Nurse Heatherdale's Story. By Mrs. Molesworth. (Macmillan.) —This is a
simple little story, written in Mrs. Molesworth's best style. Sometimes, indeed, her pen carries her a little too far. The old nurse who is supposed to tell the tale could hardly have been such an adept in word-painting as to be the author of the following description :—" Just below us were the rocky bays or creeks the children had told me of, the sand gleaming yellow and white in the sunshine, for the tide was half-way out, though near enough still for us to see the glisten of the foam and the edge of the little waves as they rippled in sleepily. And farther out the deep purple-blue of the ocean, softening into a misty grey, there, where the sky and water met or melted into each other." But this is a fault that it is not difficult to forgive. The story describes the home-life of a family of children in a remote Cornish house. There is a burden of poverty to be borne, and there is a jarring element in the family life, the lad Francis, a boy somewhat of the "misunderstood" type. However, all ends well. Unappreciated virtues are at last discovered and duly honoured, while another discovery of a highly exciting kind removes the other trouble. The story, we should say, purports to be " edited " by one of the ladies of the family; but we cannot suppose that she was ill- advised enough to sew on the "purple patch " which has been given above.
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