He always found the book-sellers communicative, if not well informed. Many told him that "Jane Eyre" was a well-known mistress of Thackeray's. None of them seemed able to bear the thought of appearing ignorant of anything. It was quite well known, others assured him, that Thackeray had written the review--"in fact, he admitted that he was the author of the review." Some declared that Mr. George Henry Lewes was the author, others said it was Harriet Martineau, and some ventured to say that Bulwer Lytton or Dickens was the critic. These names were given with confidence, and with details of circumstances which seemed to create a probability; but his friend, whom he met daily at the Museum, assured him that they were only wild and absurd guesses. Thus ended one of the strangest adventures within the whole range of literary adventure. Hugh Bronte failed to find the reviewer of his niece's novel, but explored London thoroughly. He saw the queen, but was better pleased to see her horses and talk with her grooms. He saw reviews of troops, and public demonstrations, and cattle shows, and the Houses of Parliament, and ships of many nations that lay near his lodging; and he visited the Crystal Palace and the Tower, and other objects of interest; and when his patience was exhausted and his money spent, he returned to Haworth on his homeward journey. [Illustration: CHARLOTTE BRONTE.] His stay at the vicarage was brief. During his absence, consumption had been rapidly sapping the life of the youngest girl, yet the gentle Anne received him with the warmest welcome, and talked of accompanying him to Ireland, which she spoke of as "home." At parting she threw her long, slender arms round his neck, and called him her noble uncle. Charlotte took him for a walk on the moor, asked a thousand questions, told him about Emily and Branwell, and, slipping a few sovereigns into his hand, advised him to hasten home. On the following day he parted forever from the family that he would have given his life to befriend. No welcome awaited him at home, because he had failed in his mission. He gave to Mr. McKee a detailed account of his adventures in England, but I do not think anyone else ever heard from him a single word regarding the sad home at Haworth. But as long as he lived he regretted his helplessness to avenge the slight put upon his niece, and seemed to look on the miscarriage of his plans as the great failure of his life. Since the foregoing article was put in type Doctor Wright has written to the editor of this magazine announcing that he has discovered the author of the "Quarterly" review. He says: