My faithful "Co." says he has been reading the latest novel by "JOHN
STRANGE WYNTER," called, _The Other Man's Wife_, as the French would
observe, "without pleasure." As a rule he rather enjoys the works of the
Author of _Bootle's Baby_, and other stories of a semi-ladylike
semi-military character; but the newest tale is one too many for him. The
"man" is a mixture of snob and cad,--say "a snad,"--the "other man" a
combination of coward and bully, the "wife" a worthy mate to both of them.
The plot shows traces of hasty construction, otherwise it is difficult to
account for the "man's" intense astonishment at inheriting a title from his
cousin, and the farfetched clearing up of a sensational West-End murder. My
"Co." fancies that the peerage given to the "man," and the _vendetta_ of
the Polish Countess, both introduced rather late in Vol. II., must have
been after-thoughts. However, the end of the story is both novel and
entertaining. The feeble, fickle heroine is made to marry, as her second
husband, the man who (as an accessory after the fact) has been the murderer
of her first! And the best of the joke is--she does not know it! My "Co."
has also been much amused by a brightly-written Novel, in one volume,
called _A Bride from the Bush_. Mr. E. W. HORNUNG evidently knows his
subject well, and has caught the exact tone, or rather nasal twang of our
Australian cousins. My "Co." says that "the Bride" is a particularly
pleasant young person, thanks to her youth, good heart, and beauty.
However, it is questionable--taking her as a sample--whether her "people"
would "pan out" quite so satisfactorily. On the whole it would seem that
Australians who have "made their pile" by buying and selling land are
better at a distance--say as Aborigines!
It is also the opinion of my faithful "Co." that the Clarendon Press series
of _Rulers of India_, has never contained a better volume than the _Life of
Mayo_, a work recently contributed by the Editor, Sir WILLIAM WILSON
HUNTER. Admirably written, the book gives in the pleasantest form
imaginable, a most eventful chapter in the History of Hindostan. But more,
the pages have a pathetic personal interest, as the subject of the memoir
was for many years misunderstood, and consequently, misrepresented. Even
the _London Charivari_ was unfair to the great Earl, but as Sir WILLIAM
hastens to say, "at his death stood first in its generous acknowledgment of
his real dessert, as it had led the dropping fire of raillery three years
before." The author has, by publishing this most welcome addition to a
capitally edited series, added yet another item to the long list of
services he has rendered to our Empire in the distant East.
Since Miss FLORENCE WARDEN'S _House on the Marsh_, says the Baron, I have
not read a more exciting tale than the same authoress's _Pretty Miss
Smith_. It should be swallowed right off at a sitting, for if your interest
in it is allowed to cool during an interval, you may find it a little
difficult to get up the steam to the high-pressure point necessary for the
real enjoyment of a sensational story.