My New Home. By Mrs. Molesworth. (Macmillan.)—This is just the
kind of tale which suits Mrs. Molesworth's gift of telling stories for young people. There is not much of a plot in it; plots, we are inclined to think, are suited more to older readers. Helena Wingfield lives with her grandmother and relates her experiences ; how she made friends, what interrupted this friendship, how something seems to come between her grandmother and herself and makes her jealous and suspicious, and how she was cured of her ill thoughts and want of trust. Everything is told as naturally as possible. If books ever do any good—and we should be loath to think that this never happens—this candid young person may be holding up a mirror in which others may see themselves, and learn something from the sight. One praiseworthy thing is that Miss Helena tills us nothing about her own looks, except that she was small of her age, while she liberally praises the good looks of her friends. The illustrations are fairly good; but when we see the title, "It was the portrait of a young girl," why are we per- mitted to see only the corner of the frame ?
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