Home from India. By John Pomeroy. 2 vols. (Tinsley.)—This is
one of the novels to which a critic finds it difficult to do justice. It is something of a labyrinth, and a labyrinth is apt to try the temper of even the best-tempered of men, especially if he happens to be in a hurry, as critics not uncommonly are. It may seem unfair to complain of the number of characters when these characters are not ill drawn, and of the variety of incidents when those incidents are not improbable or ill placed. But the fact remains that the book, as a whole, does not make any but a most indistinct impression on the mind, while there are some things in it that are much more telling. There is, for instance, the old couple at Liverpool, with their really chivalrous affection for the young girl who has married their worthless son ; there are the three Misses Leyton, old maids of the right sort ; these and other characters are well drawn. In fact, if the writer would not put so many threads into his plot to make it impossible for ordinary readers, he might make a good novel.
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