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 proceed, you begin to suspect that the man is only a wag, and then, surprised at not "seeing the point," you have a shrewd suspicion that he is a great hand at dry humour. It is not till you have closed the volume, that you wonder who it is, that has had the hardihood to intrude such imbecility upon an indulgent world."

"Come, come! Mr. Puff is a worthy gentleman. Let him cease to dusk the radiancy of Ariosto's sunny stanzas, and I shall be the first man who will do justice to his merits. He certainly tattles prettily about tenses, and terminations, and is not an inelegant grammarian."

"Another failure among the booksellers to-day!"

"Indeed! Literature, I think, is at a low ebb."

"Certainly. There is nothing like a fall of stocks to affect what it is the fashion to style the Literature of the present day—a fungus pro-