interwoven with the beauties that compose this story of the "Two Brides," some of those mistaken views of life to which allusion has already been made; some of those perversities that so frequently marred the effect she aimed at producing. We discover the random-shafts and the two-edged swords of argument that so often administer a heedless wound just as the willing soul has been "lapped in Elysium." There are a few sarcasms and sentiments delivered by the author in person that would have fallen better from one or two of the characters of her story. They would have told admirably in dialogue, but they have "no business there," as forming a portion of the author's feelings and reflections. By this error a beauty here and there is converted into a blemish. It must also be owned that though there is no perceptible effort or straining at effect, either in the conversational or the narrative parts of the story, there is observable in both, occasionally, a fondness for saying fine things and for epigrammatic point of expression—to the sacrifice of propriety and truth. But even in these minor respects the work is most advantageously contrasted with all else she has written in prose. The whole course and character of it shows that she had written it with matured powers, and an increased "feeling of moral responsibility."
The story is a love story—a phrase that means much or little; in the present instance is included in it much that belongs to its sweetest and loftiest signification. We think of it, after we have read, and seem to have grown older, more observant, and more experienced, in a few hours. This is the natural effect of the truth with which the author has treated some of the greatest of human pas-
