"The Letter Killeth." By Mrs. A. C. Inchlold. (Partridge.) "Deborah's Life." By James Blyth. (Nash: 6s.)

"A Nine Days' Wonder." By Mrs. B. M. Croker. (Methuen: 6s.)

"Ursula Raven." By Miss T. Wilson Wilson. (Harper: 6s.) "Our Joshua." By Miss T. Wilson Wilson. (Arrowsmith: Is.) "The King's Achievement." By R. H. Benson. (Pitmans: 65.)

On looking down the list of books published this week, one is at once struck by the predominating number of imp: rtant biographies. Lives of writers, politicians, lawyers, all find a place, and there is even a biography of a public entertainer-the late Dan Leno. The book to which one turns first, naturally, not only on account of its size, but also on account of its importance both in subject and authorship, is Mr. Percy Fitzgerald's Life of Charles Dickens, published in two handsome volumes by Messrs. Chatto and Windus (215. net). This is not Mr. Fitzgerald's first contribution to Dickensian literature, and in the first volume he admits having written at least eight previous books dealing more or less with Dickens and his works. He comes to the subject not only as the keenest of keen students, as witness his list of errors and oddities of the great writer at the end of Vol. II., but also as a personal friend enjoying the closest intimacy-in Mr. Fitzgerald's own words, as one who was of "the old Gadshill times, and heard the chimes at midnight in its cosy chambers." This sentence reveals in itself the strong personal note which runs through the whole of this work, for which Mr. Fitz era'd apologises, though unnecessarily we think, since he is far from being an uninteresting personality himself. The author has not attempted to write another official biography of Dickens, for Forster did his work too well to make that necessary. What he has attempted, and successfully, is to write an anecdotal record from his own recollections and experiences, and, at the same time, to show how minutely Dickens's life is revealed, to the student, in his works. These two volumes will be a mine of delight to every Dickens' reader, and should not only be borrowed, but bought to put on the library shelves to supplement Forster's great "Life."

Sir Henry Hawkins's Reminiscences (Edward Arnold: 6s.), and, in their new and cheaper form, both these works should sell by thousands. Both men are shining lights in their professions, and both have something to say which will interest everybody. The latter book is full of stories, and we like the story of a well-known lawyer of the Probate and Divorce Court who, on one occasion, wished for a postponement of a trial, an application which usually met with a refusal from a judge some years ago, though nowadays commonly enough granted. Persisting in his application, the lawyer was requested by the judge to give his reason: "I am very sorry, my lord," he replied, "but it will be very inconvenient for me to be here to-morrow Pressed further, the lawyer, whose name was George Brown, smiled and blushed, and could not state plainly what his real reason for postponement was. "At last, however, he stammered: 'My lord, the fact is I am going to take the first step towards a divorce.' The appeal touched the judge; the reason was sufficient. Every step in a divorce was to be encouraged, especially the first. The application was granted, and Brown

There have been two reprints issued recently of important biographies, namely, Lord Roberts's Forty-one Years in India (Macmillan: 6s.) and

was married the next day."

The

Mr. Werner Laurie is issuing Jungle Trails and Jungle People: Travels, Adventures, and Observations in the Far East. The book will be of special interest in view of the Prince of Wales's visit to India. author, Mr. Caspar Whitney, is well known as a sportsman and hunter of big game, and his new book gives an account of his really thrilling experiences in hunting and travelling in the Far East. Another volume which will appeal to lovers of animals is one just published by Messrs. George Newnes in their "Master Draughtsman Series," and containing the work of John M. Swan, R.A. Especially to those who have hunted the lion, tiger, or jaguar, will the spirited work in this volume appeal, the reproductions in colour being especially good.

G. F. J.

A BOOKMAN'S GOSSIP

Mr. Ton Gallon's New Novel

There is no doubt of the continued popularity of the writer who made so deserved a success nearly nine years ago with "Tatterly "; but he never gives us another book which quite comes up to that. Nor is there any doubt about his inventive power, though his tendency of late has been somewhat toward melodrama, which is to say that the mechanism of the story is apt to condition its characters. In "Meg the Lady" (Hutchinson 6s.), however, Mr. Gallon, while by no means timid in the situations he contrives, does offer us some excellent character-sketching, which is not thrown out of truth by the sensational nature of the plot. In a word, if "Meg the Lady" is not exactly a shining example of the novelist's art, it is an extremely readable story of its kind, and distinctly better than several of Mr. Gallon's recent novels.

"A Thief in the Night"

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One is sometimes inclined to wonder what the critics of a future time will have to say of the vogue of the detective story in our day. Will they moralise on the low public taste which could make writers of such parts as distinguish Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mr. Arthur Morrison, Mr. E. W. Hornung, and even Mr. Andrew Lang, condescend to the writing of detective stories? I ask this apropos of Mr. E. W. Hornung's new book, 'A Thief in the Night" (Chatto and Windus: 6s.), as it seems to me little better than a glorification of crime, though the unrealness of most of these episodes in the life of the renowned "Raffles" makes it improbable that the book could do any harm. Certainly, its ethical point of view is lower than that of Sherlock Holmes," since the hero is a criminal and not a detector of crime. Yet Mr. Hornung writes so admirably that one reads the thing almost for the sake of the strong, direct narative, even while regretting that so capable an author should be forced by the taste of the day to produce this sort of thing. It ought to sell immensely, for it is not calculated to improve the novelist's literary standing, and that is the way with most books of the kind.

it would be easy to show, if one made an analysis of the popular fiction of the last ten years, that Irish novels are by no means a drug on the market, and it has just occurred to me, in going. through Mrs. B. M. Croker's latest story, "A Nine Days' Wonder" (Methuen: 6s), that in a previous note on this subject I had omitted the name of this delightful novelist from my list of Irish writers. Her latest book is very similar to most of her novels in the unexciting nature of its plot; it begins with the old machinery of a heroine changed secretly in infancy for a dead child, and is worked out on rather conventional lines. But the manner in which it is told, the brightness of its dialogue, the charm of its Irish scenes, render it remarkably fresh and attractive. As a whole, it is better than "Peggy of the Bartons," and at times it equals in the sympathetic rendering of Irish scenes those charming little stories of Mrs. Croker's in what I consider one of her best books, "In the Kingdom of Kerry." Mrs. Croker, who has

I read with interest the other An Irish Novelist day that a serious effort is being made to found in Dublin a good publishing house, which, on the necessary commercial basis, will endeavour to foster a taste for Irish literature. From the names of the authors to be associated with it, I resume it will aim at providing Irish books and s ories in the abominable Eng ish language, for which the more patriotic Irish lit érateurs have so small affection. But, really,

been a novelist for well-nigh

a quarter of a century, was born in Roscommon, and spent fourteen years of her life in India and Burmah, her husband being a distinguished Army officer.

Miss Theodora Wilson Wilson I am reminded of two considerations in novelwriting by Miss Wilson's new book, "Ursula Raven" (Harper: 6s.). One of these is mere foolishness to my mind, but not so the other. "Novelists who wish to succeed should only write about pleasant people, for most readers like to meet peasant people in books," once remarked a certain professor, who, I am sure, did not know what he was talking about. If Miss Wilson has a fault, it is, perhaps, that her characters are a thought too pleasant; but in the present case she has squared matters somewhat with a doubly-dyed villain, and save for a very slight tendency to staginess at times, I must vote "Ursula Raven" a most enjoyable and breezy story. The second consideration touches the matter of "local colour," which Miss Wilson is advisedly cultivating, her latest book, like "Langbarrow Hall" and others she has written, being a story of Westmoreland, her own homeland. I have heard that she is one of the prophets honoured in their own country, as her books are first fivourites among Westmoreland folk, who can make one copy of a novel serve for a whole village! I also read the other day a little work of Miss Wilson's, "Our Joshua" (Arrowsmith: 15.). The hero of this amusing little story is a gritty old Radical, whose wife is moved to celebrate his many good qualities in unconventional literary form. For once I was almost tempted to sympathise with a "Passive Resister," when old Joshua had the wit to meet the summons for the Education rate by surrendering busts of Mr. Balfour and

Mr. Chamberlain which he had obtained for that purpose! It will be gathered from this that Joshua is no mere unconscious humorist.

Father Benson's New Novel

Some time ago, it will be remembered, I had occasion to note the respective literary activities of the three distinguished sons of the late Archbishop Benson, one or other of whom is always bringing forth some new work. They are all distinguished by sincerity, and it is difficult to say which of the three may be regarded as the cleverest. The Rev. Robert Hugh Benson, who was, I think, the last of the trio to take to literature, is certainly no whit behind either of his brothers in ability, and there is an increasing earnestness of purpose in his fiction. His recent novel, "By What Authority?" had a quite remarkable success, and I shall not be surprised if his important new story, "The King's Achievement" (Pitman : 6s.), should occasion much discussion. It deals with one of the most interesting periods of English history, the time of Henry VIII. and his defiance of the See of Rome. Naturally, Father Benson approaches his subject from the point of view of a sympathiser with the Papacy, but he has all the historical novelist's power of vivifying the great characters of the period who are introduced into his romance, and his literary art is beyond question. No thoughtful reader of fiction is likely to pass by "The King's Achievement."

and I shall venture to quote the exact words before proceeding to explain myself:

No steps have yet been taken towards preparing a tenth edition, and there is no reason to suppose that, if such a work should be put in hand, it could be completed in less than fifteen or twenty years from now. It is not, indeed, certain that there will ever be a tenth edition. Grave doubts were entertained when the ninth edition was proposed as to whether it would ever repay the outlay it involved. The late Mr. Adam Black, who was at that time at the head of the house of A. and C. Black, was so strongly opposed to the undertaking that he withdrew from the firm, in order that he might not be involved in the disaster which he believed to be imminent. Now, I need scarcely explain that the above reference is to a work entitled "The Encyclopædia Britannica"; nor need I remind my readers that, instead of waiting for some fifteen years to produce the tenth edition, that edition was actually on the market in less than five years from the appearance of the veracious advertisement I have have quoted. Obviously, the paragraph was written so that intending purchasers of the ninth edition might not have an uneasy feeling that the publishers would depreciate the value of that edition by immediately setting about the production of a tenth. On this head I make no comment whatever, but I am informed, on very good authority, that an eleventh edition of this absolutely indispensable work is even now in preparation, and that before many years have passed, we may suffer once again all those unforgotten horrors of daily circulars and pleading advertisements in the morning papers. I can only hope that I may have been misinformed as regards this coming terror, but I fear it is an "ower true tale," and, if so, I should not be surprised were it to lead to indignant mobs attacking the offices of the huckstering Times. 1. АН

Some Aspects of the Foursome

The foursome, so long neglected, appears to be coming into its own aga n. I am unfeignedly glad that this is so, for, as my readers are aware, I have long held, and have lost no opportunity of saying, that the foursome is the finest form in which a match at golf can be played. One of the good results, therefore, which I expect to flow from the great match of a few weeks ago, will be the resuscitation of the foursome from its undeserved burial. Time was, some twenty years ago, when the foursome flourished like the proverbial green bay tree, not on account of its wickedness, but because the golfers of that day had grown up saturated with its traditions, and because they knew that it was an essentially good thing. In the days when I first played at St. Andrews the afternoon round was devoted almost always, and almost without exception, to this most delightful form of golf. You played your round in the morning against the friend for whose blood and half-crown you were thirsting, having first arranged with him. to play in the afternoon against some other pair of friends who were devoting the morning to a similarly friendly cutting of throats. Thus the golf adversary of the morning, whose every stroke you watched with the intention of countering it by some shrewder and better blow of your own, became after lunch the partner of your afternoon golfing joys and sorrows, the sworn ally, whose every effort you seconded with all the powers at your command, in the endeavour to defeat the pair who had accepted your gauge of battle in the morning. If the match turned out an even and interesting one, you arranged to play it again and again; and I will wager that out of foursomes thus arranged, more pleasure, fun, and interest were extracted than won from the most evenly matched single. The reason for this is not far to seek.

ever were

The Selfishness of the "Single"

The single, from the nature of things is, and must always remain, a selfish form of golf. You are playing for your own hand all the time; you have no sense of responsibility. If you win, no one shares your pleasure; if you lose, no one sympathises with you on your defeat. Your mistakes have to be retrieved by yourself, and your good strokes have to be discreetly applauded by yourself in the silence of your own bosom. Your caddie is your only partner, and, when you are playing badly, sometimes only adds to your misery by his presence, for you feel in your inmost bones that he is longing to tell you that he could play all your strokes much better himself merely with a niblick, or any other queer weapon you might choose to arm him with. In the foursome all this is changed. You have formed a fighting alliance, and the fortunes of war are of as much concern to your ally as to yourself. You have chosen as partner one whose form, through

Notions

many singles with him, you thoroughly know. He on his side has the same knowledge of your strength and weakness. Each of you, therefore, tries to the best of his abilities to play each stroke to suit the other's game. You consult briefly at each crisis of the game, and do your best to make your partner; in other words, to place him in such a position that he may execute the stroke that comes easiest to him. Instead of a pure slogging match, with an eye to a possible scoring record as well, as the single match so often is, your match is now a thing of science, a fine combination of forces, a strategic alliance, every movement of which is calculated and carefully thought out. In older days still than those I spoke of above, these afternoon foursomes were sometimes most pawkily" arranged. Some good old golfer, whose long game was on the wane, but whose short game was as deadly as ever, would choose as partner some lusty young hitter, and then propose a foursome to some other similar pair. Then there would be considerable higgling of the market before the proper odds were conceded, and much small wagering would take place on the result.

The Old-Fashioned Foursome

Some of the old hands were famous for their genius at arranging a foursome on lines favourable to themselves, and used their powers of character-reading to adapt the foibles of their adversaries to their own advantage in the match. Those good old, cheery, chaffing foursomes gave way before the rush from the South, when every man strove for a record, and wore a pained and bored expression on his face when you suggested a foursome for the afternoon. Worse still, there supervened the era of the four-ball foursome, to my mind one of the meanest and pa triest methods of evading the true foursome. Now, thanks to the great International match, we may hope to return to saner methods, and revert to the form of golf beloved by the older generation, the good, wholesome old foursome, one of the finest tests of golf and character that the game can provide. One hears continually of the congested state of most of the favourite Scottish links during the summer holidays. Might not some part of this be avoided if the authorities at the various links laid down a compulsory law enforcing foursomes in the afternoon? After a few weeks, I feel sure the law would no longer be needed, for the foursome has only to be properly mastered and understood in order to be loved for its great and fascinating qualities without any compulsion whatever. To me the proof of the true and pure golfing nature lies in a man's love for a foursome. If he have that love, then he is a worthy worshipper at the shrine, fit to follow in the footsteps of the generations of golfers that have gone

before him.

Ernest Lehmann