The Log of the Bombastes.' By Henry Frith. (Griffith, Farran,
and Co.)—We have here a sea-story of a familiar kind. Familiar as it is, however, readers do not get weary of it. Even we, whose appetite for this kind of literature is not very keen now that we are well into the "Christmas Book" season, have not found it difficult to get through. Certain midshipmen who have full as many lives as a cat, and a ruffian of a modern buccaneer, a smooth-spoken gentleman who causes ships to be scuttled, are the principal actors. Of course there is a young lady in the case, and there are the usual accompaniments of the various perils that beset the seafarer, calms, storms, pirates, and all the rest. There is, it must be allowed, a certain melodramatic flavour about the whole. The address of the Captain of the Bombastes ' to Sir Randolph Chincough about the sailor only wanting to do his duty, would most infallibly bring down the gallery. But we do not know that the story is the worse for that.
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