Mr. F. Brett Young's manner of presenting The Tragic Bride (Secker) is not free from affectation, and this is the more irritating because his literary style is in itself admirably unpretentious. But having recorded this complaint I gladly go on to declare that his tale of Gabrielle Hewish has both charm and distinction. I protest my belief in Gabrielle both in her Irish and English homes, but my protest would have been superfluous if Mr. Brett Young had not almost super-taxed my powers of belief. So also with Arthur Payne; he is a fascinating lad, and the battle between his mother and Gabrielle for possession of him was a royal struggle, fought without gloves yet very fairly. All the same I caught myself doubting once or twice whether any boy could at the same time be so human and so inhuman. It is to Mr. Brett Young's credit that these doubts do not interfere with one's enjoyment of his book, and the reason is that he is first and last and all the time an artist.
New Clerk. "Beg pardon, Sir, but there's a gentleman outside who says that you've robbed him of all he had."
Turf Accountant. "Well, what's his name? Ask him to give you his name. How am I to distinguish him if he doesn't send his name in?"