the quiet wisdom of
CLUTTON-BROCK, the learning (decently veiled for normal eyes) of FRAZER,
of _The Golden Bough_; the inspired prejudices, fringed with epigram, of
G. K. C. A mere catalogue of a few of the well-known writers
represented, of SYMONS, GALSWORTHY, GILBERT MURRAY, BAGOT, HICHIENS,
BARRY BAIN, PHILLPOTTS; and of artists such as BRANGWYN, SARGENT,
SHANNON, JOHN, LAVERY, RICHMOND, POYNTER, FRAMPTON, RICKETTS, ANNING
BELL, CAYLEY ROBINSON, makes its best testimonial. England has never
been other than the friend of modern Italy, for the Triple Alliance was
merely a freak of desperate diplomacy and was broken by the popular will
when Germany (be it remembered) was giving fair promise of ultimate
victory. We don't need conversion to the cause of Italy, but everything
that helps to foster and develop the comradeship of the now
_Risorgimento_ of the Allied Nations is welcome. And _The Book of Italy_
will serve this purpose excellently well.

* * * * *

More than once before now I have commented upon that almost unique gift
that Mr. JACK LONDON has of transferring physical energy to fiction. His
characters must always be about some sinew-straining business that makes
the reader ache in sympathy. However in _The Little Lady of the Big
House_ (MILLS AND BOON) the author seems to have allowed himself and his
creations an unwonted holiday. Here is no fierce struggle for existence,
but the fruits of it upon a millionaire ranche in California. _Dick
Forrest_ was the millionaire, by heritage and his own success; a great
farmer and a breeder of shires. He had a wife, the _Little Lady_ of the
title, and a Big House that was one of the most eligible dwellings in
fiction. A plain recital of the arrangements ("tweaks" we should have
called them at school) in _Dick's_ open-air bedroom makes the ordinary
home look like ten cents. Mr. LONDON certainly knows how to luxuriate
when he gives his mind to it. Moreover there was a wonderful
swimming-bath, with a concealed submarine chamber in which the _Little
Lady_ used to hide for the terror of uninstructed guests (she was rather
that kind of person), and a great music-room for her to play
RACHMANINOFF in and flirt with the Other Man. This is all the tale.
Eventually the flirtation becomes serious and the _Little Lady_ is
driven to suicide, with a death scene of rather unconvincing sentiment.
The fact is, I am afraid, that Capuan ease does not altogethe