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Somewhere in his interesting and once places the work. E. P. Dutton valuable "The Inner Life of the & Co. United States," His Highness Monsignor Count Vay de Vaya and Luskod Only the other day some one was remarks that he himself wonders at lamenting that space for great explorathe number of notes which he made tion no longer remained on the surface during his visits to the United States, of the earth, but the would-be historian and seems inclined to attribute his may yet find centuries of unoccupied performance to the contagion of Amer- space wherein to disport himself, and ican “strenuousness"; and the bulk of even huge bulks of new materials, his book is imposing. To Americans Here is Mr. William Miller's "The Latthe work gives the desired gift of see- ins in the Levant," a history of Franking themselves as others see them, and ish Greece, 1204-1566. Forty years ago in this case the seer was alien by the book could not have been written, birth, by religion, and by sympathy, for even its dry bones were hidden in but accustomed to observe, to con- the archives of Venice, Naples, Palermo trol and to guide, accustomed to feel and Barcelona. Now that these are the responsibility both of the pastor, opened to scholars the plain story is and of the functionary who reports to clear enough, but Mr. Miller has desired a superior, and he wrote seriously and to go further than the German histosoberly. Making the voyage from rians, and to show the Franks in Fiume as chaplain of the immigrants Greece as they really were, men on the Pavonia, he came to examine and women, rather than as mere bearinto the condition of their compatriots ers of titles and wearers of insignia, already landed and settled; to criticise and to that end has visited the strongthe merits of the various cities, and holds and castles builded by the agricultural regions, as residences for Franks, and has, as far as possible, immigrants, and the species of indus- reconstructed their daily living in his try, and even the airt and literature of imagination. There was comparatively the country as possible pursuits for little difficulty in reconstructing the them, that his report might give the tale of their acts. The Frank at hoine Pope information on all possible ques- was a very definite person; the Frank tions. Work undertaken by such a in Greece became active to the verge man in such a spirit is worth a library of incredibility, always regarding himof magazine papers and newspaper ar- self as driven by the subtle Greek and ticles. It may be compared with the the heathen Ottoman, and now and productions of Mr. Bryce and Prof. then by the knights of one or another Munsterberg but hardly with any other order. Ou these pleas, he released book on the United States written by a himself from any obligations to reforeigner. It should be remembered straint. Scott's “Count Robert of that it is this work that will for a time Paris," in some respects an excellent shape Magyar opinion of this country, portrait of the typical Frank of the and that it will profoundly influence Crusades, is far more subservient to the authorities of the Papal court. the law and to knightly duty than the Reading it, the American may per: real Frank, and the sovereigns went fectly know their view of him. There much further than their great vassals. he is judged even down to the “Let. The Women were not far behind the ters of a Self-Made Merchant,” which men; if they conceived themselves to His Highness perfectly understands. have rights, they took them, brenking That single piece of apprehension at nobody's windows; if their mailed rivals disagreed with them, the kirtle the present lawless dispensation in was no protector against the scaffold. bookbinding. They are “Tom Bailey" The plan of the author is to group in which “The Story of a Bad Boy" is Achaia, Athens, Epirus, Cephalonia, rounded out to completeness in the and Eubola, telling their story as one, matter of ancestry, and events preand to give the duchy of the Archipel- ceding and immediately following the ago and colony of Corfu separate nar- time passed with “Grandfather Nutratives. Crete is omitted altogether ter," and in the "Temple Grammar for many good reasons. The book is School." "The Hall Bedroom," and a thick royal octavo, beautifully printed “Arrival" describe the interval spent and illustrated by maps, and those in New York before he gravitated to who examine it may read the fiction Boston and James T. Fields, to be and plays of the next five years in ad- “Boston-plated," as he called himself; vance, for this book will be a quarry "Beacon Hill,” “Ponkapog” and “The for the novelist and the dramatist. Atlantic Monthly" are the self-descripE. P. Dutton & Co.

tive headings of the next three chap

ters. "Indian Summer Days" deals Seldom are subject and author So with the long period of recreation fol. appropriately watched as in the case lowing his resignation of the Atlanof Mr. Ferris Greenslet's “The Life of tic editorship, and is almost entirely Thomas Bailey Aldrich." The author, composed of letters by many hands, inkeenly critical both by nature and by cluding Aldrich's own. In "The Last long experience, properly appreciates Days," one finds nearly all the sorrow and fully sympathizes with the critical that came to him during his life, sorfastidiousness by which Mr. Aldrich row borne so quietly in spite of its eviacquired and maintained his suprem- dently intense poignancy that speech acy among the American poets and concerning it seems brutal. Fortunovelists of his generation, and he nately, the trial of long illness was writes of that quality, and of the oth- spared him, but six weeks of feebleers that compacted lay in that delicate ness and pain lay between hiin and the spirit in such a manner that as one Mount Auburn grave beside his boy. reads one turns Hibernian in thinking They were borne with cheerful courhow Mr. Aldrich would have enjoyed age and sweet and patient self-effacesuch work. Even the author's "Wal. ment. The last chapter, "Aldrich's ter Pater" had not quite prepared one Poetry," is searching in its analysis of for its excellence, for it was not possi- the poet's characteristic quality, anıl ble for a sane meinber of a sane race remarkably just as whole. The exactly to attune himself to Pater's frontispiece is a photogravure portrait habitual key, or indeed to the key of and there are pictures of houses in any member of that misguided choir which he lived, and portraits of of British geniuses whose voices were “Grandfather Nutter"; of Sarah Abbir drowned by the laughter evoked by Du Bailey Aldrich one of the "beautiful Maurier. Further, Mr. Greenslet and Miss Baileys" and of many of the Mr. Aldrich were not only country- poet's compeers. An excellent inder men but friends, and had worked to. and a bibliography which more plainly gether, and so the younger bad ob- speaks the verdict of posterity than tained the final qualification of the weeks

of “best selling" complete ideal biographer. Nine chapters com- the tale of minor good qualities in a pose a volume, which once would have book almost as beautiful of aspect as been a quarto, but is an octavo under rare in quality. Houghton Mifflin Co.



No. 3363 December 19, 1908.


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Some Letters of Sir Walter Scott. BLACKWOOD's MAGAZINE 707
Sixty Years in the Wilderness: Some Passages by the Way.

By Henry W. Lucy. (To be continued.) CORNHILI MAGAZINE 716
Sally: A Study. Chapters IX and X. By Hugh Clifford, C. M. G.
(To be continued.).

BLACKWOOD's MAGAZINE 729 Lost Homes and New Flats. By Annie Groser Burd

FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW 734 India Under the Crown: A Retrospect of Fifty Years. TIMES 739 The Great Feversham. By Una L. Silberrad CORNHILL MAGAZINE 745 The Magic of Propinquity.

OUTLOOK 767 Discursions : The Dinner Party. :

Punca 759 Milton. By Laurence Binyon




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A CHRISTMAS LEGEND. Into the stable-yard Pan crept

And there in a manger a baby lay. Abroad on a winter's night there ran Beside His mother, upon the hay,

Under the starlight, leaping the rills And Child and mother slept.
Swollen with snow-drip from the

Pan bent over the sleeping Child,
Goat-legged, goat-bearded Pan.

Gazed on Him panting after his run,

And while he wondered the little one He loved to run on the crisp white floor Opened His eyes and smiled; Where the black hill-torrents chis. elled grooves,

Smiled, and after a little space And he loved to print his clear-cut Struggled an arm from the swaddling hooves

band, Where none had trod before.

And raising a tiny dimpled hand

Patted the bearded face. And now he slacked and came to a stand

Something snapped in the breast of Beside a river too broad to leap,

Pan, And as he panted he heard a sheep His heart and his throat and his eyes That bleated near at hand.

were sore,

And he wished to weep as never be“Bell-wether, bell-wether, what do you

fore say?

Since the world began. Peace and buddle your ewes from cold!"

And out he went to the silly sheep, "Master but ere we went to fold To the fox on the hill, the fish in the Our herdsman hastened away.


The horse in the stall, the bird in the Over the hill came other twain

tree And pointed the way to Bethlehem Asking them how to weep. And spake with him and he followed them

But they could not teach for they did And has not come again.

not know

The law stands writ for the beast “He dropped his pipe of the river reed,

that's dumb, He left bis scrip in his haste to go, That a limb may ache, and a heart And all our grazing is under the be numb, snow,

But never a tear can flow. So that we cannot feed."

So bear you kindly to-day, O man, “Left his sheep on a winter's night?" To all that is dumb, and all that is Pan folded them with an angry

wild, frown.

For the sake of the Christmas Babe “Bell-wether, bell-wether, I'll go down

that smiled Where the star shines bright."

In the eyes of the great god Pan.

The Cornhill Magazine. Down by the river he met the man; “Shepherd, no shepherd, thy flock is lorn."

SADNESS. “Master, no master, a child is born, Royal, greater than Pan!"

I think that Sadness is an idiot born,

She has no eyes to see the sun in "Lo, I have seen, I go to my sheep

heaven, Follow my footsteps thro' the snow No ears to hear the music of the earth.

But warily, warily see thou go No voice to utter forth her own desire. For Child and mother sleep."

Mary E. Coleridge.


"Is not the gleaning of the grapes of Ephraim better than the vintage of Abi-ezer?" The first gleaning of Sir Walter's glorious harvest was done by Lockhart in his inimitable biography of his father-in-law, Many others have since gathered in the same field or a portion of it, and, in later days, Mr. David Douglas has ably edited the great man's journal and his familiar letters. Still a few fragments here and there remain unappropriated, and of these is a bundle of correspondence written to Mrs. Maclean Clephane of Torloisk (the burnt tower) and her daughter Miss Anna Jane Clephane. Mrs. Clephane was the widow of General Douglas Clephane, heir to the fam. ilies of Douglas of Kirkness and Clephane of Carslogie, and his children, of whom the youngest was born after his death, bore the names of their three ancestral families, Douglas Maclean Clephane. General Douglas Clephane had appointed Sir Walter Scott guardian to his children, and the letters before us were written partly on business, partly as friendly correspondence. Everything that came from the pen of Sir Walter was colored by his individuality, and each of these letters gives some hint of the wizard's potent charm. His correspondents were ladies with whom he was in perfect sympathy, so that, in writing to them, he was able, as it were, to let himself go, and always to speak out of the fulness of his heart. Mrs. Clephane was a Highland dame of the noblest type, clever, brave, cultivated and, it may be, somewhat autocratic. From the casual references to her in his journal, and from the tone 'of his intercourse with her, we can quite imagine that, if required, she might have formed a characteristic figure in one of Sir Wal. ter's romances. She was full of High

land lore, could join heartily in Sir Walter's quests for Highland ballad and melody, and was constantly referred to by him on doubtful points in verse and tune. Her three daughters were equally sympathetic with their guardian. They had many accomplishments: they were linguists, musicians, and artists, and their cultivation made them fit to take foremost places in Sir Walter's familiar society. The eldest, Margaret, married Earl Compton, and subsequently became Lady Northampton. The second, Miss Anna Jane, died unmarried, and the third, Miss Williamina, married and became the mother of poor Mr. de Norman, who, with Mr. Anderson and Mr. Bowlby, was tortured and done to death in 1860 by Chinese barbarity. The present Marquis of Northampton is the grandson of Margaret, and it is to his kindness that we owe the privilege of reading, and quoting from, Sir Walter's letters to Mrs. and Miss Anna Jane Clephane.

And now for the letters themselves. They are too many to reproduce here in extenso. Two of them have in great part already been published, having been included in Lockhart's Life, but the remainder, dating from 1809 to 1830, have each their value, from the fresh light that they throw upon the writer's idiosyncrasies and the broad geniality of his character and judgment. It is not intended to go through the letters seriatim, as if one proposed to make a precis, but we may venture to gather some of the fruit with which they are so richly adorned.

And it is only fitting that “Maga," now in her green old age, should first be allowed to quote with pride the hearty words of appreciation with which Sir Walter greeted her début, nigh a century ago, in the world of

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