NovErs.—Under-Currents. By the Author of "Molly Bawn." (Smith, Elder, and
Co.)—Seldom, if ever, have we Been a novel from the pen of this author that we liked better than the one now before us. It cannot, indeed, be exactly described as high-class; but of its kind it is decidedly good. The author, as in several former works, has contrived to carry on two love-stories at the same time,—the one of a serious and the other of a comic nature. Hitherto we have been rather of the opinion that the stories would have profited by the omission of the comic courtship. But in the case of Under-Currents this verdict must certainly be reversed. The loves of Griselda and Tom Peyton are not only amusing, but very interesting. By-the-way, the character of Griselda is, we think, one of the best things in the book,—a sympathetic, affec- tionate girl, full of fun and high spirits, and yet withal a perfect lady. She is certainly a charmingly depicted personage. Her sister is, on the whole, less pleasing, though she has her pleasant moments. We cannot help thinking that she is rather over- drawn. If not, we could wish that a punishment more in accordance with the rules of poetic justice had been the result of her intolerable pride. Of course, the story has a villain, in the shape of a wicked old uncle. We suppose that it was necessary for the development of the plot that the rightful will should in the end be forthcoming. Many, however, will wonder that this very wicked old man did not make away with it long ago. On the whole, though, there is little to find fault with. The book is thoroughly interesting from beginning to end, the dialogue good, and the situations well conceived.—We are sorry that we cannot give quite the same praise to Hugh Errington, by Gertrude Forde. (Hurst and Blackett.)--Miss Fordo would have done better had she compressed her story into two volumes, instead of spinning it out rather laboriously into three. This has spoilt what might otherwise have been distinctly a readable book. As it stands, it will be found in parts to be undeniably dull, a fact which is made the more apparent by the somewhat melan- choly nature of the tale. Miss Forde has some power in sketching character, a great deal of feeling, and her work shows throughout an excellent tone. What she seems to want is more life. There are times when her story drags very wearily. And this, of course, neutralises to a great extent what is really good-.
Peccari. By Emily F. D. Osborn. (Swan Sonnenschein, Lowrey, and Co.)—We cannot congratulate Miss Osborn on her novel. From the very serious faults which are apparent in its structure we should conjecture that she is as yet new to novel- writing. The story is rambling and unconnected; incidents are introduced which play no real part in it ; and, finally, we have been able to discover no character that can lay claim to be agree- able, much less well drawn. Miss Osborn perhaps means her por- trayal of Charles Devereux to illustrate the saying, "The wicked flourisheth like a green bay-tree," for Devereux is weak and selfish to a degree that is almost wicked. But we would remind her that it needs a skilled and experienced hand to do this successfully. At present she has acquired neither skill nor experience.— Stephen Elderby. . By A. Hill Drewry. (T. Fisher Unwin.)— The tone and purpose of Mr. Drewry's book are so good that we are very unwilling to find fault with it. Tone and purpose, however, even of the most excellent quality, will not by themselves make a good novel. Mr. Drewry is, we should imagine, much in the same position as Miss Osborn,—new to the art of novel- writing. His work is not well constructed. The interest of the reader is not made to centre round any one of his characters,— indeed, we should be sorry to say who is really the hero or heroine in Stephen Elderby. What plot there is turns on the fact that a man imagines himself to be the heir of a large property, but cannot prove his claim. Finally, he discovers his claim to be groundless, just when he fancies himself at the goal. Such a situation, if well treated, could be worked into a good story. But Frederick Hatcherly plays, after all, a minor part in the story. Indeed, Stephen Btclerby reads more like the uneventful annals of two or three families in a country-house than a novel. Mr, Drewry can give us characters, pleasing certainly, and fairly well drawn. But he must change the form of his stories very considerably if he would be a successful novelist.
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