Joyce. By Pauline Biddulph. (Griffith and Farran.)—This neat, unmeaning, ladylike
little story, which has been made into a presentable ono-volume tale by moans of a wastefully liberal margin and very large type, is written by a young lady who has evidently taken to writing as she has probably taken to lawn-tennis, because it is "the thing to do," and without any notion that gifts of a distinct order are required for the one occupation more than for the other. The author prefixes a long -"dedication" of her story to her" cousin and namesake, Paulina Curteie," in which she makes the cousin accountable for the book, and adds a foot-note explaining that one copy of the manuscript was lost, a dr- tumstance in no way interesting to the reader. There is no harm at all in the story, which is all about a young lady named Joyce, who lives in stately solitude with her grandpapa and grandmama, Lord and Lady Baskorville, the former a very high and mighty peer indeed, whose troth for seclusion was fortunate, as he would hardly have found real people in the outer world inclined to put up with so preposterous a person. Joyce is taken to Spa, under the most unexceptionable eironmstanoee, and there she meets a nobIo being, Herbert Byrig, whom she marries, much to the reader's satisfaction. The following is an average specimen of the composition and the interest of the production. Joyce is going to a ball :—
" Of course, Joyce was much excited at the prospect of this ball, and looked forward to it immensely. Yes, you look very nice,' said Lady Baskerville, coming into the bedroom, where Joyce stood ready dressed for the ball. Yos, isn't it a lovely dress I' exclaimed Joyce brightly ;
I think it does Aunt Polly credit." It suits you so well, ma'am,' .said one of the maids, who was putting the finishing touches to the equipment of Miss Baskerville ; and smiling, she continued, I'm sure, my lady, our young lady will be admired to-night, whatever the others are.' It was a lovely dress, soft white tulle, veiling gleaming .white silk, with a trimming of whit° roses. Joyce is too colourless to wear all whito,' decided Mrs. Gordon, wisely ; and indeed, the pink ribbon round her neck, and the roses nestling in her brown hair, made all tho difference ; eho looked almost pretty,—pretty, as most young ..girle will always look when dressed for a
The only sentiment that Joyce awakens in the mind of the reader is -wonder that any ono, even the youngest of young ladies, can possibly have thought this kind of thing worth writing twice over.
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