an old man's savings to guard. They are considerable in amount. She steals the money, sovereign by sovereign, and drinks and treats her neighbours, and when all is found out, she commits suicide. The tale has its possibilities. But to make it a tragedy our pity, our sympathy, or our indignation must be roused. Temptation, resistance, final surrender, remorse, struggle, and despair, are almost the inevitable course of the writer who could make us regard this as anything save a sordid, commonplace tale. But Mrs. Ward's Bessie Costrell seems only a woman with intemperate instincts and a weak intellect, who succumbs with great ease to an unlucky opportunity, and who kills herself because she is afraid of the policeman. A kind of feeble love for her children she has, and some awe of her stern husband; but of grief for her degradation, or of understanding how she has made shipwreck of an old man's life, not a glimmering. Tragedy for the world there may be in this very poverty of nature, but it is of a kind best covered over, for it hardly once stirs within us the purifying moods of pity, of indignation, or of sorrow.

AN ERRANT WOOING. By Constance Cary Harrison. New York: The Century Co. $1.50.

Were An Errant Wooing from another pen than Mrs. Harrison's it would be easier to review. But a book which is not a first one must be measured more

or less by the author's former work, and this falls far short of the standard established by The Anglomaniacs, Sweet Bells out of Tune, and A Bachelor Maid. It bears, indeed, marks of immaturity that are wholly unaccountable, in view of the large amount of finished work which the writer has published. They come near to conveying an impression that it may possibly be a first novel, after all, begun, if not completed, before the author's recent excellent literary manner was formed. Nor is the treatment of the theme more unlike Mrs. Harrison's usual methods than is the selection of such a subject; for the most distinctive charm of her work has hitherto been its freshness, its pre eminent modernity. This is entirely missing in An Errant Wooing, a commonplace love-story loosely hung on the frayed thread of foreign travel. And yet no matter how clear the conviction

of the author's indiscretion-one is forced to admire the courage of an attempt to describe hard-beaten European highways, now that every one travels and every one writes. True, Mrs. Harrison has done it uncommonly well. The description of the bull-fight is particularly fine. ticularly fine. But fancy trying to say anything about a bull-fight that has not been already said! And then in following the espada and the toreadors through eight or ten pages, the lovers fade completely out of sight. They are never seen very distinctly, for that matter. One does not come face to face with them throughout the progress of the story. The characterisation is so imperfect, and the transition from one country to another so bewildering, that the reader must fairly rush after the travellers to catch even glimpses of them amidst the fog of London and the dust of Madrid. Sir Piers, the elderly lover, appears at this long range to be a blond and amiable sort of Rochester. Roger Woodbury, the young man, is altogether vague; and the dark and the fair maidens to whom the fair man and the dark man are suitors seem more unreal and shadowy, if possible, than the men. All the characters talk cleverly, and now and then say bright and amusing things, which are eminently characteristic of the author, but not in the least so of themselves; quite the contrary. "Roger might as well want to domesticate Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty as to marry that massive English girl," says old Mr. Woodbury, who cannot possibly have said anything of the kind, being what he is. And the philosophic and rather pessimistic views expressed by Polly do not at all harmonise with the dim impression of that young woman's individuality.

The principal shortcoming of the work may possibly lie in its having been miscalled a novel. With the shadows who aimlessly pervade it left out, it would be a charming book of travel, with interesting side-lights on European society. As it now stands, it is merely another of the many unsuccessful attempts to write an international novel. Since Mr. Henry James first made it the vogue several years ago he has had many followers, with ever-diminishing success. But it is singular that among those who met defeat in this field should be Mrs. Harrison, who has won such notable successes at home.

CHIMMIE FADDEN EXPLAINS, MAJOR MAX EXPOUNDS. New York: Lovell, Coryell & Co. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents.

As

To have written a book of which fifty thousand copies have been sold in less than six months is the enviable fortune of the creator of Chimmie Fadden. We say "creator" advisedly, for Chimmie may not be altogether unknown to us as a type; but it was left to this keen student of human nature to develop his character and "shoot the soul" into the Bowery boy. When the first series appeared in book form we saw the possibilities of a great popularity in it, and under Slum Stories in the March BookMAN we reviewed the book at length and pointed out out its characteristics, and weighed its merits and demerits. the second series sustains the interest of the first in equal measure, it is not necessary to go into elaborate criticism again. Those who have made Chimmie's acquaintance in the first volume will wish to renew it in the second, and those who read the second volume for the first time will resort to the previous book; indeed, we believe that the publication of the second series has stimulated the sale of the author's initial work. In the down-town section of New York we notice that the first series of Chimmie Fadden ranks among the six best selling books of the past month.

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Chimmie is still chasing after "dat bull pup," and smuggling small bots" for Mr. Paul. But it is the presence of innate gentleness and chivalry in the rough-bred Bowery lad evoked by Miss Fannie which again touches us most deeply. Even in Chimmie we think of Tennyson's line without incongruity : "We needs must love the highest when we see it." And it is this fine trait in the tenement lad-the compelling belief in the existence of the inherent quality of gentleman "beyond the barbed-wire fence"for which we are most grateful in Mr. Townsend's work. We must content ourselves with citing one instance from "The Wedding of Miss Fannie":

"I never seed no real angels, but I guess if dey's as beautiful as I hear tell, den dey must look like Miss Fannie when Mr. Burton stepped up and took her from her fadder. I was tinkin as I looked at her tru de palm trees dat I had someting t' do wid bringin' dem togedder, and dat if Mr. Burton wasn't good t' Miss Fannie I'd put a knock-out pill in his cocktail.

de do, Miss Fannie?' I says, and de Duchess she calls me down hard. She is Madame Burtong,' says de Duchess, looking like she'd take a fall outter me.

"Say, what do you tink Miss Fannie says? She's a dead sport. She says: 'I'd radder be Miss Fannie t' Chames,' she says, like dat, see?"

"Major Max Expounds" through several chapters in which we are regaled with his cynical wit and worldly wisdom tinged with bonhomie, and a few other stories eke out the book; but when "Chimmie Fadden Explains" and makes his exit, the lights have gone out for us and the rest is a vain show.

THE VEILED DOCTOR. By Varina Anne Jefferson Davis. New York: Harper & Bros. $1.25.

The Veiled Doctor, having been written by Miss Varina Anne Jefferson Davis, will probably have some sale in the South; otherwise it is a most unpleasant story, which the author seems to have had no reason for writing, and which there is surely no reason that any sane person should ever care to read. The hero, Dr. Wickford, after trials and troubles manifold with his wife, develops cancer of the face, and to avoid her ridicule and the comments of his neighbours, hides himself from the world behind a veil of black crape. At the approach of death he retires into his sanctum, and in articulo mortis rises and attires himself in his best suit of black broadcloth, and so passes away into the unknown, to the immense relief of everybody, including the unfortunate reader. The scene is supposed to be a town which even at the beginning of the century was behind the times; but there is no attempt at local colour except that the heroine says occavastly, sionally, "O la !" and once otherwise the time might have been any time and the place anywhere. But one resents most of all, perhaps, that in an avowedly Southern story the characters should be without exception so thoroughly second or even third-rate, and so unmitigatedly commonplace; one might pardon the absence of anything interesting in the plot or characters, but surely Miss Davis ought to know what is convenable.

We can forgive her for making her heroine a fool and a liar, and her hero a prig; but we submit that, as a Southern gentleman, he need not also have been a brute. Perhaps 'twas as 99 64 Madame well you rejected my love, Wickford" might well have said to him,

cate and subtle in its appreciation of the very spirit of Italian life. After all, After all, the charm of these pages lies in the warm, impetuous rush of sweet, lusty youth in its heyday of three-and-twenty summers entering for the first time upon the land of its aspirations, inspired with the true fervour of art. Only once, indeed, are you a lusty lad, fresh in heart, free from care, overflowing with happiness, starting off with unspoiled vigour on one of the roads that lead to Rome!

THE MASTER-KNOT AND "ANOTHER STORY." By Conover Duff. KAFIR STORIES. By William Charles Scully. New York: Henry Holt & Co. 75 cents. Two more volumes have been added to the attractive Buckram Series. These dainty specimens of the bookmaker's art have nothing superfluous about them. Unstinted praise cannot be given, however, to the contents of these volumes. "The Master-Knot," a story told in a series of letters, comes to an unsatisfactory end. The reader is led to believe by an epilogue that the incidents narrated are true, and the conclusion would seem to verify the facts. The style and characteristics displayed in the letters are not convincing enough to be natural, and so painful is the conclusion that the advisability of publishing these epistles is questionable.

In "Another Story," also told in letters, there is more to entertain. The author shows power of discernment, and occasionally rises to the humorous. Especially is this true in the letters of the women. The style is racy and possesses the element that attracts. The story reflects a phase of upper New York City life. The conclusion is a little startling, but does not violate one's sense of the fitness of things as does "The Master-Knot."

Had Mr. Scully linked his short Kafir Tales together as accounts of real events in South Africa, the volume would possess a value which in its present form is lacking. Mr. Scully writes with a large familiarity with his subject. But the narratives do not amuse-in fact, so full are they of revelations of the barbarous and the brutal, that they are almost revolting. They would be wholly so were it not for the fact that the human mind is prone to be

fascinated by the cruel in narrative form. But bare records of savages wallowing in bloodshed and beast-like brutality have no place in the entertaining function of fiction. All the world is not composed of a collection of Mark Tapleys. If it were Kafir Tales would be eagerly welcomed.

DOCTOR GRAY'S QUEST. By Francis H. Underwood. Boston: Lee & Shepard. $1.75

A melancholy interest is attached to this work, as it was the last book which the late Dr. Underwood wrote-indeed he had but completed it a few days before his death. Dr. Underwood was never popular as a novelist, he lacked some of the essential qualities necessary to the compounding of a work of fiction, especially did he lack the kind of imagination which renders credibly and clearly the personalities of its characters, while it withdraws that of the author. It is true that in his novels we have sympathy with humanity, an intelligence of obscure virtue and endurance, and an ear for the clash of spiritual armies; but in none of his novels are these qualities put to such excellent use as in his Quabbin. For obvious reasons Quabbin just missed doing for New England what A Window in Thrums has done for Scotland; the latter is an immortal book, because it is a work of genuine power and sympathy that comes with genius as well as with knowledge.

Quabbin will long remain a book to be remembered and read again, but it lost its chance, because Dr. Underwood, with all the wealth of close observation which he contributed to it, was more a man of literary instincts than of literary power.

Doctor Gray's Quest shows the thoughtful and informing side of its author, but the marks of a painful, painstaking literary industry and literary finesse are over it all. The characters are drawn with considerable ingenuity, and the background is well filled in with picturesque descriptions of the domestic life of Little Canaan and with historic pictures of New England. Dr. Gray's search for proof of the innocence of Florian's father is the mainspring of the story, but intermingling with this there are many delightful incidents and episodes which afford elucidation of the Yankee character and wit.

DIPLOMATIC DISENCHANTMENTS. By Edith Bigelow. New York: Harper & Bros. $1.25.

Despite the trivial nature and many faults of this small novel, with its awkward though descriptive title, it teaches several wholesome lessons. Briefly, it Briefly, it is the story of a professor of political economy in a New England university, who receives through a relative of his ambitious wife the appointment of minister to Germany, and goes to Berlin accompanied by his wife, daughter, and niece. The history of these not especially interesting people, who are lifted from their natural background into the glitter of European life, fortunately lasts but six months. However, they give the author opportunity to tell the world the many things she knows about the functions, etiquette, social experiences, and types of character in Berlin.

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Mrs. Bigelow has been very successful in drawing the character of a Hungarian actor endowed with genius and powers of fascination, though cold and selfish of nature, neither a villain nor a saint. He liked to be loved, without too many demands of reciprocity being made on him. His life was decent and full of arduous effort, and his love of his art was the only real passion of which he was capable. He did not make it his business to make fools of women, but somehow, almost without his intending it, he caused women to make fools of themselves."

There are many episodes which are decidedly commonplace, and such hackneyed and inelegant expressions as "unfeignedly glad," "stately form," "attenuated diet, ""she had come up from Seabright" (to New York), " patterns of manly beauty rolled into one," "it could only be opined," frequently startle and antagonise the reader. The little story shows, however, how impossible it is for Americans of a certain type and education to harmonise with life in the Old World, and one is glad to find this family of simple tastes returning to the shade of its own elm-tree, richer and not embittered by experience, with the knowledge that their desire for diplomatic and social advancement was but a mirage, and ready to begin anew and with a greater sense of its value, the old life to which they were adapted.

THE MISTRESS OF QUEST. By Adeline Sergeant. New York: D. Appleton & Co Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts.

Quest is a farm-place in the north of England, and its mistress is a strongminded, deep-hearted young woman who has grown up on it with her grandfather, and at his death inherits its management. With her healthy beauty and healthy ways and strong sense, principle, and feeling, she represents rural life at its best, in contrast to her sickly, flaccid, luxury-loving but beautiful halfsister, who has been brought up in London. The neighbouring squire, a good type of country gentleman with a long pedigree, falls in love with the mistress of Quest, and she with him. This initiates the prolonged double trial of her life which the novel admirably describes. For, first of all, the mistress of Quest, knowing that Lady Adela, the squire's mother, would not like to see him marry a farmer, disguises her love and sacrifices herself; and then, her half-sister appearing on the scene, detaches her lover, and for a time appropriates him. The course of events by which things are righted is finely conceived. mistress of Quest is a welcome addition to the women of fiction.

The

IN DEACON'S ORDERS, AND OTHER STORIES. By Walter Besant. New York: Harper & Bros. $1.25.

A volume of short stories by Mr. Besant is always full of variety and of pleasantness. Some of those here are more or less satires on modern failings. "In Deacon's Orders," the mania of religiosity is held up to scorn in its not. infrequent alliance with depravity; while in "The Equal Woman," Mr. Besant abjures, for the moment, his usual goodnatured strictures on female claims, and gives a wholesome glimpse of at least one woman superior, even mentally, to one individual man. There is little comfort, however, in the story, as the particular man was an unmitigated fool. "Peer and Heiress' is a good example of his agreeable story; "In Three Weeks' is a somewhat poor specimen of his unpleasant variety. But in all these, and in the others, are visible the author's knack of happy ingenuity, and his way of cleverly turning the possibilities and impossibilities that run through his brain into a means of comfortably whiling away his reader's spare time.