shows his thoughtfulness for us, and I think it very kind and nice of him.  At the same time I will ungraciously admit that the weak point of his story is that it does not move quite fast enough.  Admirable artist in psychology and atmosphere, his plot, if you can call it a plot, is very slight. Cyrus Archer, the young American of the compound fracture (who had my sympathy from the start because he could never remember dates), goes out into the back of beyond for a spell before settling down to married life and a place in his father’s business, and at Skookum Creek, where he grows tomatoes and studies Indians, he meets his Cinderella, with the result that his life has to be completely rearranged.  A commonplace tale, but there is a rare and distinct flavour about the telling of it.  Mr. NIVEN’S manner has indeed a very particular charm, over which one would take an even keener pleasure in lingering if only he himself lingered a little less over his story.

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I hardly think that Madame ALBANESI has chosen quite the most appropriate name for the story that she calls Hearts and Sweethearts (HUTCHINSON).  Personally, I fancy that Suits and Lawsuits would have come nearer the mark; because, though there is a certain proportion of love-making in the tale, there is considerably more about going to law.  One difficulty with which I fancy the writer had to contend is due to the fact that her hero and heroine are (in a sense) the opposing protagonists in a case of disputed succession; Jemima Frant being engaged in the attempt to turn out Sir John Norminster from his estates and establish the claim to them of her dead sister’s child.  Naturally, therefore, till this is settled their opportunities for the tender passion are, to put it very gently, restricted.  But of course—­well, a novel with such a title is hardly likely to leave anybody of importance unmarried at the final page.  Before this is turned, you have some pleasant comedy of London in war-time, and meet a number of agreeably sketched persons, whose conversation may amuse you, or, on the other hand, may cause you to wish them a little less discursive.  Madame ALBANESI indeed impressed me as having occasionally turned her subordinate characters loose into a chapter, with instructions to fill it up anyhow, while she herself thought out the next move.  But the law was always leisurely, so this characteristic might perhaps be expected in a story so much concerned with it.

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[Illustration:  The Mother (overhauling little Tommy’s wardrobe).  “OH, CHARLES, JUST SEE WHAT THAT DREADFUL CHILD HAS BEEN CARRYING ABOUT IN HIS POCKET!  A REAL CARTRIDGE WITH A BULLET IN IT.  HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN BLOWN TO BITS!”

The Father (with a glowing consciousness of assisting his country at a critical time).  “JUST PUT IT IN A COOL PLACE FOR TO-NIGHT, MY DEAR, AND I WILL LEAVE IT AT THE WAR OFFICE TO-MORROW ON MY WAY TO BUSINESS.”]