Mother Earth. By Frances Harrod (Frances Forbes-Robertson). (W. Heinemann. 8s.)—Mrs.
Harrod has written a very pretty book. Perhaps this may be said to be faint praise, but it is, we feel sure, the criticism which will occur to the minds of the majority of those who read it. All the characters in the book are good, and they act in the most gentlemanlike and ladylike manner it is possible to imagine. They never, however, bore the reader, —they are far too well bred. When they have no more that is entertaining to say, the chapter comes to an end and the scene shifts. Mrs. Harrod does not attempt to vivisect her creations, or to show the reader much more of their inmost feelings and emotions than he could have observed had he had the good fortune of their acquaintance; but neither, after all, did Miss Austen. The landowner who loves his acres above any woman on earth, and the rich American girl whose heart he wins without at first losing his own, are both charming people to meet for an hour. The clever boy whose first love affair keeps back the action of the story, and the woman whom they all like and nobody loves,
are even more attractively sketched. We wish we knew what became of these last. The book might have been a little longer with advantage.
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