The name of MADAME YOI PAWLOWSKA is new to me; but if her previous books were anything like so good as _A Child Went Forth_ (DUCKWORTH) I am heartily sorry to have missed them. There have been many books written about childhood, and the end of them is not yet in sight; but I have known none that so successfully attains the simplicity that should belong to the subject. You probably identify the title as a quotation from WALT WHITMAN, about the child that went forth every day, "and the first object that he looked upon, that object he became." The child in the present instance was one _Anna_, who went forth in the Hungarian village where she was born, and saw and became a number of picturesque and amusing things, all of which her narrator has quite obviously herself recalled, and sat down in excellent fashion. I don't want you to run away with the idea that _Anna_ was a good or even a pleasant child. Anything but that. The things she did and said furnished a more than sufficient reason for her father to threaten again and again to send her to school in England. The book ends with the realisation of this, which had always been to _Anna_ as a kind of shadowy horror in the background of life. We are not told which particular English school was favoured with her patronage, nor how she got on there. I was too interested in her career not to be sorry for this omission; and that shall be my personal tribute to her attractions. * * * * * There are few persons who can write love stories with a surer and more tender touch than KATHARINE TYNAN. So I expect that many gentle souls will share my pleasure in the fact that she has just put together a volume of studies in this kind under the amiable title of _Lovers' Meetings_ (WERNER LAURIE). Personally my only complaint about them is that in a short story lovers' meetings mean the journey's end, and I wished to spend a longer time in the society of many of the agreeable characters of Mrs. HINKSON'S studies. Take for example the first--and my own favourite--of the series. There really isn't anything special in it--and yet there is everything. What happened was that _Challoner_, a confirmed bachelor, went to the Dublin quay to see off a friend on the boat to Holyhead. The friend didn't turn up; but a young governess, with whom _Challoner_ had only the slightest previous acquaintance, was going by the boat--so _Challoner_ went with her, and they were married, and lived happy ever after. You may think that this doesn't sound very probable, and perhaps it doesn't; but it is so charmingly told--_Challoner's_ growing delight in the initial mistake that confuses the pair as man and wife is so alluringly developed, and the whole little episode of twenty pages has such a way with it as to take your credulity a willing captive. This was my individual choice; but there are fifteen others of various styles; some mild detective studies, and a