look to it for support. One is glad for many reasons to think that our
American cousins will read this book.

* * * * *

_The Man in the Fog_ (HEATH, CRANTON) is a book that I find exceedingly
hard to classify. Its author, Mr. HARRY TIGHE, has several previous stories
to his credit, all of which seem to have moved the critics to pleasant
sayings. But for my own part I have frankly to confess that I found _The
Man in the Fog_ somewhat wheezy company. The _Man_ of the title was a kind
of Northern Joseph, dismissed from a promising partnership with Potiphar
after a domestic intrigue on the lines of the original. The fog happens
when, years later, he meets the daughter of Mrs. Potiphar returning to her
mother's house, and (at the risk of the poor girl catching her death)
detains her on the front step with foggy allusions to the mysterious past.
I may mention that his own conduct in the interval had been such as I can
only regard as a lamentable relapse from the altitude of the earlier
chapters. But it is all vastly serious--it would perhaps be unkind to say
sententious--and wholly unruffled by the faintest suggestion of comedy. For
which reason I should never be startled to learn that HARRY TIGHE was
either youthful, Scotch, or female (or indeed, for that matter, all three).
In any case I can only hope that he, or she, will not resent my parting
advice to cultivate a somewhat lighter touch, and the selection of such
words as come easily from the tongue. Some of the dialogue in the present
book is painfully unhuman.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "GOD BLESS THE OLD WOMAN! SHE _IS_ THOUGHTFUL. I TOLD 'ER
THERE WAS ICE IN THE TRENCHES THE LARST TIME I WROTE, AND I'M BLEST IF SHE