9 th S. I. JUNE 11, '98.]
NOTES AND QUEKIES.
479
rank to smuggle. Lady Newdigate writes to her
husband that there is a vessel near, and adds
naively : " I suspect it to be a smuggler, and hope
now to succeed in getting you some India Hand ks
which hitherto I have try'd for in vain." We read :
" The night before last Ned (ye younger) saw a
french Gentleman turn'd out of ye Playhouse for
saying in a low Voice ' Vive la Republic ' " [sic].
We hear that Lady Jersey was hissed by the
Brighton mob " as she stood at her Window, which
faces the Pavilion." We have, moreover, some
curious side-lights on manners, as : " 'Mr. Vere, ye
Banker, finding himself so near Lady Newdigate,
takes ye liberty of making his respects to her L d P,
to enquire after her health, & to tender any services
in his Power.'" Reproductions of family portraits
Sir Roger and Lady Newdigate by Romney, Nelly
Mundy by Sir Joshua, Charles Parker and Jane
Anstruther, attributed to Cosway, and Georgiana,
Lady Middleton, and Lady Charles Fitzroy by
Hoppner add greatly to the attractions of a
pleasing and valuable work.
Journal of the Ex-Libris Society. (Black.) ONLY in the minds of the ignorant or the sanguine will the appearance, as a frontispiece to the June number of the Journal of the Ex-Libris Society, of the book-plate of John Knox inspire the hope that the proof is found that the great Scottish Reformer indulged in such vanities. The plate in question is of the Chippendale style, and belongs obviously to the eighteenth century. It is that of the Hon. John Knox, ob. 1800, second son of Viscount North- land, and brother of Lord Ranfurly. Among the book-plates of the Odd Volumes is given that of Mr. H. B. Wheatley, F.S.A., editor of Pepys.
FRENCH fiction and the producers thereof receive a full share of attention in this country. Alphonse I)audet is this month the subject, in the Fortnightly, of a warm tribute from Hannah Lynch, who, departing from the customary practice of com- paring Daudet with Dickens, draws attention to the points of resemblance or contrast between him and Thackeray. Quitting comparisons, the significance of which does not greatly impress us, the critic bestows warm praise upon the influence upon Daudet of the Provencal surroundings in which his youth was cast. When she says, "Never, indeed, has the note of Provengal landscape been so fully, so variously reproduced in all its moods as by the delicious Provencal," we think of Mistral and hold our breath. We accept, however, with limitations the praise, and are fairly carried away by some admirably written passages of eulogy. Ouida, in a customary mood of discontent perhaps " divine" rebukes gravely the greed of wealth which is ruin- ing some of the fairest cities of Italy, and she is espe- cially indignant at the vulgarization of Venice. It is to be feared that her complaints are well founded. A brilliant American writer, returning from Venice the other day, shocked us not a little by saying that he found the city unworthy of its reputation. It is long since we spent ourselves some short weeks in the shadow of its palaces, which we dare not hope again to see. Far. indeed, were we then from finding it aught but the fairest city in a land where all cities are fair. Loath are we to believe what Ouida says, that Venice has been " insulted, dishonoured, defamed, defiled"; aghast at hearing that she "is threatened with absolute extinction ' ; that she will shortly " disappear as completely as one of her own
fishing-boats when it is sucked under the sea. canvas
and timber and crew, in a night of storm." In addi-
tion to the noteworthy articles mentioned, the Fort-
nightly contains two interesting papers relative to
Wagner. To the Nineteenth Century Mr. Frederic
Harrison sends a valuable and most readable paper
'On Style in English Prose,' consisting of an un-
reported address to the Bodley Literary Society,
Oxford. The gist of his conclusions is that style
cannot be taught, which is almost equivalent to
saying, " Le style, c'est I'homme." One or two
conclusions of Mr. Harrison's are worth quoting.
One is that " the greatest master of prose in recorded
history is Plato. He alone (like Homer in poetry)
is perfect. He has every mood, and all are fault-
less He shows us, as it were, his own Athene,
wisdom incarnate in immortal radiance of form." Again, it is held, justly, that " truly fine prose is more rare than truly fine poetry." In spite of Bacon and Milton, Jeremy Taylor, Hooker, Bunyan, and Dryden, Mr. Harrison holds that the age of mature English prose is not reached until we arrive at the time of Defoe, Swift, Addison, Berkeley, and Gold- smith. We are glad to read concerning Ruskin that " a living writer now long silent, and await- ing his summons to the eternal silence had powers which, had he cared to train them, would have made him the noblest master who ever used the tongue of Milton." Sir Henry Thompson replies to his critics in ' Why Vegetarian ? ' The great weight of Sir Henry's opinion is thrown into the scale of a mixed diet, though he still cherishes, as hereto- fore, "feelings of sympathy and respect for their [the Vegetarians'] attachment to a simple diet, and humane consideration for animal life." In con- trast with this article is the record of slaughter of the noblest animals contained in the, to us, terrible contribution of Mr. J. D. Rees, 'Among the Elephants.' We are going dangerously near controversial subjects, but will not leave unspoken our own individual protest against the war of exter- mination which sportsmen (!) wage against the fast- disappearing elephant. In his ' Fine Art of Living ' Sir Martin Conway finds hopefulness in the thought that in the year 1941 London will contain over eleven millions of inhabitants. Why, we ask, rest there ? Why not take 2041, when it will have fifty millions? Mr. J. A. Fuller Maitland has a paper on 'Wanted an Opera.' Can it be wholly without significance that the two opening papers in the Century are concerned with things Spanish ? Mr. Stephen Bonsai writes on 'Toledo, the Imperial City of Spain,' and Mr. Joseph Pennell supplies some picturesque illustrations. A year, at least, is necessary to a full exploration of this most inter- esting, most picturesque, and most ill-starred of cities, the victim, up to the present century even, of endless inroads of barbarians. The account given may be read with pleasure by those ambitious of visiting these noble scenes as well as by those who desire to revive fading recollections. ' Pictures for Don Quixote,' by Mr. W. D. Howells, are accom- panied by original designs by Senor Vierge. These have, naturally, much interest. They serve, how- ever, to establish the conviction we have long entertained that satisfactory illustrations to ' Don Quixote' are not to be hoped. Vander Gucht, Coypel, Picart, Boucher, Ballester, Navarro, Ximeno, Dore", and we know not how many others have given us illustrations, none of which is in the least helpful to the lover of Cervantes. Vierge catches the atmosphere of La Mancha, but he does not give
