ich is at least original. But
throughout I had the feeling that a great deal of bright and clever
writing was being wasted on a poor theme. The characters are brilliantly
suggested, but--with perhaps one exception, forgetful _Lady Conroy_, who
is an entire delight--they seem altogether unworthy of it. In fact I
came away from the book with the impression of having attended a
gathering of somewhat shoddily smart people, and sat next to a clever
woman who had been witty about them. The worst of the matter is that
they are all so real. This is a tribute to the author, but a most
unpleasant reflection for everyone else.

* * * * *

[Illustration: The Rector. "Well, William, you ought to be proud and
happy to know you have four sons serving their country with His
Majesty's Forces."

William. "I am proud and happy, Sir, but the old woman she do fret
somethin' terrible because none of 'em ain't got no Victoria Cross
yet."]

* * * * *

My attention was first attracted to _The New Dawn_ (LONG) by the fact
that the plot starts at Euston Station. That interesting, not to say
romantic, line, the L. & N. W. R., is usually shunned by our novelists.
But although "GEORGE WOVIL" takes his characters to the furthest North,
even beyond Glasgow, their sympathies, like, I think, those of their
creator, remain behind in fair and false and fickle Wimbledon. This at
least was where _Halvey Brown_ wished himself as the train glided over
the best laid track in Europe towards dour Bartocher. And _Brown_,
though he knew the natural drabness of his destination already, had at
that time no information as to all the unpleasing events that were to
happen there; that, for example, the minister's new wife would turn out
to be a lady with a past that he himself had shared, or that the
fair-haired young man in the same compartment was the assistant
minister, who would fall in love with the said wife and eventually slay
her, the minister, and himself. I find I have been led into betraying
for you the outline of the story. Perhaps, however, this does not
greatly matter. The value of the book lies in its very natural and human
characters. All four of them--there are only four who really matter--are
admirably drawn, so that the tragedy of their lives holds and convinces
you. My complaints against the author are, first, the excess of emphasis
that he gives to the physical unpleasantness of his