Passion the Plaything, By It. Murray Gilchrist. (Heinemann.) —This is
a curious and almost delirious story of passion which in ordinary life would and in hysteria or madness, suicide or murder. It is a story within a story, both being, it may reasonably be hoped, altogether improbable. Suffice it, however, to say now, that Anne Mompesson does not marry the man she ought— Gabriel Colver, the poet—but a Peer, and that in consequence
she commits suicide. She is a selfish, unreliable woman, and he —well, ho seems oven in his sanest moments to be fit for com- mittal to a lunatic asylum. Altogether this is an unpleasant book, containing far too much in the way of sensuous description. Yet it is plain that the author is not devoid of literary power of a kind, and it may be hoped that some day he will put it to better purpose than he has done here.
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