Cecil's Tryst. By the Author of "Lost Sir 'Massingberd." 3
vols. (Tinsley.)—This is a novel which the author very probably would like
the critics to leave alone, that is to say, if their criticism is to extend, as
it commonly and, for the most part, rightly does, to a discussion of the plot. For Cecil's Tryst is a tale which a reader would absolutely spoil
for himself by an impatient peeping into the third volume. We shall, therefore, content ourselves with saying that the story is ingeniously constructed, and does not seem to no, though opinions will probably
differ upon this point, absolutely beyond the line of probability. Apart from its merits or demerits on this score, we may say that it is cleverly and smartly written throughout, though with a strange want of taste showing every now and then through the cleverness. Here is a passage utterly spoilt by the repulsive conceit with which it concludes :—
"The autumn was far advanced, and nature wore that pathetic look of beauty which is peculiar to that epoch,—the same quiet grace of fare- well that is sometimes seen in the faces of the dying. The wind, even
on the sand-cliff, did but whisper, and when we descended into the vale, was hushed. There was no sound in the moist air except that of the stream, that seemed to sorrow for the loss of summer, as it swept the banks no longer marked with flowers. Its broadest part ran through. an apple-orchard, the scanty leaves of which, like tempted innocence, were blushing before their fall."
But, on the whole, we can recommend Cecil's Tryst to readers who like a sensation without offence.
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