceptions." He
has done some good work here, and will do better--when he finds his
subject, and loses his affectations. Read _White Nights_, again says
the Baron's "retainer."

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co.

* * * * *

COMING BARONETCY TO BE MUSICALLY NOTED.--Song for a "Lullaby" or
a "Good Knight" from _Don Giovanni_, and dedicated by nobody's
permission to Sir ARTHUR SEYMOUR SULLIVAN, would be "_Barty! Barty!_"