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An old adage warns us never to buy a “pig in a poke.”  Equally good advice for the heroines of fiction or drama would be never under any circumstances to marry a bridegroom in a mask.  In more cases than I can recall, neglect of this simple precaution has led to a peck of trouble.  I am thinking now of Yvonne, leading lady in The Mark of Vraye (HUTCHINSON).  I admit that poor Yvonne had more excuse than most.  Hers was what you might call a hard case.  On the one hand there was the villain Philippe, a most naughty man, swearing that she was in his power, and calling for instant marriage at the hands of Father Simon, who happened to be present.  On the other hand, the gentleman in the mask revealed a pair of eyes that poor Yvonne rashly supposed to belong to someone for whom she had more than a partiality.  So when he suggested that the proposed ceremony should take place during Philippe’s temporary absence from the stage, with himself as substitute, Yvonne (astonished perhaps at her own luck so early in the plot) simply jumped at the idea.  Then, of course, the deed being done, off comes the mask, and behold the triumphant countenance of her bitterest foe, Charles de Montbrison, whom she herself had disfigured as the (supposed) murderer of her brother.  Act drop and ten minutes’ interval.  Need I detail for you the subsequent course of this marriage of inconvenience?  The courage and magnanimity of one side, the feminine cruelty melting at last to love, and finally the inevitable duologue of reconciliation, through which I can never help hearing the rustle of opera-cloaks and the distant cab-whistles.  Charming, charming.  Mr. H.B.  SOMERVILLE has furnished a pleasant entertainment, and one that (like all good readers or spectators) you will enjoy none the less because of its entire familiarity.

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The Flight of Mariette (CHAPMAN AND HALL) is a slender volume, whose simplicity gives it a poignancy both incongruous and grim.  Much of it you might compare to the diary of a butterfly before and whilst being broken on the wheel. Mariette, the jolly little maid of Antwerp, was so tender and harmless a butterfly; and the machine that broke her life and drove her to the martyrdom of exile was so huge and cruel a thing.  How cruel in its effects it is well for us just now to be again reminded, lest, in these days of hurrying horrors, remembrance should be weakened.  To that extent therefore Miss GERTRUDE E.M.  VAUGHAN has done good service in compiling this human document of accusation.  In a preface Mr. JOHN GALSWORTHY pleads the cause of our refugee guests, not so much for charity as for comprehension.  Certainly, The Flight of Mariette will do much to further such understanding.  I think I need only add that half the proceeds of its sale will go to feed the seven million Belgians still in Belgium (prey to the twin wolves of Prussia and starvation) for you to see that three shillings and sixpence could hardly be better used than in the purchase of a copy.