ot give a faint idea of the eloquence with which
their fairyland is portrayed. And if the plot ends as artificially as it
began, and with an unnecessary tragedy thrown in, I suppose for the sake
of that idyll in the very nesting-place of idylls I must shrug my
shoulders and forgive. After all, it does not matter much who _Fifine_
really was, nor what happened to her. Suffice it that Mr. BERNARD CAPES
has conducted her to Arles.

* * * * *

_The Caddis-Worm_ (HURST AND BLACKETT) is an appropriate enough title
for Mrs. DAWSON SCOTT'S novel, but I confess to having grown a little
restive at its appearance on the top of each of 352 pages. "Episodes in
the Life of Richard and Catharine Blake" is the alternative title, and
to the average human reader possibly a more significant one. _The
Caddis-Worm_ is quite in the modern manner, having no plot--or what has
been contemptuously called "anecdote." I have, however, a more genuine
grievance against Mrs. DAWSON SCOTT, and it is that she seems inclined
to be a propagandist without the requisite robustness. A little more
vigour in her protests against the iniquity of British laws, and her
theme might have allured me. As it is, the troubles of _Catharine_ with
her peremptory _Richard_ only made me want, but not very keenly, to take
and give her a good shaking. Whereas, with a little more encouragement,
I believe I should have been quite anxious to kick her husband from the
top to the bottom of several flights of stairs. Drastic methods were
taken by the author to bring _Richard_ to his senses; in fact, at one
time he made a sort of corner in disasters. But unless a sanatorium
exists where patients are treated kindly and firmly for swollen-head I
do not think that _Richard's_ cure is likely to be permanent. That,
however, does not affect my view that Mrs. DAWSON SCOTT has given us a
book which is full of clever writing and fairly shrewd observation.

* * * * *

"It was a wild wet night, though the month of May was well begun."
Without caring very much about the month of May, I felt on reading these
introductory words that the story called _My Lady Rosia_ had excellently
well begun. I am sorry to add, though, that it does not carry on quite
so bravely as you might expect from such a start. My own suspicion is
that _Lady Rosia_ is one of many novels that owe their existence to a
summer holiday. I haven't the slightest kno