the two sisters the proved hero
ultimately took to wife? No, this is one of those cases in which it is
impossible for the reader, with the best intentions in the world, not to
prophesy and prophesy accurately. None the less it is worth while to spend
time and money on _The Master of Merripit_ (WARD, LOCK) for the following
adequate reasons. It is from the pen of Mr. EDEN PHILLPOTTS; if the
conclusions are foregone, the excitement throughout is intense; the local
colour and the supernumerary characters are charming as usual, and the
scheme by which the villains were entrapped is admirable in design and
execution. This learned clerk, for all his expert knowledge of the art of
catching highwaymen, neither anticipated it nor, upon the most critical
reflection, is able to find a flaw in it.

* * * * *

I was discussing Mr. GILBERT CANNAN with a friend, and he said, "I have
read many reviews of his books, nearly all of them good reviews, but not
one that made me want to read the book itself." Well, I am afraid this one
won't make him want to read _Old Mole_ (MARTIN SECKER). The hero, _Old
Mole_, otherwise _H. J. Beenham, M.A._, had himself written a book, and
this is what Mr. CANNAN says of it: "The essay was cool and deliberate,
broken in its monotony by comical little stabs of malice. The writing was
fastidious and competent. Panoukian thought the essay a masterpiece, and
there crept a sort of reverence into his attitude towards its author....
Then, to complete his infatuation, he contrasted Old Mole with Harbottle."
I am no _Panoukian_. Mr. CANNAN'S opinion of _Old Mole's_ book may stand as
mine of Mr. CANNAN'S book. But I can understand the _Panoukian_ attitude;
and when I read the _Panoukian_ reviews--referring inevitably to the
"damnable cleverness" of Mr. CANNAN--then I suspect that they have been
contrasting him with the _Harbottles_ of the literary world, the gushers
and the pushers and the slushers. After a month of these a fastidious
writer may well infatuate a reviewer. For myself, who have not had to wade
through _Harbottles_, I remain unstirred by _Old Mole_. Not a single
character, male or female, moved me to the least interest; they were all
cold, dead people, and Mr. CANNAN talked over their bodies. Clever talk,
certainly--he shall have that adjective again--but when it was over I had a
wild mad longing to take to the Harbottle. Even Mr. HALL CAINE ... but this
is morbid talk.