many such scenes as those with which he has charmed the world. His
picture of "The Haricot-Gatherer" represents the paternal cottage, and
the figure of the woman in the garden is that of his mother herself.
When he enshrined personal memories like these, no wonder we find in
Millet's work the interpretation of so much that is deepest and most
intimate in the history of man.

The gallery of the portraits of Hans Holbein the younger is well chosen,
and gives some excellent instances of the artist's unsurpassed manner.
There is inevitably something in any picture of Holbein's which holds
the attention by its absolute reality: it is not only natural, but true,
the reflection of an actual personality. An interest attaches to the
portrait of Anne of Cleves, although one hardly finds in it the beauty
which misled Henry VIII. and altered the history of England a little.

Five Novels.

"A Wheel of Fire." By Arlo Bates. New York: Charles Scribner's
Sons.

"As it was Written: A Jewish Musician's Story." By Sidney Luska.
New York: Cassell & Co.

"Love--or a Name." By Julian Hawthorne. Boston: Ticknor & Co.

"A Social Experiment." By E. A. P. Searing. New York and London:
G. P. Putnam's Sons.

"For Lilias." By Rosa Nouchette Carey. Philadelphia: J. B.
Lippincott Company.

Mr. Arlo Bates's novel "A Wheel of Fire" shows such skilful
construction, is so nicely balanced in its parts, while its literary
execution is so far above the common, that we can only wish the author
had expended such faithful and conscientious work upon a plot less
hopelessly dreary than one must be which hinges upon the problem of
hereditary insanity. Every other human infirmity may be rounded off,
merged into a lofty ideal of acceptance, renunciation, and expiation.
But under no imaginable conditions can madness be regarded as something
from which the heart and soul of man does not shudderingly recoil.
Accordingly, a heroine who is haunted, beset, and finally driven crazy
by the dread of the fatal inheritance being in her blood seems set apart
from the fluctuations and hesitations of maidenly passion. There is
something unhealthy, eerie, in the story Mr. Bates has made and in the
situation he has chosen.

Damaris Wainwright's mother has died insane, her brother is a hopeless
lunatic,--in fact, he commits suicide in the early part of the
story,--and she has accepted the conditions fate seems to have impo