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“What a sight o’ Books!” cries the Baron, remembering the clever Parrot who uttered a similar exclamation at a Parrot Competition.  First, here is Blossom Land and Fallen Leaves, by CLEMENT SCOTT, published by HUTCHINSON & CO., which is an interesting and useful book to those who are able to take a holiday in Cromer, and marvel at the sunset, and notice how “in the far distance a couple of lovers advance towards the fading light”—­I’ll be bound that deeply engaged couple didn’t catch sight of the “chiel takin’ notes”—­and how did he know for certain they were a couple of lovers?  Why not brother and sister?  Why not husband and wife?  Why not uncle and aunt?—­but with an experienced eye the canny SCOTT made a pretty shrewd guess—­and it is a pleasant companion, is this book, to those who cannot visit Cromer, or any of the other places mentioned in Blossom Land, and who reading it at home will only wish they could do so, and will promptly make arrangements for paying (the “paying” is the difficult part) a visit not only to Cromer but also to Caen, Etretat, Cabourg,—­carefully noting C.S.’s account of his “cruise upon wheels,” and his sensible remarks on Parisianising these otherwise tranquil resorts.  From Havre to Hammersmith is a bit of a jump, but it is from a bustling port to a peaceful spot—­“a Harbour of Refuge” at Nazareth, where the Baron sincerely trusts the good Little Sisters of the Poor are no longer Poor-rated L120 per annum, just by way of parochial encouragement, I suppose, to other charitable persons for relieving the parish “of an incubus of four hundred.”  The work of these self-sacrificing women cannot be over-rated in one sense, but in the parochial sense (if parochials have any) they can hardly be rated enough.  Really a delightful book for all comers and goers.

“What have we here?” inquires the Baron—­Seven Summers, An Eton Medley, by the Editors of the Parachute and Present Etonian.  Now, Heaven forgive my ignorance, but I have never seen the Parachute nor the Present Etonian, so without prejudice I dip into this book, and am at once much interested and amused by a paper “On Getting Up.”  Not “getting up” linen, or “getting up lessons,” but getting up in the morning, ever a hard-worker’s hardest task.  It will remind many a middle-aged Etonian of the days when he was very young, and early school was very early.  “The Inner Man” is another amusing paper, and forty years has made no alteration in the “sock-cad.”  American slang has evidently tinged Etonian style.  “What in the name of purple thunder,” and “in the name of spotted Moses,” and so forth, are Americanisms, and the tone of these two smart Etonian writers has a certain Yankee ring in it.  Why not leave this sort of thing to MARK TWAIN, BRET HARTE & CO., who are past masters of their own native slang? Seven Summers will interest and amuse Etonians of all ages.