us that in the writing of
books two things are essential: to know "when and where to leave off
... and where to begin." Perhaps without churlishness I might add a
third, and suggest that it is equally important to know where to make
your market. Mr. FARNOL, very wisely, plumps for America; and the new
story is a thing of millionaires, crooks, graft and the like. But
don't go supposing for one moment that these regrettable surroundings
have in the smallest degree impaired the exquisite and waxen bloom of
our author's sympathetic characters. Far from it. Of the young and
oh-so-good-looking millionaire (weary of pleasures and palaces, too
weary even to dismiss his preposterous and farcical butler--lacking,
in effect, the definite object); of the heroine's young brother, crook
in embryo, but reclaimable by influence of hero; and of the peach-like
leading lady herself, I can only say that each is worthy of the rest,
and all of a creator who must surely (I like to think) have laughed
more than once behind his hand during the progress of their creation.
I expect by now that I have as good as told you the plot--young
brother caught burgling hero's flat; hero, intrigued by mention of
sister, doffing his society trappings, following his captive to
crook-land, bashing the wicked inhabitants with his heroic fists, and
finally, of course, wedding the sister. So there you are! No, I am
wrong. The wedding is not absolute finality, since the heroine (for
family pride, she said, because her brother had tried to shoot her
husband; but, as this reason is manifestly idiotic, I must suppose her
to be acting on a hint from Mr. FARNOL'S publishers) decreed their
union to be in name alone. Which provides for the extra chapters.

***

Have you ever imagined yourself plunged (bodily, not mentally) into
the midst of a story by some particular author? If, for example, you
could get inside the covers of a Mrs. ALFRED SIDGWICK novel, what
would you expect to find? Probably a large and pleasantly impecunious
family, with one special daughter who combines great practical sense
with rare personal charm. You would certainly not be startled to find
her brought into contact with persons of greater social importance
than her own; and you would be excusably disappointed if she did not
end by securing the most eligible young male in the cast. I feel bound
to add that a perusal of _Anne Lulworth_ (METHUEN) has left me with
these convictions more firm