io6 JUNE 



remark which stung the resentful Elizabeth. And 

 this explains the whole book. 



Here is a woman, young and lovely, though 

 somewhat lacking in perfection of nasal organ, 

 condemned by her Bluebeard of a husband to live 

 in a remote Schloss sorely against her will. The 

 unfortunate lady immediately becomes a cynic, and 

 professes contempt of worldly enjoyments. But 

 revenge is sweet, and in her case necessary to 

 her well-being, so she sits down to write a book 

 which will proclaim her wrongs abroad. In this 

 book she wreaks her vengeance on society, on her 

 friends both present and absent, on her insentient 

 furniture, on her servants (except the one whom 

 she likes nearly as much as her sundial), on her 

 governess, and even on her husband. She employs 

 as her vehicle the form of the New Fiction as 

 more likely to attract attention than the old, for 

 if she had put her experiences into an ordinary 

 novel, the circulation might have been limited to 

 a paltry five hundred or so. But Elizabeth knew 

 better than to do this, and the result is exactly 

 as she anticipated, for everybody has a bowing 

 acquaintance with her, and everybody is devoted 

 to her. She has a real live charm such as is 

 seldom found in the mere heroine of fiction, and 

 I will gladly read every word which it may enter 

 her capricious head to write, no matter on what 

 subject she may choose to discourse us. 



A totally different book is Mr. Alfred Austin's 

 Garden that I Love, for while Elizabeth gives us, 

 or pretends to give us, all her inmost thoughts, 

 Mr. Austin bestows upon us as many treasures of 



