A list of the Odd members is given in the little book; but who cares what, or who, the Odds are, as long as they each and all are happy?  ’Tis a pity that, in this multum in parvo of a book, the author should have spoken disparagingly of “Glorious JOHN.”  It would be worth while to refer to MACAULAY’s Dramatists of the Restoration, and to compare the licence of that age with that of SHAKSPEARE’s time, when a Virgin Queen, and not a Merry Monarch, was on the throne.  And, when we come to SHERIDAN’s time, how about The Duenna, and The Trip to Scarborough, which was supposed to be an improvement on the original?  However, puris pura puerisque puellis, as my excellent friend, Miss MAXIMA DE BETUR observes.  But one ought not to look a gift pony in the mouth any more than one ought to critically examine a jest which is passed off in good company.  The jest was not meant to be criticised, and the pony wasn’t given you in order that you might critically express an opinion on its age.  If a pony—­a very quiet, steady grey pony—­were presented as a mark of affection and esteem to the Baron, he most certainly would not inspect its mouth, seeing that he would not be a tooth the wiser for the operation; but, if the Baron had a friendly vet. or a hipposcientist at hand, he would certainly ask him to examine the gift cob before the Baron either drove or rode him.

Quo tendimus?  In Latium? Verily, for the next work at hand is Mr. HUTTON’s Monograph on Cardinal Newman, which, of all the writings about his Eminence that I’ve lately read, I can (says the Baron, in one of his more severely sedate moods,) most confidently recommend to general readers of all denominations, and of all shades of opinion, whom Mr. HUTTON may address as “Friends, Romans, Countrymen!” That learned Theban, “JOHN OLDCASTLE,” has written an interesting Biography of “The noblest Roman of them all,” which forms a special number of the Merry England Magazine.

Margaret Byng, by F.C.  PHILLIPS and FENDALL, is a clever sensational story, spun out into two volumes, which can be devoured by the accomplished novel-swallower in any two hours’ train journey, and can be highly recommended for this particular purpose.  It would have been better, because less expensive and more portable, had it been in one volume; but the Baron strongly recommends it for the above space of time in a train, or whenever you’ve nothing better to do, which will happen occasionally even to the wisest and best of us.  The secret is very well kept to the end; and an expert in novel-reading can do the first volume in three-quarters of an hour, and the next in half an hour easily, and be none the worse for the tour de force, as he will have amused and interested himself for the time being, will forget all about it in an hour or so, and wonder what it was all about if at any future time the name of the book should be mentioned in his hearing.  It’s the sort of book that ought to be the size of a Tauchnitz edition, in one volume only, and sold for a couple of shillings.