humble a lady's-maid in any circumstances, let alone upon so very brief
an acquaintance.

* * * * *

_Bridget Considine_ (BELL) is a pleasant story with something very
agreeable in its quality, which however I find hard to define. Miss MARY
CROSBIE has certainly a pretty gift for characterization, and this no
doubt accounts for a good deal of the charm; the rest is largely a
matter of atmosphere. The characters in the story whom you will most
remember are _Bridget_ herself and her father. The last especially is a
continuous joy--a man who in his journey through life had taken
instinctively the manner and aspect of a class to which he did not
belong; a decayed gentleman without ever having been gentle except in
mind; a needy adventurer without the spirit for adventure. Dragged up at
the slip-shod heels of such a parent, supporting herself with romantic
dreams when other nourishment failed, _Bridget_ grew to young womanhood
the very type, one would say, of the _Cinderella_ to be rescued from
poverty by a suitable _Prince Charming_. Thus when a combination of
accidents thrusts her, as secretary-companion, into the society of _Hugh
Delmege_, a budding politician, you will perhaps excusably plume
yourself upon seeing the rest of the tale beforehand. If so, you will,
as a matter of fact, be entirely wrong. _Hugh_ and _Bridget_ become
engaged, certainly, but----. There is much virtue in that "but," the
virtue of an unusual and convincing end to a story that has many charms,
not the least of them being its humour. Yes, I certainly liked _Bridget
Considine_ well enough to wish for more from the same pen. Its motto,
"Candidates for Humanity," is well chosen.

* * * * *

When Mr. WILLIAM SATCHELL, in a preface to _The Greenstone Door_
(SIDGWICK AND JACKSON), remarks that some Maori words are used so
frequently that he is "afraid the English reader will hardly be able to
avoid acquiring a knowledge of their meaning," his alarm is quite
unnecessary. Personally, at any rate, I am proud to know that _papa-tea_
means an untattooed person, and _waipiro_ an alcoholic beverage. But if
Mr. SATCHELL had feared that the young man who tells the story might be
found a little too self-complacent no protest would have been sounded by
me. For _Cedric Tregarthen_, the grandson of an earl, and also "The
Little Finger" of a Maori chief, was beyond my swallowing, though I
endured him