23 OCTOBER 1886, Page 21

A NEAR RELATION.* TirEaz is an ingenious novelty—if one may

venture in these latter days to call anything a novelty—in Miss Coleridge's plot. Two young mothers give birth at the same time, and in the same house, to two children, both of them boys. Their husbands are cousins, one of them a prosperous barrister, the other an extravagant fellow who has misappropiated a sum of money left in his charge. One of the mothers dies, the other is -dangerously ill ; the old nurse who is suddenly called into help meets with a fatal accident ; and, as a result, other circumstances combining, the babies are hopelessly " mixed." No one knows to whom each belongs ; the surviving mother is compelled to own, not without tears, " I do not know my own child ! I cannot—I Lannot tell !" The changing of children at nurse is a sufficiently common incident in fiction ; but the secret comes out in the end ; each is exalted or depressed, as the case may be, to his proper lot. In this story the mystery never can be cleared up. It is seen to be hopeless of solution at a time when solution was most possible, and of course the progress of time does not and cannot clear it up. It is true that years might have brought out an unmistakeable likeness ; and they do bring out hints and suggestions. But the relationship of the fathers complicates the affair ; and as a matter of fact, the children, as they grow up, show, as might very well be the case, perplexing resemblances, on which it is possible to found contra- dictory inferences. The story, then, opens with the statement of this curious confusion, and with the resolve of James Leigh- ton, the prosperous barrister, and his wife, to take the two children, one of whom, with a dead mother and a runaway father, is an utterly destitute orphan, and treat them both as sons, though without attempting to conceal the fact of their doubtful parentage,—having them registered, for instance, at their christening with the two paternal names. As Miss Cole- ridge puts it, her novel is "the history of two children in whose lot there was a strange crook ;" and very well she tells it.

Geoffrey and Alec Leighton, the two twins, as they are

• * A Mar Pelatun. By Chritiabel Colaiige. 3 role. London White and Co.

commonly called, though they know themselves, and other people know, that they are but cousins, grow up with very different tempers and characters. Geoffrey is a clever, deter- mined, self-contained young fellow, who prospers in all that he undertakes ; Alec is a pleasant, easy-going lad, irresolute and extravagant, but every one's favourite. To him the doubt that encompasses his birth is of very little moment. It has practi- cally gone out of people's minds, and he is well content to let it go. But to Geoffrey, even from childhood, it is an ever-present trouble. He loves his father and mother passionately, but with an ever-auspicious jealousy, as he asks himself,—Are they really mine or Alec's ?

As the reader will suppose, the trial comes. The runaway comes back. He has led a blameless life, full of troubles, one of which, the loss of his wife, leaving him with a sickly little child in India, compels him to return to England ; and to return to the very place where his kindred are living, for it is there that the friend who has helped him can find him employment. He hopes to escape without recognition, but Geoffrey, whose suspicions keep his eyes keenly watchful, discovers his identity. The young man feels that the danger which he has been dreading all his life is close at hand, that he will be claimed as the son of a dishonoured father, and resolves to ward it off by any means in his power. Accordingly, he threatens the unhappy man with an information unless he will consent to disappear. We will not follow the story any further. Let it suffice to say that a difficult situation, and one, too, which, though very unlikely, is certainly not impossible, is worked out with much skill. Geoffrey's manifold virtues are exactly those which are apt to fail their possessor when the supreme teat that is to try his unselfishness is applied.

A very pretty and touching love-story is worked in with the tale of Geoffrey Leighton's trial. Dulcie Fordham is as charming a creation as we have found for many a year in fiction. Her bright, girlish gaiety, and her woman's endurance and faith when she finds that her lover has done a grievous wrong, but still holds fast to her belief in his sterling worth, and helps to confirm at last what she believes in, are admirably portrayed. Miss Coleridge is, indeed, particularly strong in love-stories. She throws in, so to speak, two in this novel, and though they are not in the least required for the develop- ment of the plot, we are very glad to have them. The strangely doubtful relationship of Geoffrey and Alec Leighton, and its consequences, are not in the least affected by the question of who is to marry Florence Yenning, and in strict art, perhaps, the reader's attention ought not to be distracted by the new interest. Still, it is an attractive episode which we should he sorry to miss, as we should also be sorry not to hear how the grave Dr. Osgood, "Master of a small College in which he had long held a fellowship," tries, and apparently tries with success, the venturous experiment of marrying a girl of considerably less than half his age. We give, as a sample of Miss Coleridge's powers, part of the scene in which the Master, to whom some busybody has been whispering the suggestion of a prior attach- ment, offers to let his betrothed go free. Touched by his good- ness and kindness, the girl opens her heart to him :-

"' I used to waver about, between being a governess like Flossy Yenning, and making a good match. I knew it was one or the other ! But I never, never did think of you to try to please you. Indeed, I didn't ! And when you came and spoke to Aunt Anne, I thought it was such a wonderful chance that anyone so nice should be the good match—and I was so glad to be settled ! But—.'—' Go on, my dear,' said the Master quietly, as she paused for breath.—' Afterwards I didn't feel so happy ; I felt in a cage ; I thought I had better have been a teacher ! Because I began to find out that you were so good ; I saw what a selfish, worldly girl I was. I did not know what a very good man was like, and, then, to think that I should have married you from mean motives ! And it seemed a great deal of trouble to change for your sake.'—' And shall I open the cage door and set you free ?' said the Master, still quietly.—Then Annie suddenly burst into tears, and running to him seized both his hands in hers. No, no !' she cried ; I want to stay. I love you now, and I will try and be good. It was not that I found I didn't like you, bat that I did—I did ! And it's what I don't deserve for being so double-minded. I thought I should have ever so much to put up with, and there was nothing at all.'—The Master drew her close to him, and she threw her arms round his neck, with a vehement, girlish embrace, such as she had never given him before. My beautiful darling !' be said ; ' I think it would have brokeirmy heart to let you go ; but I would, Annie, for your sake.'—' No, no ! but I wish you were ruined that I might show that I'm honest now.'—' My dear,' said the Master, with a return to his natural, shrewd, gentle manner, I am too old to find the idea of rain at all pleasant. Please God, we'll be very happy without that.' "

The earlier part of the story seems to us to drag a little; but, on the whole, it is quite worthy of the author's reputation and name.