Hilford-on-Aire. By Martin Weld. (Tinsley Brothers.)—The style of this novel
is good, several of the persons introduced into the story are interesting, and in certain respects the author deserves a fair meed of praise, so that we fool a real regret for his unfortunate choice of a sensation. None at all was necessary ; the cross-purposes of the respective love-stories of the young people at Hilford-on-Aire, very well related, and with enough uncertainty to interest, combined with the pleasant local colour, and the liveliness, which, however, does not attain to humour, that render the book amusing, would have amply sufficed to carry the reader on to the end with feelings towards tho writer more amicable than most novelists excite. By introducing a peculiarly base and heartless sensation, the suicide of the victim on the eve of her betrayer's wedding-day, and the murderous revenge of her brother, who is intended to be, and previously has been depicted as a really noble character, Mr. Weld descends to a very low level indeed, and renders objectionable a novel which, throughout two of its three volumes, is the reverse. Let it be handled in ever so masterly a manner, seduction is an unpleasant theme for fiction, and there is nothing masterly in the handling of it in this particular instance. The picture of Oswald Thane leaving his father's house with his bride (who is ignorant of the discovery that has just been made), escorted by a detective who is to bring him back the next day to attend the inquest on the poor girl whom he has seduced, and who has drowned herself, is one of the most revolting which we recall in modern fiction, and if there be readers who find it to their taste, we can only say that one who can do so much better things as Mr. Weld evidently can do, ought to be above pandering to a taste of the kind.
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