ver to buy a "pig in a poke." Equally good
advice for the heroines of fiction or drama would be never under any
circumstances to marry a bridegroom in a mask. In more cases than I
can recall, neglect of this simple precaution has led to a peck of
trouble. I am thinking now of _Yvonne_, leading lady in _The Mark of
Vraye_ (HUTCHINSON). I admit that poor _Yvonne_ had more excuse than
most. Hers was what you might call a hard case. On the one hand there
was the villain _Philippe_, a most naughty man, swearing that she was
in his power, and calling for instant marriage at the hands of _Father
Simon_, who happened to be present. On the other hand, the gentleman
in the mask revealed a pair of eyes that poor _Yvonne_ rashly supposed
to belong to someone for whom she had more than a partiality. So when
he suggested that the proposed ceremony should take place during
_Philippe's_ temporary absence from the stage, with himself as
substitute, _Yvonne_ (astonished perhaps at her own luck so early in
the plot) simply jumped at the idea. Then, of course, the deed being
done, off comes the mask, and behold the triumphant countenance of
her bitterest foe, _Charles de Montbrison_, whom she herself had
disfigured as the (supposed) murderer of her brother. Act drop and ten
minutes' interval. Need I detail for you the subsequent course of this
marriage of inconvenience? The courage and magnanimity of one side,
the feminine cruelty melting at last to love, and finally the
inevitable duologue of reconciliation, through which I can never help
hearing the rustle of opera-cloaks and the distant cab-whistles.
Charming, charming. Mr. H.B. SOMERVILLE has furnished a pleasant
entertainment, and one that (like all good readers or spectators) you
will enjoy none the less because of its entire familiarity.

* * * * *

_The Flight of Mariette_ (CHAPMAN AND HALL) is a slender volume, whose
simplicity gives it a poignancy both incongruous and grim. Much of it
you might compare to the diary of a butterfly before and whilst being
broken on the wheel. _Mariette_, the jolly little maid of Antwerp, was
so tender and harmless a butterfly; and the machine that broke her
life and drove her to the martyrdom of exile was so huge and cruel a
thing. How cruel in its effects it is well for us just now to be again
reminded, lest, in these days of hurrying horrors, remembrance should
be weakened. To that extent therefore Miss GERTRUDE E.