k Barrett, has at least the merit of
introducing into fiction an entirely new character. The villain is
Nyctalops, and, though we are not prepared to say that there is any
necessary connection between Nyctalopy and crime, we are quite ready to
accept Mr. Barrett's picture of Jan Van Hoeck as an interesting example
of the modern method of dealing with life. For, Pathology is rapidly
becoming the basis of sensational literature, and in art, as in politics,
there is a great future for monsters. What a Nyctalops is we leave Mr.
Barrett to explain. His novel belongs to a class of book that many
people might read once for curiosity but nobody could read a second time
for pleasure.

A Day after the Fair is an account of a holiday tour through Scotland
taken by two young barristers, one of whom rescues a pretty girl from
drowning, falls in love with her, and is rewarded for his heroism by
seeing her married to his friend. The idea of the book is not bad, but
the treatment is very unsatisfactory, and combines the triviality of the
tourist with the dulness of good intentions.

'Mr. Winter' is always amusing and audacious, though we cannot say that
we entirely approve of the names he gives to his stories. Bootle's Baby
was a masterpiece, but Houp-la was a terrible title, and That Imp is not
much better. The book, however, is undoubtedly clever, and the Imp in
question is not a Nyctalops nor a specimen for a travelling museum, but a
very pretty girl who, because an officer has kissed her without any
serious matrimonial intentions, exerts all her fascinations to bring the
unfortunate Lovelace to her feet and, having succeeded in doing so,
promptly rejects him with a virtuous indignation that is as delightful as
it is out of place. We must confess that we have a good deal of sympathy
for 'Driver' Dallas, of the Royal Horse, who suffers fearful agonies at
what he imagines is a heartless flirtation on the part of the lady of his
dreams; but the story is told from the Imp's point of view, and as such
we must accept it. There is a very brilliant description of a battle in
the Soudan, and the account of barrack life is, of course, admirable. So
admirable indeed is it that we hope that 'Mr. Winter' will soon turn his
attention to new topics and try to handle fresh subjects. It would be
sad if such a clever and observant writer became merely the garrison hack
of literature. We would also earnestly beg 'Mr. Winter' not to write