The subtleties of human motives, the fine problems of temperament, the delicate interplay of masculine logic and feminine intuition, what are these compared to blood, thunder, plots, counter-plots, earthquakes and, from the final chaos, the salvage of the "sweetest woman on earth" effected in the nick of time by a herculean and always imperturbable hero? Mr. FRANK SAVILE is not out to analyse souls. The opening chapter of _The Red Wall_ (NELSON) plunges us into a fray, irrelevant to the narrative save in so far as it introduces _Dick Blake_ and _Eileen O'Creagh_ and removes any possible doubt that might ever have been felt as to their respective merits and their mutual suitability. That preliminary complete, we proceed to the real business of the agenda, and momentous, passionate, nefarious, diabolical, mysterious and incessantly exciting business it is, covering the gamut of private emotions and international complications. In such narratives I demand three things: the first, that my author should combine a graphic (and grammatical) style with the professional knack of imparting an air of probability to his tale; the second, that things should go all wrong in the beginning and come all right in the end; the third, that if any German schemers are involved these should be eventually outwitted. Mr. SAVILE has abundantly satisfied me in all particulars; although I incline to carp at the opportuneness with which nature is made to erupt from time to time, and I venture to suggest that men and women never were and are probably never going to be like _Dick_ and _Eileen._ The book is, however, of the sort which is to be read and enjoyed but not considered further. * * * * * _Joe Quinney,_ the curiosity shop man in Mr. HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL'S _Quinneys'_ (MURRAY), is undoubtedly a "card," not unrelated, I should say, to Mr. BENNETT'S _Machen._ He is an entertaining fellow with his enthusiasms, his truculences, his fluctuating standards of honesty. Mr. VACHELL didn't quite get me to believe in _Joe's_ expert knowledge, which indeed seemed to be turned on and off in rather an arbitrary way as the exigencies of the story rather than the development and experience of the character dictated; but he did make me see and like the fellow. _Mrs. Quinney,_ that faithful timid soul, is admirably drawn, both in her courtship and her matronly days. But I found _Quinney_ a little hypocritical in his denunciation of _Miggott_, the chair-faker, who was not really sailing half so close to the wind or so profitably as _Quinney_ and his bibulous friend of a dealer, _Tamlin._ There are some interesting side-lights upon the astonishing tricks of the furniture trade, which are reflected by the authentic experience of the bitten wise. An entertaining and clever book; but why, why should H. A. V. drop from his Hill into the discreditable fellowship of those who have misquoted "honoured in the breach"?