ght have done something in his
peculiar way. It begins with promise, which promise is not justified
by performance.

[Illustration]

Who does not welcome the works of HAWLEY SMART, the brightest of our
novelists? This is not a conundrum, and, consequently, has no answer.
Everybody likes the books of our literary Major, and everybody will
be pleased with _The Plunger_. The new Story is in two volumes, and is
full of incident. There is a murder, which carries one through, from
the first page to the last, in a state of breathless excitement. Not
that the tale commences with the tragedy. But its anticipation is as
delightful as its subsequent realisation; and, when the mystery is
solved, joy becomes universal. The story is told with so light a hand,
that it may be truly said that the only "heavy" thing about the book
is its title.

_The Autobiography of Joseph Jefferson_ is a good stout volume, full
of portraits and interest from beginning to end, forming an important
addition to the theatrical history of the day. The Baron drinks to his
old friend, the greatest _Rip_ that ever lived. "Here's your health,
and your family's, and may you live long, and prosper!" says,
heartily, THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

* * * * *

[Illustration: SATIETY.

"OH, MAMMY DARLING, WHY CAN'T THE TOYSHOP-MAN CALL FOR ORDERS EVERY
MORNING, LIKE THE BAKER?"]

* * * * *

CORIOLANUS.

"_First Citizen_. Consider you what services he has done for his
country?

"_Second Citizen_. Very well; and could be content to give him
good report for't, but that he pays himself with being
proud."--_Coriolanus_, Act I., Scene 1.

_Teuton Coriolanus loquitur_:--

"_Was ever man so proud as is this_ MARCIUS?"
There spake the babbling Tribune! Proud? Great gods!
All power seems pride to men of petty souls,
As the oak's knotted strength seems arrogance
To the slime-rooted and wind-shaken reed
That shivers in the shallows.
I who perched,
An eagle on the topmost pinnacle
Of the State's eminence, and harried thence
All lesser fowl like sparrows!--I to hide
Like a chased moor-hen in a marsh, and bate
The breath that awed the world into a whisper,
That would not shake a taper-flame or stir
A flickering torch to flaring!
"_I do wonder_
_His insolence can brook to be commanded_
_Under_ COMINIUS." So the Roman s