MR. WILKIE COLLINS'S LAST NOVEL.* Ma. WILKIE COLLINS has one

at least of the prime requisites of a novelist. His object, from the first chapter to the last, is to tell his story. He does not trouble the reader with wearisome reflections or picturesque descriptions, neither does he exercise any of the arts by which a tale that could be easily told in two volumes is expanded into three. He knows how to make a plot and how to develop it, gifts which some recent novelists affect to despise, probably because they do not possess them. Mr. Collins, in the early days of his novel-writing, was in the habit of inventing a secret or puzzle which taxed the reader's curiosity to unraveL This rather childish exercise of ingenuity was dearer to him, or easier, than the delineation of character ; neither did he give much heed to verisimilitude, and perhaps regarded improbabilities as an aid to the faith demanded of the novel-reader. In his latest work, there is no skein to be disentangled, and no accidents or coincidences more remark- able than we are accustomed to in fiction. The novel before us commands the reader's attention throughout. He is never tempted to lay it down, neither does he come to passages he can afford to skip. It is full of dramatic scenes, and might, we think, be readily transformed into a sensational drama. The "evil genius" of the piece is a mother-in-law who listens behind curtains, watches the steps of persons whom she suspects, and is thoroughly unscrupulous.

An ancient residence in Scotland, the principal rooms of which are open at certain hours to the public, is the home of Mr. and Mrs. Linley, of their charming self-willed child Kitty, and of Mrs. Presty, the ogre already mentioned. To this circle is added a young governess, discovered by Herbert Linley under peculiar circumstances in London. Hitherto Sydney Westerfield had never been loved or cared for, or even properly fed.

When she came to Mount Morven, her face was pale and her figure undeveloped ; but in this healthy, happy home, the girl blossoms into beauty, and attracts the fancy of Herbert, albeit he has been married for eight years to a beautiful and charming wife. Poor Sydney is more sinned against than sinning, and Herbert him- self has a weak, rather than a depraved nature. A striking scene between the husband and his noble-natured wife at the end of the first volume affords a confession of weakness, but not of guilt. Sydney is to leave, bat not unbefriended by the woman she had as yet only wronged in thought, on the under- standing that she and Herbert are never to meet again. The child, of course, is incapable of understanding why Sydney is leaving, and her passionate love for the governess causes such a severe illness that, in the last extremity and by the doctor's orders, Mrs. Linley recalls her. Kitty's recovery is the result ; but accidentally Sydney meets Herbert once more, the repressed passion bursts out afresh, and Mrs. Linley enters the room to find the girl in his arms :—

" She stood still for a moment in silent horror. Not a sound warned them when she advanced. After hesitating for a moment, she raised her hand towards her husband as if to tell him of her presence by a touch ; drew it back, suddenly recoiling from her own first intention ; and touched Sydney instead. Then, and then only, they knew what had happened. Face to face those three persons—with every tie that had once united them snapped asunder in an instant—looked at each other. The man owed a duty to the lost creature whose weakness had appealed to his mercy in vain. The man broke the silence.

Catherine—'—With immeasurable contempt looking brightly out of her steady eyes, his wife stopped him. Not a word "—He refused to be silent. It is I,' he said ; I only who am to blame.'—' Spare yourself the trouble of making excuses,' she answered ; 'they are need- less. Herbert Linley, the woman who was once your wife despises you.' Her eyes turned from him, and rested on Sydney Westerfield. I have a last word to say to you. Look at me if you can. Listen to me if you can .'—Sydney lifted her head. She looked vacantly at the outraged woman before her, as if she saw a woman in a dream.—With the same terrible self.possession which she had preserved from tho first—

standing between her husband and her governess—Mrs. Linley spoke. Miss Westerfield, you have saved my child's life.' She paused— her eyes still resting on the girl's face. Deadly pale, she pointed to her husband, and said to Sydney, Take him!' She passed out of the room, and left them together."

We shall not follow the course of the narrative so as to destroy the pleasure the reader may derive from it ; but there are passages in the novel which we may be permitted to refer to or to quote.

The family home in Scotland is broken up, the house left to the care of servants, and Mrs. Linley, with her mother the "evil genius," and her little Kitty, is living on the banks of one of the Cumberland lakes. Herbert writes, making the astounding

• The Ertl Genius: a Domestic Story. By Wilkie Collins. 3 vols. London: Ghetto and Windus.

request:that Kitty should be given up to him, and of course to the care of his mistress, for six months in the year ; and Mrs. Linley, much against her will, but fearing lest her child should be taken from her by the arm of the law, obtains a divorce and changes her name, to the infinite perplexity of Kitty. Then, in an evil

hour, Mrs. Presty, in order to avoid scandal, persuades Mrs. Linley to pass as a widow, for which act of naughtiness the divorced wife suffers severely. By one of those chances that may happen in real life, and often happen in romance, Herbert Linley and Sydney Westerfield occupy the rooms of a sea-side hotel which Mrs. Linley has just vacated. They are in a state of fretful irritation, Sydney bitterly repenting the wrong she has done, and Herbert yearning after his lost wife. In Miss Westerfield's absence, Linley discovers a book he had once given to his wife, with an affectionate inscription inside. On seeing this, he breaks down

utterly, and is in the very attitude of despair when Sydney re-enters the room. She sees all at a glance, and knows, what she had suspected for some time, that his love for her is but a

passing fancy. At this crisis, a servant of the hotel introduces a lady, saying that she has come to look for a book she had left behind, and the two are once more brought face to face with the woman whom they have outraged. Sydney turns to leave the room, but Herbert requests her to stay :— "Catherine's voice was heard for the first time. She addressed herself to Sydney with a quiet dignity—far removed from anger, further removed still from contempt. You were about to leave the room,' she said. I notice as an act of justice to you—that my presence arouses some sense of shame.'—Herbert turned to Sydney ; trying to recover herself, she stood near the table. Give me the book,' he said ; the sooner this comes to an end the better for her, the better for us.'—Sydney gave him the book. With a visible effort, he watched, Catherine's self-control ; after all, she had remembered his gift. He offered the book to her.—She still kept her eyes fixed on Sydney—still spoke to Sydney. Tell him,' she said, that I refuse to receive the book? —Sydney attempted to obey. At the first words she uttered, Herbert checked her once more. I have begged you already not to submit to insult.' He turned to Catherine. 'The book is yours, madam. Why do you refuse to take it P—She looked at him for the first time. A proud sense of wrong flashed at him its keenly felt indignation in her first glance. Your hands and her hands have touched it,' she answered; I leave it to you and to her.'—These words stung him. Contempt,' he said, is bitter indeed on your lips.'—' Do you pre- sume to resent my contempt 2'—' I forbid you to insult Miss Westerfield.' With that reply, he turned to Sydney. You shall not suffer while I can prevent it,' he said tenderly, and approached to put his arm round her.—She looked at Catherine, and drew back from his embrace, gently repelling him by a gesture.—Catherine felt and respected the true penitence ex- pressed in that action. She advanced to Sydney. Miss Westerfield,' she said ; I will take the book from you.'—Sydney gave back the book without a word ; in her position silence was the truest gratitude. —Quietly and firmly Catherine removed the blank leaf on which Herbert had written, and laid it before him on the table. I return your inscription. It means nothing now.' These words were steadily pronounced ; not the slightest appearance of temper accompanied them. She moved slowly to the door, and looked back at Sydney. 'Make some allowance for what I have suffered,' she said gently. If I have wounded you I regret it:—The faint sound of her dress on the carpet was heard in the perfect stillness and lost again. They saw her no more."

Mrs. Linley, though capable, as we have seen, of acting with dignity and gentleness under the most intolerable provocation a woman could receive, has her own little frailties, as a certain Captain, to whose honest love she has listened in the assumed character of a widow, does not hesitate to tell her. If Mrs. Presty is the evil genius of the story, he may be called the good genius, for to him it is due that the novel ends far more happily than the reader is justified in expecting when he

closes the second volume. Mr. Collins's remedy for the diffi- culties into which his dramatis personce have fallen is a novelty in fiction. The reader who wishes for a story that can be read without difficulty, and will be read with a considerable measure of eagerness and pleasure, will thank us for recommending The Evil Genius. It is not a work of genius, but it is extremely clever, and shows that the hand of the author has not lost its

cunning.