FIVE NEW NOVELS.

M*. James Prior's heroins in ll Heme " (Hutchinson and Co.) is hardly dealt with, and that without reason or provocation. Her parents went through the marriage ceremony somewhat tardily, it is true ; still it took place six months before she was born. They found it prudent at the tawe not to betray their responsibility, so the child was placed with a discreet nurse. But, in after years, al) knowledge of her parentage is kept from her, anq for this prolonged concealment there is no justification at ail. Her parents married so that she might be legitimate, no other child is born to them* and there is no good reason why they should not own JEtenie. She grows up, however, in utter ignorance of her history "until, at the age of seventeen (amid some confusion of tenses and awkwardness of style on the part of her historian), she ia made Queen of the May. Then she becomes curious, hears a Dissenting minister preach, and finds a pocket handkerchief belonging to him t!j%t pqnvipces her that he is her long-lost father, Bhe is perfectly right, and since she has no strawberry mark on her left arm we admire her astuteness. She goes to see Mr. Millar, for sq her parent is called, but he disowns her, ftn.d so does her aunt, while her mother, who, be it said, is not aware of the interview, has at least q. more than usual share of resignation. With the help of a friendly lawyer, Itenie at last forces her unnatural father to recognise her, but it does her no good, since she dies of starvation at the precise moment that her repentant mother comes knocking at her door. All this is apparently done to lead up to the last scene, which we imagine the author meant to be very fine. Heme's father is in the pulpit, finishing up an eloquent sermon to a rapt congregation with the words : — " 'Ay, bat the time comes, is now at hand, ■when ' *' - Down from that pulpit, Clarence Millar, down from that pulpit ! ' " The vqice was not loud, but most avrfully distinct. He looked down; his wire looked up, with a face like a stone. His head reeled, bis stomach heaved. as though he were falling from a height ; he clutched the rim of the read in j; desk, and held on for deuJife. The congregation eat like images of terror. There was no sound but the remorse less voice. M ' Your child and mine whom we have hidden away these eighteen years is dead ; starved to death. You have murdered her. and I have abetted you. Come down, Clarence Millar.' "That said she walked forth as she had come, slowly, her fare like a stone.*' Then the wicked father " cast bis despairing eyes about him ; his face was grey, of the most cowardly...