Some Books of the Week
" Wito will take even a passing interest in such trifles ? " Writes Mr. Lewis May when he comes to the end of The Path Through the Wood (Geoffrey Bles, 7s. 6d.). None of those who have followed him down the path will hesitate to say " I." We meet such charming people as we go from glade to glade. Only a few moments' talk is allowed us, but as in dreams we
seem to-begin the acquaintance with a conviction of intimacy. Surely we know more of the musician who was also a doctor of medicine than is here told us, and more of the Victorian mother with her airs and graces; her ignorance of the things of the intellect, her beautiful English and her heart of gold- " Sarah," too, we love at first sight : are there any nurses as good as Sarah now ? or any little boys as naughty as the ", elder brother " who bought his own prize and made faces
like. a gargoyle.? The memories are so slight and yet so real, so entirely unlike the prosy recollections laboriously scraped together by those who begin, pen in hand, to turn their faces towards the past, that, we hardly know whether to look on them as truth or poetry.. Anyhow we have greatly enjoyed them. -
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