FICTION.
TALES OF A GREEK ISLAND.°
Irr introducing her charming volume to English readers Mme. Dragoumis enjoys an advantage shared by few foreign writers. She writes such excellent and idiomatic English that she is able to dispense with the service—too often the disservice—of a translator. We are never puzzled as to her meaning or disconcerted by angularities of expression. But this perfect command of a foreign tongue, though it greatly facilitates perusal, is, after all, only a secondary consideration. The real charm of the book resides in the sympathy and understanding of the native point of view. In short, though she writes like a highly educated Englishwoman, she thinks like a patriotic Greek.
Byron in his famous lines on the Isles of Greece dwelt on their glory as a thing of the past.
"Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set."
This elegy, in view of the heroic exploits of the great islanders —Botzaris and Miaoulis—in the War of Independence, was somewhat premature, and Mine. Dragoumis is at pains to show that the hero strain of the old master mariners has not yet died out. Of the " eternal summer " she gives us many vivid pictures, but the human interest is not lacking. The scene is laid mainly in Poros, "a little island of red earth and green pines girt round with the bluest of blue seas," or on the neighbouring lemon orchards on the mainland. Pores is only a few hours from Athens, but of the roar of city life and the fever of politics we only hear a faint echo. We see nothing of the merchant, the lawyer, or the journalist. The little island community, whose humble annals Mme. Dragoumis has so faithfully transcribed, set little store by book learning, but they are in the main a kindly, thrifty race, seasoning their talk with proverbs and ancient saws, and combining with their religious observance a good deal of the old pagan supersti- tions. Mme. Dragoumis shows them to us in many aspects
Tates of a Greek Island. By Julia D, Dragoumis. London: Constable and Co. Os.] of their life—at work in their orchards or in their fishing boats, the women gossiping by the fountain and the men in the wine- shop. Though for the most part they are content to stand on the ancient ways, the new leaven is also seen at work. Thus we have the orphan boy Metro steadily bent on working his way up the ladder of learning, and Viola, the daughter of Stamo, successfully rebelling against her father's patriarcharchbice of a husband, though in the long run she comes round to his way of thinking. Homely in their complexion as a rule, these idylls take on at times a tragic cast, as in the episode of the lame girl, Ohryssi, and her heroic but unavailing efforts to shield her outlawed lover ; or the moving story of the step-mother who strove so hard to save her step-child from a cruel father ; or the splendid mendacity of the school- master who kept back from the erring but sorely tried mother the terrible dying words of her only son. The pre- vailing temper of the book is somewhat sad; the contrast between the human tragedy and the ever-smiling landscape is too pronounced; for, though there is a certain amount of sentimental relief, the element of humour is lacking. But with all reservations this is a fresh, wholesome, and sympathetic picture of a phase of modern life unfamiliar to the novel reader. We leave its pages with a lively feeling of goodwill towards many of the characters and a strong desire to see the scenes in which their lot is cast.
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