The Patrol of the Sun-Dance Trail. By Ralph Connor. (Hodder
and Stoughton. 6s.)—In reading "Ralph Connor's" latest novel, we have found ourselves wishing a hundred times that hie men and women would not explain to us, by meare of casual conversations, the state of affairs in Western Canada; would not, in fact, talk throughout like stage players. A certain amount of rhetoric must, of course, be allowed to the adventurers of this class of fiction, but here is a falseness unworthy of the writer's powers. " ' No,' said Martin. with his hand upon Cameron's heart. 'Bring water. You can't loosen his fingers till he revives. The blow that knocked him senseless set those fingers as they are, and they will stay set till released by returning consciousness.'" It seems such a pity; for "Ralph Connor" haa, as usual, a capital story to tell, and has written a circumstantial account of the rising of Indian tribes which has plenty of thrill and plenty of love interest. So often is the hero saved from sudden death, so often does the heroine prove her mettle, that our heart is, figuratively speaking, never out of our mouth : yet the book is tarried far above the level of pure melodrama by the sense of purpose and of personal experience running through its adventures.
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