Novars.—Through War to Peace. By Mrs. A. H. Manle. 3
vols. (Remington.)—The shape which Mrs. Mania or her publishers have
chosen to give this story is hardly suitable to it. It is called a novel, and it appears accordingly in the three orthodox volumes. But it really is a serious tale, which would have been every way improved by
being compressed into the one volume with which "serious tales" are content. There is good-sense and good-feeling shown in the writing. True things are said with force, and the character of Myra, who may be called the heroine of the story, is carefully studied. But as a "novel," the book is a most decided failure. The story would do fairly well for the thread on which reflections might be strung, bat as &story it is nothing. In the first place, it is doleful to a degree, and doleful in a way that cannot be justified. It would be folly to demand that all tales should possess a cheerfulness which life certainly does not always possess. But these calamities should have some artistic pleasure for them, should be led up to, so to speak, by the progress of the narrative. We see nothing of the kind in the catastrophe which ruins Myra's life.—One May Day. By Miss Grant. 3 vols. (Chapman and Hall.)—No one can accuse Miss Grant of drawing her pictures in colours too sombre. There is scarcely a tear in her story from beginning to end. Sir Harry Wynn, a poor squire, elected for the little borough near his estate, comes up to the Session. He saves a lady's dog from rough usage, and falls in love with the lady. A formidable difficulty now threatens to in- terfere with their happiness. Miss Cicely Brown is an heiress, the daughter of a millionaire merchant ; but her wealth is dependent on the action of her guardian, whose darling scheme it is to unite her to the representative of another great commercial house, and so to make of the two firms the very biggest thing in the world. Never did difficulties vanish so easily. Cicely writes her guardian a long letter, which produces, first, a stroke of paralysis, and then a fit of repentance. He sends, at her bidding, for a nephew, whom he had long neglected, and the nephew turns out to be her lover. This is all very pleasant, if it can scarcely be thought pro- bable. But then we must not be exacting about probabilities. If we were, we might demand an exact account of how Sir Harry con- trives, having only E800 per annum, to keep up his country house (it is always sending up to him fruits and flowers in profusion), and to have a small house in town, keep two horses, go out into society, bet at Ascot, play whist, and lose for high points. All the merit of the book is in a fairly good description of the London season, of which Miss Grant gives a picture exceptionally free from extrava- gance and bad-taste.
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