y easily detect its inspiration in
certain actual happenings. It is the story of a woman, _Lucy Briarwell_,
clever and gifted with personality, the grass-widow of an apparently
incurable lunatic who, living in Bruges, falls under the influence of a
Belgian poet-dramatist. Together--for _Lucy_ is shown as his
collaborator and source of inspiration--they evolve a wonderful new form
of miracle play in which she presently captivates London and Paris as
the reincarnate _Notre Dame de Bruges_. So much of the tale I indicate;
the rest is your affair. It is told in a pleasant haphazard fashion,
enriched with flashes of caustic wit and disfigured with a good deal of
ungrammatical and slovenly writing. I think I never met a novelist who
did more execution among the infinitives. Also I suspect that Mrs.
SAUNDERS' zeal for theatrical setting outran her knowledge of it,
otherwise she would hardly have permitted a dramatist to speak of his
"caste," or the leading lady to leave the theatre (even under
circumstances of faintness) in her stage costume. But for all that my
congratulations to her on a good story.

* * * * *

Illustration: A PATRIOT.

_The Visitor._ "BUT YOU DON'T IMAGINE FOR A MOMENT THAT YOU COULD SINK A
BATTLESHIP WITH THAT, DO YOU?"

_Patriotic Seaside Villa Resident._ "NO, I DON'T THINK IT WOULD CARRY
FAR ENOUGH; BUT AT ANY RATE IT MIGHT DRAW THE ENEMY'S FIRE!"

* * * * *

My impression of _Behind the Picture_ (WARD, LOCK) is that it would be
better worth reading if it contained less of the tale--which, to speak
quite candidly, is parlous nonsense--and more of the trimmings. The
trimmings are mostly concerned with art bargain-hunting, and are
excellent fun. Most of us have the treasure-trove instinct sufficiently
developed to like reading about a young man who picks up Gainsboroughs
for a tenner, or unearths lost masterpieces of TURNER on a clue supplied
by an old letter. The young man in question was _Hugh Limner_, and in
his off moments he fulfilled perfunctorily the duties of hero of the
story. But I can't help thinking that Mr. M. MCD. BODKIN, his creator,
liked him best as an expert. Certainly I myself did. _Hugh_, as I say,
found his buried Turner on the authority of an autograph letter from the
artist, which in its turn he had found in a volume entitled "Turner's
Poems," that proved to have belonged to RUSKIN, the whole purchased off
a stall f