We must give an especial meed of praise to the spirited style in which the story of Sir William Brereton, who was such an excellent type of the higher class of the Parliamentarian soldier, is told. As the author remarks, to tell the history of his life is to write the record of the Civil war in the north-west of England. This he has told impartially and excellently, and in a style of narrative which can scarcely be too highly commended for its clearness and freedom from inflation. The pages of the work are enlivened by apt poetical quotations, many of them from little known old English poets, which show that Mr. Croston’s reading has been various and extensive. The book should find favour with more than local readers; old Moreton Hall, for instance, is one of those “stately homes of England” in which a national interest is felt; and none who love the quaintly venerable, albeit decayed, mansions of our forefathers, can fail to be grateful to the writer for his graphic and appreciative chapter on one of the most ancient and interesting of them. Moreton Hall[12] is almost peculiar for its wealth of rich carving and mouldings, from the entrance, with its two side-posts, each carved to represent a soldier bearing a partisan, to the beautiful little chapel, now, alas! degraded to the service of a cattle-shed, lumber, storehouse, and such base uses. In the “long gallery,” which our author compares to the banquetting-room at Haddon Hall, are two draped figures of Fate and Fortune, admirably illustrating the difference between two terms frequently confounded with each other. Fate bears a sword, with which she pierces a globe above her head, and the inscription beneath is: “The speare of destinye whose ruler is knowledge;” while opposite to her is Fortune, blindfolded, pointing to her wheel, and her motto is: “The wheele of Fortune whose rule is ignorance.” This part of the mansion also gathers additional interest from the tradition that “Good Queen Bess” condescended to dance in the gallery, while on a visit to Moreton Hall during one of her royal progresses. If this be true, it is very possible that her visit may have contributed to the decline rather than to the exaltation of the family; for to have a Tudor sovereign as a guest was, in those days, much the same kind of undesirable honour as the gift of a sacred white elephant from the Burmese king to some subject whom he delights to honour--and to ruin. Witness the clean sweep which the royal Dame contrived to make of the riches of Kenilworth, when Leicester’s Earl paid so dearly for a glance from royal eyes.