'Oh, but who could soothe you better than I can ?' he exclaimed passionately. 'Miss Merton-Agnes -why will you not give me the right to be always with you? It needs no words of mine to tell you how deeply I love you. you be my wife?'

Will

The

Her faintness vanished. crisis demanded all the power of her mind and will, and there was no place for mere bodily weakness. How wonderfully in such moments pains and aches disappear! She gazed upon the poor lovesick gentleman with melancholy eyes, and said:

'You know, Captain Prendergast, that I have always liked you; but you know also that I have never encouraged you to believe that I regarded you with any sentiment warmer than I might indulge in towards a gentleman who has always been most kind and thoughtful in his bearing towards me. Think honestly over all that passed between us, and say candidly whether my behaviour has ever been such as would justify you in supposing that I loved you.'

'No,' said Captain Jack sadly, it does not. I am miserably aware of it. But still

'But still the world has talked about us,' interrupted Miss Merton. I own, with sorrow, that in cherishing your friendship I lost sight of the false criticisms of Society; but believe me when I say that the greatest wrong I could do to your devotion would be to

Miss Merton. I did think you cared for me--I did hope-therewell-it's over now. Good-bye, Miss Merton. I shall never trouble you again.'

And to do him justice, he never did. He plunged into all kinds of dissipation for about three weeks, and six months afterwards made an extremely good marriage, and is to this day a most devoted and unselfish husband.

Indeed Miss Merton was impressed with the episode far more keenly than the gallant soldier, and she was sorry for him much longer than he was sorry for himself.

In the meantime Mr. Barton lived a solitary life in his rooms in St. James's Street. He thought that years had schooled his mind, and that time had taught him to regard with philosophy or indifference the terrible catastrophe that had almost overwhelmed him once; but his sudden meeting with the woman who was once his wife, and whom, for a few short months, he had idolised with every power of his being, had created a strange revolution in his self-consciousness. He realised to the full the unpardonable wrong which he believed she had done him; but it seemed as if the old embers of his love had never been wholly quenched, and that they were slowly being fanned again into the former blaze. One night, as he was sitting in his room, telling himself the old story over and over again, a messenger came to him, saying that a man who had met with a severe accident, and who was now lying at the point of death in St. George's Hospital, desired to see him instantly. He inquired the name. It was the same as he bore who had been adjudged in the Divorce Court as the seducer of Mrs. Barton. He went at once to the hospital, and

there listened to the miserable man's confession. We will call this man Gerald Clinton. He was Agnes Merton's cousin, and had once been half engaged to her. He was passionately in love with her, and swore to be revenged upon her and her husband when she married Barton. He was often in difficulties, and Mrs. Barton secretly gave him pecuniary assistance. These transactions she concealed from her husband lest they should vex him. Then Clinton feigned a severe illness, and, as he was an outcast from his home for his wild and licentious conduct, he was alone in his pretended misery, and Mrs. Barton visited him secretly. The villain laid his plans well, and whispers soon reached Mr. Barton's ears. Edward Barton himself was of a terribly jealous disposition, and he employed spies to watch his wife. Their reports left no doubt as to her guilt upon his frenzied mind, and he instituted the suit for a divorce, and refused to hear one word of explanation from his wife. Now, on his dying bed, Gerald Clinton told him all the truth,

and imploring a forgiveness he did not receive, died.

The next morning Edward Barton, half mad, rushed off to Miss Merton's lodgings, and burst into her presence, told her all that he had heard, and grovelling at her feet, prayed her to pardon him and take him back.

'No, Edward Barton,' she replied calmly and coldly; 'you divorced me in the foulest manner. You suspected your wife, and never gave her a chance of explaining her conduct. You paid spies to watch me, and they did your work too well. You know now how they were perjured. Their sin rests on your head as heavily as on their own. I loved you once as tenderly and devotedly as a wife could love her husband. You chose to shatter all. A love such as mine was, once lost, can never be regained. The wrong that you have done me is irreparable. I will not say that I do not forgive you, if such forgiveness is worth having; but take you back! Never! You have taught me to despise you utterly, and that lesson can never be unlearned.' FREE LANCE.

"No Alternative.' By Annie Thomas (Mrs. Pender Cudlip). Chapman & Hall.

'Won in a Canter.' By 'Old Calabar.' Bentley & Son.

'Judith Gwynne.' By Lisle Carr. Henry S. King & Co.

'On the Road to Khiva.' By D. Ker. Henry S. King & Co.

"The Norman People.' Henry S. King & Co.

'The Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan.' Henry S. King & Co. Horse-shoeing.' By William Douglas. John Murray.

'Longevity.' By John Gardner, M.D. Henry S. King & Co.

'N%

ALTERNATIVE' is the best novel Mrs. Pender Cudlip has given us since the days of 'Denis Donne.'

The story is light and natural; it proceeds without flagging; and there is nothing forced in the situations or the dénouement. At the same time, though we acknowledge the truth of Harty Carlisle's portrait (as a portrait), and feel for the unhappy termination to her love affairs, we cannot sympathise with her character.. A woman who lies without scruple will scarcely stay at the commission of any crime; for not possessing the nice sense of honour that restrains a man from falsehood, once let her lose sight of the wrong, all other barriers are easily disposed of. A woman may command sympathy, though she be weak, simple, ignorant, or even reckless; but once paint her false, and (as a woman) she becomes repulsive. We should like to see Mrs. Pender Cudlip try her hand on a thoroughly frank and upright heroine, one who would scorn to be on with the new love' before she was' off with the old,' however much her heart

might be in advance of her actions. Another blot on these volumes is the repetition of hyperbole and metaphor, which is apt after a time to weary, and, like a continuous' forte' in music, to spoil all the effect of the crescendo passages. If an author wastes all his adjectives upon the simplest explanation, what corps de reserve has he wherewith to work up the imagination of his readers when he arrives at ' agony point?' These blemishes, however, are the worst we can discover in a novel that, whatever the different opinions it may evoke, is neither 'vulgar,' 'coarse,' 'silly,' nor prurient,' as too many of the novels of the present day are pronounced to be by critics who cannot wield the pen sufficiently well themselves to be able to write their reviews in either good grammar or good taste.

'Won in a Canter' cannot be condemned on the score of being 'slow' or 'uninteresting; for it starts at express speed, and never draws rein till the end of the third volume. But it is more like a collection of sporting stories than a romance, and the accidents, hairbreadth escapes, misunderstandings, and reconciliation are rather too forced to appear natural. There is a wearisome similarity, too, in the incidents. We will not complain of all the women being 'lovely,' because 'Old Calabar' may have been exceptionally fortunate in his acquaintance with the fair sex; but to have Charlie Thornhill, Lord Verricfast, Mrs. Bruton's father, Shirkington Duffer, and the Russian Count wounded almost to death-to find that Mr. Turtlefat and the Rev. Mr. Gammon, who propose to two of the lovely ladies, are both married men-and that

the mysterious jockeys who ride Guardsman and Sultan turn out to be the horses' respective owners, becomes after a while far too apparent. We must complain, also, of carelessness in the grammar. Such a veteran with the pen as 'Old Calabar' should be ashamed to pass such slipshod sentences as 'a tow'y-coloured crop which were cultivated,' and in the same page, 'in consequence of his hair having assumed a deeper tinge, and was now,' &c. And further on we find, ' You proposed, and was accepted' They have asked you, I, and Charlie.' Notwithstanding which faults there is a 'rush' about 'Won in a Canter' which carries one on with it pleasantly enough; and it is a book which will please men, because the stories are told by a thorough sportsman, who understands about what he is talking, if he is rather careless in correcting his proofs.

*

"Judith Gwynne,' whilst evincing a certain degree of merit, does not afford a strong enough delineation of character to atone for the badly-constructed plot (if we can so call the loosely-connected string of events that form the groundwork of the story). The first volume is fairly interesting, opening with a smartly-written description of country life; but the characters are so unoriginal, both in themselves and their actions, that the book cannot be called a successful one. The heroine is too perfectly and conventionally virtuous to awaken any belief that such a person could exist; the Mephistophelian lover is weakly incapable of carrying out his Machiavelian schemes with anything like the prestige required to elicit admiration for clever wickedness; whilst Tom,' the 'pure and perfect knight,' develops into an unmitigated bore. The farmer is perhaps

the best drawn character in the book, though we are unable to understand why he should alternate his baptismal name from 'James' to 'William' throughout the three volumes. The actress, Lind St. Clair, is an impossibility, and displays a woful amount of ignorance on the author's part of everything connected with the stage. Burlesque actresses of immaculate virtue do not, as a rule, live in palaces in Kensington, surrounded by every luxury, and go backwards and forwards to the theatre in their carriages attended by members of the aristocracy and preserve their virtue. Neither are they able, for a mere caprice, to give up their engagement at the theatre, and pass the evening with a friend. Neither do they often die for love. All this part of Judith Gwynne 'is simply highflown nonsense. We advise Mr. Lisle Carr, too, to be more careful in his selection of words. Such expressions as ' wobbled' and 'keckled' are not in the English language; nor have we ever heard before of astrident voice.' The story, moreover, is three times too long, and bears an unpardonable amount of padding.'

-

Mr. Ker prefaces On the Road to Khiva' with an account of the charges made against him, during his sojourn in the East, of having sent home unreliable information, which charges he most emphatically refutes, saying that all he wishes to do now is to tell his own story fairly. We can testify that he has told it well. His narrative is written in a free, chatty, magazine-article style. There is not a dry line in the book; and whether it contains much information or not, it cannot fail to engage the attention of any one interested in the subject of which it treats. Mr. Ker says he has as yet seen only one half of Central Asia, and ex

presses his determination, as soon as he has recovered the effects of his last attempt, to try again. All we hope is, that, having tried and succeeded, he will give us another narrative as bright and interesting as the present one.

The Norman People' is a volume containing the genealogy and nomenclature of the Norman race, which, with the Danish and AngloSaxon, form the three great constituents of the English nation. Half of the book is occupied by an alphabetical series of Norman names from the Post Office Directory,' with the dates of the foundation of the families in England. It forms a useful volume of research, as well as one of interest to all concerned in its compilation.

The second volume of the 'Poetical works of Robert Buchanan,' containing his Ballads and Poems of Life,' deserves the same praise as the first. For those who are not yet acquainted with this author's works we cannot do better than to advise them to buy them. The present edition comprises all that can be desired in point of appearance and

economy.

Mr. Douglas's work on 'Horseshoeing as it is, and as it should be' is not intended for the profession only. It concerns every one who has a spark of humanity in his bosom. The description of the exterior and interior of a horse's foot and hoof, of the various uses of its sinews, nerves, and muscles, and of the folly we commit by frustrating the uses of nature by our present plan of shoeing, are so plainly put, that a child might understand and shudder at them.

That with our national prestige

for breeding and understanding all about horses, we should neglect to make ourselves acquainted with knowledge so simple, and yet so essential to the comfort and welldoing of the animal, is unpardonable, and will be still more so when Mr. Douglas's little book has got well circulated, as we trust it may do. We all know the agony a tight or ill-fitting boot occasions, and how the use of it can worry us to the poisoning of all enjoyment; and it is horrible to contemplate what sufferings the poor creatures, who cannot speak and tell us of it, may endure in the performance of their enforced labours. Verily, if there is a God of Justice, there must also be a paradise somewhere for the reception of the dumb martyrs whose blood cries daily to heaven for vengeance. And not among the least of them are the horses. No one who reads Mr. Douglas's book with attention, but will long to see the day when one of their evils at least may be remedied by the exercise of common sense.

'Longevity' is a medical treatise on the means of prolonging life after middle age, which some people appear to think desirable. To such Dr. Gardner's book appeals, containing many descriptions of the different forms of human weakness and recipes for their avoidance or cure. There is no doubt that a great deal of suffering may be avoided by a little care; and, since our incapacity for enjoyment affects others as well as ourselves, we do right to ward off disease as long as we can. 'Longevity' is intended to assist us to this end, and therefore Dr. Gardner is entitled to the thanks of the whole community.