The Times.—'It has many things to recommend it. Miss Glasgow has written a clever and interesting book. Her characters are all alive. She suggests their Southern States environment with a vivid pen. Her negroes are capital. A story dealing even lightly with politics that permits itself to be read is a rarity. Miss Glasgow has achieved the difficult task, and the latter part of her book, which is the political part, is, if anything, the more interesting.'
ned their doors to wounded foes while the battle raged through their streets, succouring while they resisted. They lived easily and they died hard, but when death came they met it, not in grim Puritanism, but with a laugh upon the lips. They made a joy of life while it was possible, and when that ceased to be, they did the next best thing and made a friend of death. Long ago theirs had been the first part in Virginia, and, as they still believed, theirs had been also the centre of all things. Now the high places were laid low, and the greatness had passed as a trumpet that is blown. Kingsborough persisted still, but it persisted evasively, hovering, as it were, upon the outskirts of modern advancement. And the outside world took note only when it made tours to historic strongholds, or sent those of itself that were adjudged insane to the hospitable shelter of the asylum upon the hill.
It was afternoon, and Kingsborough was asleep.
Along the verdurous, gray lanes the houses seemed abandoned, shuttered, f