was for the outside world a later discovery.

* * * * *

_Further Memories_ (HUTCHINSON) is justly called by its publishers
a "fascinating volume." The designation will not surprise those who
enjoyed the late Lord REDESDALE'S former book of recollections. The
present collection is a little haphazard (but none the worse for
that), its chapters ranging over such diverse subjects as Gardens
and Trees, QUEEN VICTORIA, BUDDHA, and the Commune. Certainly not
the least interesting is that devoted to the story of the Wallace
Collection, of which Lord REDESDALE was one of the trustees. His
account of the origin and devolution of the famous treasures will
invest them with a new interest in the happy days when they shall
again be visible. Mr. EDMUND GOSSE contributes a foreword to the
present volume, in which he draws a pathetic picture of the author,
still unconquerably young, despite his years, facing the future with
only one fear, that of the unemployment to which his increasing
deafness, and the break-up of the world as it was before the War,
seemed to be condemning him. _Further Memories_ was, we are told,
undertaken as some sort of a safeguard against this menace of
stagnation. It was a measure for which we may all be glad, as we can
share Mr. GOSSE'S thanksgiving that the writer's death, coming when
it did, saved him, as he had wished, "from all consciousness of
decrepitude."

* * * * *

When an unstable young wife, getting tired of a pedantic husband in
the way so familiar to students of novels, goes off with a companion
more to her taste, anyone can foresee trouble, or what would there be
to write about? When, further, her detestable lover, seeking change
and fearing the financial lash of his properly indignant parent,
terminates the arrangement, even an observer of real life can
guess that her return to her rightful lord and master must entail
disagreeables; but only a reader well brazened in modern fiction could
expect Don Juan promptly to make love to and marry the husband's
sister without a word of apology to anyone. This kind of rather
unsavoury dabbling in problems best left to themselves generally
concludes with the decease of most of the characters and a sort
of clearing up, and to this rule, after many years and pages of
discomfort, MARY E. MANN'S new story, _The Victim_ (HODDER AND
STOUGHTON), is no exception. Not a very attractive programme, bu