The Fortunes of Richard Mahony (HEINEMANN) is one of those pleasant books in which the hero prospers.  True, the process as here shown is very gradual; so much so that the four hundred odd pages of the present volume only take us as far as “End of Book One.”  Clearly, therefore, Mr. H.H.  RICHARDSON has more to follow; and, as one should call no hero fortunate till his author has ceased writing, it is as yet too early for a final pronouncement upon Richard Mahony.  My own honest impression at this stage would be that he is in some danger of outgrowing his strength.  This pathological phrase comes the more aptly since Richard’s fortune, though begun in the goldfields, was not derived from digging, but from the practice of medicine, and from a lucky speculation in mining stock (I liked especially the description of the day when the shares sold at fifty-three, and Richard “went about feeling a little more than human").  The end of the whole matter, at least the end for the present, is that, with his wife, and what he can get together from the remains of the mining coup, and the sale of a somewhat damaged practice, Richard sets forth for England.  Obviously more turns of fortune are in store there for him and Mary and that queer character, his one-time inseparable, Purdy.  That I anticipate their future with much interest is a genuine tribute to the humanity in which Mr. RICHARDSON has clothed his cast. Richard Mahony, in short, is a real man, whose fortunes take a genuine hold upon one’s attention; though I repeat that I could wish his author had told them less wordily, and—­in one glaring instance—­with a greater respect for the decencies of medical reticence.

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[Illustration:  USING PETROL FOR PLEASURE.

JOY-RIDERS CAUGHT RED-HANDED.]

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LONG-DISTANCE MEDICAL TREATMENT.

    “A telephone massage was received last night by the Scotland
    Yard authorities.”—­Bristol Times and Mirror.