Some Books of the Month. 



477 



so that we can see life through the eyes 

 of a Greek fisher-boy in the time when Plato 

 was a youth. We touch the quay of the 

 great harbour of the Piraus, see the dawn 

 coming, the blue of the sea and the purple 

 of the far-oft hills of .'\tiica, just as the 

 spear-top of .Athena, which crowns the Acro- 

 polis, gives the sign of the rise of the sun and 

 the dazzle and splendour of the coming day. 

 We hear the sound of oars in roUocks as the 

 giant war-trireme passes, we go up the wonder- 

 ful wall-lined road which leads straight to 

 Athens, join the throng in the morning market 

 of the great city, hear the last new byword, 

 watch the chattering of buyer and seller, and see 

 and hear the philosophers and aristocrats who 

 deliver their wisdom or sparkle with humorous 

 jesting. We taste the red mullet, the olives 

 and the honey of Hymettus, rub garments with 

 Socrates, and listen to a barber quoting 

 Euripides. 



The story itself, with every tragedy which can 

 follow on the trail of Love, takes but a few 

 days, yet ends with the death of hero and 

 heroine. 



Monsieur and Madame des Lourdines, and 

 Anlhime, their only son, never existed save in 

 the fertile brain of the gifted artist who created 

 them. 



OF THE OLD SCHOOL.* 



It would be a task worth doing, for those who 

 have leisure, to take the interesting " remem- 

 brances," of which we have several published 

 this month, and collate the various references to 

 old times, irrespective of personalities. Sir 

 Alfred Turner has seen things with the eye of a 

 soldier, so he remembers best the Hoggings and 

 brutalities of earlier days, whether the schoolboy 

 or the soldier were the recipient. 



Sir Alfred's schoolday reminiscences are very 

 pleasant, but the great value of his book lies in 

 the story of his connection with Gordon and 

 Ivgypt, and in the many years he spent in 

 Ireland under Lord Spencer's administration ; 

 the result of what he saw then convincing him 

 that the Irish are right in demanding Home 

 Rule of some kind. 



The Keynote, by Alphonse de ChSteaubriant 

 (llodder and Stougliton). "Monsieur des 

 Ivourdincs." which gained the Prix de Goncourt, 

 aw.irded annually for the greatest piece of 

 l""rench imaginative writing of the year, has 

 been trimslalcd into English by Lady Theodora 

 Davidson under the abf)ve title. In its delicate 

 and careful characterisation and absence of plot 

 it is akin to Flaubert's " Un co-ur simple," and 

 the rcnflcr is held spellbound until he closes the 

 book with a sigh, hardly able to realise that 



WEDMORE'S MEMORIES.* 



Of making books there is no end, yet 

 who would wish to make an end of such 

 delightful " memories " as this month's pub- 

 lishing has brought us? Links with the past 

 such as these are a joy to those who have left 

 their youth behind them, and a valuable source 

 of information for those who have not, like Sir 

 F. Wedmore, had the chance of seeing Kate 

 Terry, Ellen Terry, and Mrs. Kendal act to- 

 gether in a burlesque ; listened to Charles 

 Dickens whilst he read "The Chimes"; or 

 talked with " I'oncle Sarcy. " Sarcy it was who 

 said to Sir Frederick, " Dites done ! Chez 

 vous en Angleterre, vous n'avez pas de Th^Stre, 

 n'est ce pas? " but who, coming to England, 

 found that we had Irving. 



But it is not only the stage about which we 

 get such happy glimpses. Sir Frederick heard 

 Liddon, Boyd Carpenter, Stopford Brooke, Wil- 

 berforce, Jowett, Ward Beecher, and many 

 another great preacher, and tells us here how 

 their w'ords struck him. 



It was not a preacher, however, but Sir James 

 Knowles who told him the story of Queen Vic- 

 toria and Lady Southampton, who, by reason of 

 age, long-proved devotion, and reciprocated 

 friendship, was privileged to talk of many 

 things, and who one day said to Her Majesty : — 



" Do not you think, ma'am, one of the satUfactions of 

 the Kuture Slate will be, not only our reunion with those 

 whom we have loved on Karlh, but our opportunities of 

 seeing face to face so many of the noble figures of the 

 I'ast — of other lands and times? Uible limes, for 

 instance. Abraham will be there, ma'am; Isaac too, 

 and Jacob. Think of what they will be like ! And the 

 sweet singer of Israel. He, too. Ves, ma'am. King 

 David we shall see." And, after a moment's silence, 

 with perfect dignity and decision, the great Queen made 

 answer, " 1 will not meet David ! " 



* Sixty Years of a Soldier's Life. By 

 Alfred Turner. (Methuen. las. 6d. net.) 



Sir 



'TWAS SEVENTY YEARS AGO. 



Nut another link with the past is The Battle 

 of Life of K. Kebhcl (I-'isher Unwin. los. 6d. 

 net), in which from his own seventy years' 

 experience and that of his contemporaries he 

 brings before us, as only a practised writer can 

 do, pictures of the country in those far-olT days 

 when railways were not and turnpikes demanded 

 toll from the wayfarer. Mr. Kebbel's father 

 was a Leicestershire vicar, and the boy, living 

 in a county where schoolboys always had holi- 



*Mcmorics of Frederick ll'edniore. (Methuen. 

 7s. ()d. net.; 



