and we fear that Mr. Howe's unexpected success with his first novel a success due partly to its curious and unusual tone, partly to a certain unconscious pathos, and partly to one of the bursts of enthusiasm in which Mr. Howells, the critic, allows the literary likings of Mr. Howells, the individual, so free expression will bring him disappointment in the end. He does not fail, however, to achieve from time to time a telling bit of description, as when the hero "always thought of Barton's home as a disagreeable boardinghouse, which he could not get rid of, and where he was compelled to pay not only his own board, but the board of all the other guests, although they were not congenial." Moreover, Mr. Howe shows good taste and judgment in quitting the subject of ugly crimes and desperate melancholy, and in modifying very considerably his imitation of Dickens. Miss Ludington's Sister, Mr. Bellamy's charming and very original story, reviewed a few years since in the OVERLAND, is still another republication in this series; but Damen's Ghosts we take to be a new story. It is by the author of "Agnes Surriage," but the writer, not having an excellent historic plot ready to his hand this time, has made one for himself out of the legal complications attending the ownership of a piece of real property in New York city. It is worked out in a careful manner and without any serious fault of taste or style; but it is rather dull, and it does not give one much feeling of reality in its characters; nor can one's sense of justice altogether go with the apparent sympathies of the writer in the matter of the law-suit, wherein there seems to have been some equity on both sides.

Flag on the Mill is another new novel that needs no extended notice. The title refers to the signaling of a ship in the bay by a flag on the wind-mill, for the hero is a seacaptain, and the re-appearance of his ship

1 Miss Ludington's Sister. By Edward Bellamy. Boston: Ticknor & Co. 1887.

2 Damen's Ghost. By Edwin Lasseter Bynner. Boston: Ticknor & Co. 1887.

3 Flag on the Mill. By Mary B. Sleight. New York: Funk & Wagnalls. 1887.

from time to time, after successive voyages, is the event of the story. It is a gentle, wellbred, old-fashioned book, in which friendship and homely duty play quite as much part as love; and if it contains nothing for which a critical person need desire to read it, neither does it contain anything to make him warn anyone else against doing so. A Princess of Java is likewise a story of no importance, but takes a certain interest and air of originality from its novel subject. The "local color" of Java seems to be put in by one who knows her subject; but the Javanese girls themselves talk and think remarkably like American ones. The story is the oldfashioned one of love versus parental authority, set in surroundings of Mohammedan harem and Javanese forest, and is very innocent and simple in its spirit. There is enough of Javanese geography, customs, products, and so on, worked in to give it a certain value as a lightly instructive treatise. The World's Verdict, also, may be passed over without extended notice. It is a sufficiently readable, intelligently written story of dilettant Americans living abroad and enjoying themselves in the society apparently not too rigid in its standards of similar unoccupied people. The author records a mild protest against this method of life by having his hero and heroine fall in love with earnest people outside their social lines, and throw the conventionalities over to wed and go to work; but it is all rather ineffective, and has a youthful sound — youthful not as "Aunt Serena" is youthful, by a surplus of young ardor and faith, but rather by that thinness of thought and feeling that seem rather oftener than the other mood to indicate youth's emotional power.

In Button's Inn we think Judge Tourgee has made some decided improvements of

4 A Princess of Java. By Mrs. S. J. Higginson. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, & Co. 1887. For sale in San Francisco by The Bancroft Co.

5 The World's Verdict. By Mark Hopkins, Jr. Boston Ticknor & Co. 1888. For sale in San Francisco by John W. Roberts & Co.

6 Button's Inn. By Albion W. Tourgee. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1887. For sale in San Francisco by Samuel Carson & Co.

method upon his earlier novels. These always showed a degree of conscientious effort to reproduce life, instead of merely to construct a story; and the author evidently, tried hard to be fair to political opponents. But a partisan himself, and dealing with subjects upon which partisan feeling was intense, and upon which he himself had ground for personal bitterness, he could not bring his stories into the region of faithful and artistic studies from nature. Moreover, he was inexperienced and crude as regards matters of construction and expression. In this last respect he has decidedly improved; and as Button's Inn is written with a purely artistic motive, he is not hampered by political bias. Unfortunately for good ideals of the novelist's art, a book that can catch attention by false means, by what is roughly called "sensational" quality, is safe to bring in more money and praise than much sounder merit that still falls short of really high excellence. The lasting place in men's praise, and usually the best revenues, too, are won by the virtues of books; but if a writer is not able to produce more than fairly good ones, he is unfortunately apt to find that they are better recommended by their faults The campaign document quality — which was a real fault -in Judge Tourgee's earlier novels made him a success; the really better literary quality of this latest book, not being after all enough to demand admiration, will probably win him scant attention. It is a somewhat conscientious study of the lives of some plain people in western New York at the period the author explains in a preface when the epoch of religious speculation in rural neighborhoods was giving place to the epoch of material interests. How far the author is right in his theory of these two epochs we do not know; the study is at all events careful and interesting. It includes some psychology of early Mormonism.

Miss Phelps's The Gates Between1 adds one more to the strange, imaginative studies - at once spiritual and passionate of love

1 The Gates Between. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.

Boston Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1887. For sale in San Francisco, by Strickland & Pierson.

and death and the mystery beyond death that so fascinate her pen. It is impossible not to be moved by these; it is probable that there are few books over which more contained and experienced people shed tears. It is surprising to find the same fervor and freshness of one emotion, one longing, so retained year after year in a human mind, and constantly expressed afresh, undiminished. It is years since "The Gates Ajar" appeared; but ever since Miss Phelps has been the prophetess of love when it reaches out arms into the darkness where the beloved disappeared, straining eyes to pierce it, until it makes out of its own yearning a picture of the other side. With a singular union of daring speculation and religious faith, she constructs visions of a hereafter such as human hearts ache for, and with passionate conviction places these before readers as at least probable suggestions of what is to come. As in other kinds of writing, her fervor sometimes overbears her sense of proportion and of humor, and she draws situations at which the inexperienced in sorrow sometimes smile; but these slips never prevent her books being profoundly touching to the experienced. Moreover, her intelligence, her education, and her own firm conviction, enable her to avoid sharp clashes with what we know to be impossible, and make one ashamed to question how the spiritual hand that cannot make itself felt on a human shoulder can take hold upon newspapers, or leave its mark upon a blotter; or a hundred other more uncomfortable questions that her ardently idealized materialism raises. It is impossible to tell, however, where she intends symbolism to end and realism to begin. The Gates Between is in a sterner mood than former books, and holds out, to some extent, the threats of the law against those who do not cultivate faith in God, humility, and disinterestedness on this earth. It threatens them with a very hard and lonely time in learning to be happy, or respected, or of any use, in heaven; and it certainly shows with remarkable force the situation of the worldlyminded man of success there as miserable enough to make a very sufficient purgatory.

In Knight Errant the art of Edna Lyall seems to drop a little below her former work. Through all the smooth and fervid charm of the flowing story there are intrusions of rough and even awkward passages. The circumstances do not cohere, or the ingenuity of the reader is called upon to supply what the author has not written. Occasionally the stage machinery of the plot is obvious, and sometimes creaking is heard. But if, as some hold, art is to be measured solely by its effect, and the noticeability of its methods is to be disregarded, or rather lost in the effect, Knight Errant may be fairly placed beside her "We Two" and "Donovan." Like them it traces up to the ideal, which is so rarely seen in life that when seen it becomes historical. Like them it is steeped in such noble enthusiasm that the hours of its reading are dream moments, from which one awakes at the close with a half sigh in returning to common life. The story is of a young man who attempts to lead in all things the life of the Crucified. The difficulty of such a story is heightened by mobilizing the hero in an Italian of twenty years ago and an opera singer. It opens by depicting him, at the moment of assuming his family profession, as a handsome young Neapolitan, an idol of society, the heir-apparent to great wealth, a worthy possessor of friendship, and the accepted lover of one whom every reader will love. But his sister had eloped years ago to marry a theatrical director, and at this moment re-appears, as about to betray her husband for the baritone of his troupe. Carlo Donati perceives that he can save her only by offering himself as the baritone in place of her lover, and traveling with her in the troupe until the safe time comes for her, if indeed it can ever come. To do this, he loses his profession, his fortune, and his love. He can retain only one friend, and must be parted indefinitely from him. Worst of all, the sister, who is made of nothing better than poor moral jelly, does not really care to be saved, and treats him as an intruder upon her life. To all others this

1 Knight Errant. By Edna Lyall. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1887.

costly pursuit which he purchases with himself seems mere knight-errantry; to him it is what he cannot and would not avoid. Over and over again he is compelled to make the one preference. Each good thing in his life comes by itself to be retained or renounced, and is renounced in its turn. Succeeding years bring up successive crucial temptations, but his purpose remains steadfast. Each temptation as it appears and disappears is a turn of beautiful kaleidoscopic life. The idea of self-abnegation, which we have thought to be so trite, comes out in fresh, durable color. And it is always worth while to be reminded, whether by thinking or by reading, that this is the only life that has any contents.

Seth's Brother's Wife is hardly a pleasant book, but it is one of considerable strength and skill. Except in the disagreeable — and we must think exaggerated dialect of the central New York rustics, it has no touch of crudity, though we believe it is a first book. Its situation is daring, and the temptations of a young man and an indiscreet woman are more frankly treated than we are accustomed to in English; yet there is nothing indelicate about it, and the whole motive and lesson of the book is toward uprightness and virtue. Its incidental political situations are far better managed than in any one of the several novels that have heretofore tried to deal with the present situation. In many details of construction- the introduction of minor characters, the keeping of due proportion between important and unimportant incidents, and so on a steady and competent hand is apparent. We shall find an interest in noting whether farther work over the same signature comes up to the expectation justified by this book.

The book just noticed was first introduced to the public as a magazine serial. So also was Paul Patoff. This is generally a pretty safe recommendation for a book: the few

2 Seth's Brother's Wife. By Harold Frederic New York Charles Scribner's Sons, 1887. For sale in San Francisco by Samuel Carson & Co.

& Paul Patoff; By F. Marion Crawford. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, & Co. 1887. For sale in San Francisco by Chilion Beach.

leading magazines are several shades more fastidious in their acceptance of novels than even the most fastidio s publishing house as they can afford to be, since out of all that are offered only three or four annually can be accepted. Paul Patoff, like two or three other stories published serially by Mr. Craw ford, is decidedly better than those we have seen first in book form. It ought to be accepted as settled by this time that Mr. Crawford is very uneven, and occasionally writes an admirable thing, and occasionally an incredibly weak one; that he is not to be looked to for any of the wonderful achieve ments in letters that were prophesied by the ardent critics who are so ready to cry, "Lo, here," and "Lo, there," as they watch for the coming novelist; but that any new volume from his pen may be taken up with a decided preponderance of hope over fear. Paul Patoff is by no means the best thing Mr. Crawford has done; but it is a well written romance, interesting as a narrative, and pleasant reading as a piece of good English. For its being a romance rather than a novel he puts the often put argument gracefully and not without force and originality: "My true stories are all sad, but the ones I imagine are often merry. Could I not think of one true and gay as well? There was once a bad old man, who said that when the truth ceased to be solemn it became dull. Be tween solemnity and dullness you would not find what you want, which, I take it, is a little laughter, a little sadness, and when it is done the comfortable assurance of your own senses that you have been amused and not bored. The bad old gentleman was right. Whenever our lives are not filled with great emotions, they are crammed with insignificant details, and one may tell them ever so well, they will be insignificant to the end. But the fancy is a great store-house filled with all the beautiful things that we do not find in our lives. My dear friend, if true love were an every day phenomenon, experienced by everybody, it would cease to be in any way interesting; people would be so familiar with it that it would bore them to extinction. . . . It is because only one

man or woman in a hundred thousand is personally acquainted with the sufferings of truelove fever, that the other ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine take delight in observing the contortions and convulsions of the patient. It is a great satisfaction to them to compare the slight touch of ague they once had when they were young, with the raging sickness of a breaking heart; to see a resemblance between the tiny scratch upon themselves which they delight in irritat. ing, and the ghastly wound by which the tortured soul has sped from its prison. To tell the truth, they are not so very much to blame. Even the momentary reflection of love is a good thing; at least it is better than to know nothing of it. One can fancy that a violin upon which no one had ever played would yet be glad to vibrate faintly in unison with the music of a more favored neighbor." Paul Patoff is, as thus foreshadowed, a tale avoiding both the tragic sadness and the dullness of realism by the easy expedient of strange adventures. It is all told, however, in simple, quiet, veracious manner, and there is an assumed thread of psychological study of insanity running through it — the scientific value of which, remembering Mr. Crawford's historic erudition in "Zoroaster," and political in "An American Politician,” we take the liberty of doubting. the action takes place in Stamboul, which gives room for some effective orientalism.

Most of

The Second Son1 is really the best novel in substance, and the most workmanlike in manner, of any before us this month. The dual authorship raises an interesting question as to how much is Mrs. Oliphant's work and how much Mr. Aldrich's ; but well known as both hands were before in separate work, it is impossible to distinguish them here. It can only be said that the joint result is stronger than Mr. Aldrich's wont, and more graceful than Mrs. Oliphant's. The story has much interest, and the characters are drawn with clear and firm lines, and each successive scene is admirably managed; but the quality that to

1 The Second Son. By M. O. W. Oliphant and T. B. Aldrich. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, & Co. 1888. For sale in San Francisco by The Bancroft Co.

us seems the most valuable in the book is a sort of permeating accent of high intelligence, a thoughtful, wise, and fair attitude toward life, a perception of its intricacy, its mystery, its possibilities of misery and of happiness, and its vastness. Whenever a novelist seems to bring to his readers, with their sight of his group of characters and their fates, some

perception, also, of these as fractions in the infinite and incomprehensible whole of human life, we are disposed to grant his work some touch, however faint and partial, of that quality that we call greatness.

Several important translations remain to be noticed; but these we must postpone until next month.

THE long and strenuous struggle that the Copyright League has for years been making in behalf of an honest system of international copyright, has been allowed to pass with very little attention on this coast, because there is really no book-making interest here. An occasional book is published, but for the most part the abundant literary impulse of California has gone into periodical writing, or has been tributary to Eastern publishers. The bearing of copyright laws upon this coast is a matter of the future. But the future ought to be considered and provided for. Nor can it be a matter of indifference to any good citizen that our country should remain in a discreditable position. Senator Chace's bill, now before Congress, is accepted by the League, and, so far as we have seen, by all competent to judge in the matter, as entirely satisfactory; and for the sake of our own future, of present justice to writers in England and in other sections of our own country, and of the national good name, the writers and journals of this coast should use such effort as they can to aid the passage of the bill.

THE discovery has lately been made that but a small per cent of the women who have graduated from colleges in this country are married, and the question of the effect of college learning upon domestic life seems about to be as gravely discussed as was the now dead one of its effect upon feminine health. The Vassar catalogue is the text oftenest quoted, but Vassar is only one college, and it is better to take the register of the Association of Collegiate Alumnæ, which contains the names of 659 women, graduates of the fourteen leading women's colleges and co-educational colleges in this country. Of these women, 177 are married, less than 27 per cent of the whole. "If only 27 per cent of the girls who go through college are to marry," people ask, “is not domestic life being sacrificed to higher education? Is the gain equal to the loss? And why is it? Does intellectual training reduce the emotional powers, leaving women indifferent to love and maternity? Does it rouse ambition, making them eager to take part in the struggle of

business and professional life? Or is it only that it raises their standards of marriage, making them more exacting judges of men, and unwilling to marry merely for home and support and escape from spinsterhood; while at the same time their increased ability to achieve for themselves independence and a position of honor releases them from the need of such half-hearted marriage? Is the reduction in their marriage rate, in short, more than would be produced by the elimination of unhappy and mercenary marriages from the average rate? And if this is so, is it a bad thing? Is the increased life and health rate in the children of college women [about two per cent, we believe] and the increased proportion of wise and happy marriages a sufficient compensation for the loss in total number? Or was the late Reverend William M. Baker right in teaching that "any husband was better than no husband?" Or, on the other hand, is it all a matter of no option with the girls, and due to a dislike of learned women on the part of men? and if so, is this because the higher education really makes them worse wives and mothers, or because men are vain and still largely imbued with the Oriental idea of women, desiring to companion with inferior minds, that they may be looked up to and deferred to? And is this a permanent or a transition state? Have the early college women, who were compelled to struggle against exasperating opposition and misrepresentation to get their intellectual rights, developed defiant traits that will disappear before generous recognition? Or will men learn to desire a more equal partnership as the happier in the long run?"

SUCH questions as these we have, in our turn, considered. We were able to make at least some tentative answers to them. This much we could pretty positively say: Any extended personal acquaintance with educated women, as with educated men, shows that the emotional nature tends to grow with the cultivation of the intellectual, but at the same time to become less hasty and uncontrolled. Feelings are deeper, but based more upon sound judgment. Partly