Chapter 4

Demetra Vaka has melted my literary heart. By way of homage to her I eat the dust and recant all the hard and bitter things I said and thought in my youth concerning Ancient Greece; especially I apologise, on behalf of myself and my pedagogues, for after regarding its language as a dead one. _A Child of the Orient_ (Lane) has taught me better, though the last object the author appears to have in view is to educate. This "Greek girl brought up in a Turkish household" writes to amuse, entertain and charm, and her success is abundant. Whether it is attributable to the romantic particulars of the Turkish household or to the ingenuous personality of the Greek girl, I hesitate to say, since both are so captivating; but this I know, that, considered as descriptive sketches or personal episodes, each of the twenty-two chapters is a separate delight. For the ready writer material is not wanting in the Near East; a fine theme is provided in the national ambition of the Greek, who cannot forget his glorious past and be content with his less conspicuous present. As for the love interest, who should supply this better than the Turk? In these days of cosmopolitanism there are bound to be romantic complications in the lives of a polygamous people situate in a monogamous continent. By way of postscript the authoress travels abroad and deals with alien matters; her impression, I gather, is that if her ancestors of classical times could see our world of to-day and express an opinion upon it the best of their praise would be reserved for the fact of the British Empire, and the worst of their abuse be spent upon what is known as American humour. I am so constituted that I cannot but be prejudiced in favour of a writer gifted with so profound a judgment.

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The creatrix of _Pam_ must look to her laurels. Slovenliness is the aptest word to apply to the workmanship of _Maria_ (Hutchinson), the latest heroine of the Baroness Von Hutten. _Maria_ has the air of having been contracted for, while that fastidious overseer who lurks at the elbow of every honest craftsman, condemning this or that phrase, readjusting the other faulty piece of construction, has frankly abandoned the contractor. _Maria_ was the daughter of an artist cadger (name of _Drello_), friend of the great and seller of their autograph letters, whereby he was astute enough to make a comfortable living. _Maria_ had a dull brother named _Laertes_, who accidentally met a highness, who fell very abruptly in love with _Maria_ and made her strictly dishonourable proposals. _Maria_ drew herself up, compelled him to apologise and go away, until the nineteenth chapter, when she made similar proposals to the highness, now a duly and unhappily married _King of Sarmania_. But she is saved by the chivalrous love-lorn dwarf, _Tomsk_, who, with the irascible singing-master _Sulzer_, is responsible for the chief elements of vitality in this rather suburban romance. And I found myself never believing in _Maria's_ wondrous beauty and quite sharing _Sulzer's_ poor opinion of her singing. But this of course was mere prejudice.

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In _Grizel Married_ (Mills and Boon) Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey exhibits the highest-handed method of treating Romance that ever I met. For consider the situation to be resolved. _Dane Peignton_ was engaged to _Teresa_, but in love with _Lady Cassandra Raynor_, whose husband, I regret to add, was still alive. _Dane_ and _Cassandra_ had never told their love, and concealment might have continued to prey on their damask cheeks, if Mrs. Vaizey had not (very naturally), wished to give us a big emotional scene of avowal. It is the way in which this is done that compels my homage. Off go the characters on a picnic, obviously big with fate. _Teresa_ goes, and _Dane_ and _Cassandra_, the fourth being _Grizel_, whom you may recall pleasantly from an earlier book; but, though she fills the title _rôle_ in this one, she has little to do with its development. Of course I saw that something tragic was going to happen to somebody on that picnic--cliffs or tides or mad bulls or something. But I don't suppose that in twenty guesses you could get at the actual instrument of destiny. _Cassandra_ chokes over a fish-bone! That's what I meant about Mrs. Vaizey's courage. And the reward of it is that, after your first moment of incredulity, the fish-bone isn't in the least bit absurd. Poor _Cassandra_ comes quite near to expiring of it; and _Dane_, having thumped and battered her into safety, sobs out his wild and whirling passion, while _Grizel_ and poor _Teresa_ have just to sit about and listen. It really is rather a striking and original climax; incidentally it is far the best scene in an otherwise not very brilliant tale. But, having attended that picnic, I shall be astonished if you don't, want to go on to the end and see how it all straightens out.

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"At 9.30 o'clock, as the fog lifted somewhat, the rescuing steamer Lyonnesse had sighted the Gothland, fast on the rocks, with a bad list to starboard, and apparently partly filled with pater."

_Daily Chronicle._

"Our Special Correspondent's" father seems to be a big man.

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"While the class watches, the teacher pronounces all the words. Then the whole class pronounces them while the teacher points, skipping around."--_Hawaii Educational Review._

A pretty scene, if the teacher is a man of graceful movements.