solving some of its own.
And in addition to that possible work we should have been none the poorer
in the treasures of poetry he actually gave us.

Olivia Raleigh. By W.W. Follett Synge. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott & Co.

In the few choice words of introduction to the American reprint Mrs. Annis
Lee Wister admirably characterizes this charming novel. It is indeed like a
"clear, pure breath of English air:" from the first page to the last it is
redolent of the health of an "incense-breathing morn." There are no dark
scenes here, leaving on the reader a feeling of degradation that such
things can be--no impossible villain weaving a web of intricate or
purposeless villainy--but all is fresh and genuine, and we close the volume
with a sense of gratitude that such a story is possible.

Even if this be not in itself a recommendation sufficient to enlist the
interest of novel-readers, _Olivia Raleigh_ is something more: it is a work
of art: there is in it nothing crude or hasty or ill-digested. Around the
four or five prominent characters all the interest centres, and the
attention is not distracted by any wearisome episodes that have nothing to
do with the main story. The characters are admirably thought out, and
reveal themselves more by their actions than by any microscopical analysis
of motives. They pass before us like veritable human beings, and what they
are we learn from what they do. The transformation of one of the characters
from a gay, debonnair bachelor past middle age into a penurious miser of
the Blueberry-Jones type is bold, and in less skilful hands would be a
blemish, but Mr. Synge has amply justified it, and admirably uses it to
cement the structure of his plot. There is no weakness in any chapter, and
as we read so secure do we feel in the author's strength that, had he
chosen to end the story in sorrow and not in joy, we should submit as
though to an inflexible decree of Fate.

Les Koumiassine. Par Henry Greville. Paris: Plon.

It is always interesting to watch the course of French fiction, because
while the novel is in all countries at the present time the favorite form
of expression of those writers who eschew scientific work on the one side
and stand aloof from poetry on the other, in France, which is noticeably
the country where theories are put into practice as well as invented, all
sorts of literary methods have their clever defenders, who furnish examples
of what they preach. Since Balzac