writers of fiction. Dukes are as plentiful now in novels
as they are scarce in real life, and very little of the fiction of to-day concerns itself with any one except the first rank in the Peerage or the inhabitants of the shuns, or course, this complaint is as old as "Vanity Fair," and probably a great deal older ; but it is really almost time that the creation of Dukes and Duchesses in fiction should be restricted. Mrs. de la Pasture's novel especially suffers from her having yielded to the temptation of ennobling her hero to this extent, and of making the brother of the heroine a French Marquis, if he likes to claim the title. This apart—and it is a serious objection to a novel as good as Mrs. de la Pasture's —her story is decidedly entertaining, and well calculated to make her readers believe in the loneliness of the heroine's life in London. The book is not quite on the level of "Peter's Mother," hut it is sufficiently amusing to rank among the most pleasing novels of the season.
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