little book is attractive and should be useful, especially to simple minds; though sometimes, as is to be expected, this Eastern philosophy is unequal to Western stress. For instance, in the strained and complex circumstances which an elaborate civilisation suffers, we find his easy treatment of what is known as the Problem of Pain insufficient. His pages, however, should bring comfort to many.

Not with any wish to hurt feelings, but because from inward appearances it seems to be so, we feel compelled to assert of the late T. A. Bowhay, as Betsy Prig did of the apocryphal Mrs Harris, that we 'don't believe there's no sich a person.' It is true that the frontispiece drawn by Mr Eric Kennington shows the refined face of an elderly man; but it might be the drawing of an imaginary person; while the publishers' assertion that the writer of this volume, 'Life and Man' (Cape), died of heart-failure while it was passing through the press, rather emphasises the doubt, as in very many books of the kind the writer has died just at that time and in that way. Moreover, the foreword, written over initials, makes any judgment of the book impossible. This is an example of how it goes:

Some are

'Some are so irritated to the core of their being that they declare if they read any more they will go mad. roused to bitter, intellectual opposition. Some can see no sense until they have read repeatedly, compelled to do so by a curious inner necessity, and every time they do so being prompted to repeat the experiment and glimpsing more meaning than they did before. Some will read a few paragraphs only, and instantly feel awed by the revelation they offer of the meaning of life.'

And so on. But, truly, a careful and sympathetic en

deavour to realise what the writer would be at, leaves the persistent sense of 'Bunkum.' For the defects of the book and the reasoning on which it is based are too transparent for a comfortable faith in it. Questions are begged by the dozen. Assertions are glibly made and their inauthenticity felt; while at once, before the effect can go further, we are whisked off to another glib and doubtful assertion or question begged. It is very unsatisfactory. Nature has never aided man in any way, nor can it aid him.' 'Nature generally lies still and

dumb about man. She cannot speak, she cannot reveal the mysteries lying hid within her bosom.' 'It may be said that scientific men learn by experiments, but that is not the case.' 'Signs are not absent that Nature would prefer man not to think.' These are instances, selfcontradictory, culled almost at random from the first few pages; and so it goes on, bristling with assertions which apparently are as helpful as were the declarations of Mr F.'s Aunt. Why is it that this sort of thing so often suggests the eccentrics of Dickens? Yes, and here is another. Is this not like Chadband? Man's ignorance could not produce man's knowledge, man's speechlessness could not create man's language.' It won't do. We 'don't believe there's no sich a person'; and, therefore, in our wish to be grateful and comforting, we turn aside to praise the style, binding, printing of the book, which are so charming and good that we wish they had gone to a work of some worth.

No more lucid and convincing study of a man, a period, a controversy of first-class political importance, has been written than the Dean of Winchester's revised 'Thomas Becket' (Cambridge University Press). It has no literary embroideries; but tells the truth plainly of the rise and activities, as well as the causes of the tragedy which brought a bloody end to the first nativeborn Archbishop of Canterbury. It is, of course, a muchwritten story; for Becket, from the very morrow of his martyrdom, has lived in the popular imagination, and become, whatever the quality of his sanctity may have been, an appealing figure. In the long duel with his masterly King, 'that animal greedy for glory,' Becket, as Dr Hutton acknowledges, judged by true principles, was in the wrong; but yet he was accepted by the sympathetic multitude as fighting the battle of the weak against a tyrant. Had Becket won, and the Church maintained its courts and terrestrial privileges in defiance of civil justice and law, a tyranny ecclesiastical, worse than that of medieval Kings, would have fastened upon England and been the blight upon humanity which priestcraft powerful and unchecked always has been. Dr Hutton, being a good Churchman as well as a frank and liberal historian, has been able to give fair play to both sides of the controversy which produced the Con

h

stitutions of Clarendon and brought Thomas of Canterbury to his dramatic and heroic death.

Not a great many, it is to be feared at this late day, will wish to inquire closely into the history of the rise and fall of 'The Albigensian or Catharist Heresy' (Williams and Norgate), even as told, with sympathy and an admirable vigour and clearness, by Mr Edmond Holmes; but those who might wish to study that pathetic story, of a movement largely mistaken and yet of high motives; of motives and ideals so high as to be indeed impossible, could not do better than come to this small book. Written in the true historical spirit, it clears up many mistaken notions about those people of Languedoc, who, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, made a widespread practical protest against the tyrannies and corruptions of Rome; were crushed by that Church as heretics remorselessly, being the first-fruits of the terrible Inquisition; yet even in their failure, in their death, were able to impress the victors with some of their principles. It was through their extreme teaching on sexual morality-for even marriage was forbidden by them that Rome assumed its condition of the celibacy of the priesthood.

Again we are disposed to praise, as we rightly can, the format and cheapness of 'The Twelve Best Short Stories in the German Language' (Gowans and Gray), selected by the late Dr Richard M. Meyer, for those are the leading qualities of the book. The Germans are not great story-tellers, whether the tales be long or short; and although we are readily disposed, from the grateful memories of long-ago, to give a passing meed of immortality to the Brothers Grimm and to Wilhelm Hauff, we get nothing so brief and engaging in this book; which begins with Schiller, includes a story told by Goethe exactly a hundred years ago, and concludes with 'How Jacob Prevailed,' written by Ludwig Anzengruber, and published in 1877. Well, the short story generally was still far from its perfect form in England and elsewhere fifty years ago; and therefore, we need not be surprised at finding these 'best short stories' somewhat heavy as compared with the corresponding work of other countries.

No happier moment could have been chosen for the publication of Mr A. H. Godwin's critical appreciation

of the Savoy Operas, entitled 'Gilbert and Sullivan' (Dent), than now, when that sprightly and generally amusing company of highly important people-PoohBah, Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B., Don Alhambra, Ruth, Josephine, Katisha, with the others who are as well known to the multitude as the dining-room door-handle-again are delighting votaries and worshippers at the Princess's Theatre. Mr Godwin is an interesting guide, and his suggestions are generally stimulating; though he does sometimes split straws and take some piece of Gilbertian nonsense, evidently the quaintness of a moment, as if it were based upon several philosophies and must be the keystone of a serious arch of thought. Yet his book is welcome, witty, and wise, and an excellent reminder of jolly unforgettable tunes and nonsense all sublime.

Americans are studying the history and technique of the Drama very seriously, and in many of their university colleges Chairs of Dramatic Study have been founded, through which the arts and science of acting and of stage plays and playwriting are examined and followed through; though, it seems, as yet without a great deal of good resulting. A number of volumes have been published by American professors concerned with the growth and quality of the Drama in their own and in European countries; and here is one by Prof. Hugh Allison Smith of Wisconsin, 'Main Currents of Modern French Drama ' (Holt). The most valuable chapters of this book are concerned with the earlier period of French dramatic history; but the volume has its limitations. Surely in a book on modern French Drama, the Guitrys should be referred to; possibly in the place of the Belgian, Maurice Maeterlinck, who, even although his language is French, is himself no more French than O. Henry, for a similar reason, could be called English. Moreover, in a book about French plays, why do the illustrations, almost with the solitary exception of the divine Sara as 'Theodora,' show us American players in French parts? We have, for example, Maude Adams in L'Aiglon,' Walter Hampden as Cyrano, Ida Rubenstein as 'La Dame aux Camélias.' Has the French genius owed as much as that to America ?