SOME BIOGRAPHIES.*
WHEN a great personage, nearly related to the reigning Sovereign, and necessarily behind the scenes in the drama of national and social life, begins to keep a diary in his boy- hood, and keeps it with but little interruption for some seventy years, we naturally have high expectations, We cannot say that these expectations are fulfilled in this "Memoir of the Private Life of George, Duke of Cambridge." Anyhow, there is nothing like what the representatives of Prince Hohenlohe have lately given to the world. The Sub-Dean of the Chapels Royal has written the book, the Princess of Wales has read all the proofs, and King Edward has "ever been ready to pass final judgment in cases" which the Sub- Dean has not been able to decide. These are sufficient safe- guards, and the result is all that could be or ought to be wished. Now and then, indeed, we catch a glimpse of the real man. In 1851 he wishes that "the Exhibition were at the Hevil,"—somewhat ungracious, seeing that the Prince Consort had brought it about. But then there were some who feared "the gathering of so many foreigners in London"! He thinks, again, that the great enthusiasm about Garibaldi was "too ridiculous and very disgusting," a sentiment quite suitable to old-fashioned Royalty. There are some mai/ entries in the early diaries. He is ashamed (act. twelve) of showing "some signs of cowardice" while he is riding ; is "very angry and behaved very ill" (ad. fourteen) when he is told to get up some Homer against "papa's birthday" ; thinks it a most dreadful thing (act. fifteen) that be is "not yet perfect in spelling," and " behaves again like a baby about leaping," but is " going to redeem his character." The riding difficulty pressed most on him. He is ashamed when a little girl (Lord Howe's daughter) rode "without any fear a new and very tall horse," though he "always asked many questions when he had to ride a new one." After all, there was real courage in these frank confessions. Another cause of " nervousness " was that the Queen (Adelaide) was going to examine him in the " Thirty-nine Articles and other branches of Scriptural instruction." The Articles must have been for the special benefit of • or George, Duke of Cambridge: a Memoir of his Private Life. Edited by Edgar Sheppard, D.D. 2 vols. London: Longmans and Co. [24s. net I- (2) Recollections of a Luck-nos Veteran. By Mapr.Getieral-.T. Ruggles. Same publisher. [a.. net.]—.--(S) Olives: the Reminiscences of a President. Sir Wylie Bayliss. Edited by his Wife. London : G. Allen. [16. net. — (a) John Mason Neale,• P.D.: a Memoir. By Eleanor A. Towle. Lon on Ungmans and Co. pas. 6d. net.]—(5) John Thais Davidson. Reminiscences by his Daughter. London : Hodder and Stoughton. [6e. net.]—(6) Richard Cadbury of Birmingham. By Helen Alexander. Same publishers. [7s. 6d. net.] Royal confirmees. As we proceed the diary grows more formal and less really personal. There are interesting things in the book, such as the patriarchal gatherings at Rnmpenheim, where between thirty and forty guests sit down to dinner, and other matters which touch the "private life." For the most part, the word "private" really means " non-official." The Duke goes to the funeral of Bing Leopold of Belgium ; he is at Brighton for the Volunteer Review, and has luncheon at the Pavilion—" I can only look on it as a sad desecration "; he attends the funeral of Queen Marie Amelie, and the marriage of his sister, the Princess Mary. Then the war of 1866 breaks out; the Duke is glad to hear that the Italians have been beaten at Peschiera, but is dismayed at the Prussian successes " Germany seems to be lost." The book has some interest, and even value, but these scarcely correspond to its size, and what we may even describe as its pretensions.
We do not suppose that Major-General Ruggles con- tributes in his Recollections anything absolutely new to the history of the Indian Mutiny. Still, the personal narrative of an officer who took a part in the defence of Lucknow from the investment down to its final relief is sure to be worth reading. And the details of the story are certainly striking. The writer is at work with a brother-officer who is seized with the delusion that his comrade is bent on murdering him. He looks out of his window one morning and sees, four feet off, in the burial-ground, a corpse in the attitude of conflict ; it had been left till a grave could be dug. Dr. Bryden, sole survivor of the Kabul massacre, was hit as he sat at dinner by a bullet which "traversed his whole body," but did not kill him. Again and again we read: " Died next day after amputation" ; it was rare indeed for any one to survive an operation. An eclipse frightens the assailants into inactivity ; but it surely could not have produced "almost total darkness." Everybody ie almost in rags except Captain Barlow, " who to the amaze- ment and puzzledom of the rest of us managed to turn out every day well groomed and laundried." But the lighter touch is very rare in the grim record of battle, disease, and death. How splendid is the story of patienhe and courage, not the less so when it is told, as here, with the very smallest allowance of epithets.
Olives is the somewhat enigmatic title which Sir Wyke Bayliss chose to give to his " Reminiscences." As a matter of fact, the papers which are here collected are literary and critical rather than biographical. Incidentally there are little touches of life and character—thingithat concern himself. and others—but the motif is of the writer rather than the relater. One of the most interesting-stories is of the artistic fortunes of David Cox. When he was at his best—as Sir Wyke thought—his pictures were again and again rejected, at the Society of British Artists, at the British Institution—and what pictures one has seen there !—and at the Royal Academy. " We search his life in vain for a single instance in which a picture of his found a place upon its walls [the Royal Academy)—until he died; and then they held an exhibition of his collected works." It is pleasant to remember that, on the whole, this neglected artist was happy.. He wanted very little, and though he never of more than £100 for a picture in his life, he had enough ; the world gave him guod sails est, though it was parca menu.
The memoir of a divine who died more than forty years ago may seem somewhat belated; but we find that it suggests, as we read, various questions that are still very much alive. Dr. Neale—big degree was conferred on him by Hartford College in the United States —was accused of unlawful practices in the chapel of Sackville College, of which he was Warden. Some one made his way into the chapel—certainly not a nice thing to do—and found a Roman breviary. Dr. Neale excused its presence by Baying that his study was full of office-books of all sorts, and that the breviary had been accidentally left there. We seem to have heard something of the same sort not long ago. But he went on to say, "justly," thinks his biographer, that it had as good a right to be there as "any other book of prayer or hymns constantly to be found in parish churches." What these "books of prayer" are we know not ; we do know that every clergyman promises not to use in worship any prayer other than those contained in the Liturgy. But we are often in more serene regions as we follow Dr. Neale's career. Re was a most devoted student, an inde- fatigable writer to whose facile pen and gift of poetical
expression we owe some very popular hymns. If there were nothing else to keep his memory green, these would suffice. And he did much in the organisation of charitable work. Occasional perversity and disobedience in sisterhoods may well be condoned in view of the practical good that they do ; and here, too, Dr. Neale's energies did excellent service. And what a pleasing picture is that of the first Christmas Day which the new Warden spent in Sackville College !
We get into a very different atmosphere when we read the "Reminiscences" which Dr. Davidson's daughter has given us of her father. The elder of twins, he was destined from birth, more Scotico, for the ministry. But by the time he had reached boyhood the Disruption trouble bad come to a head., If the elder Davidson was not one of the four hundred and seventy-four who went out on May 18th, 1843, it was because he was on his death-bed. He died in the following August. The lad's vocation, however, was not set aside; only it was carried out in the Free Church. His work lay mainly in London, where he started and for many years managed the evangelising movement that centred in the Agricultural Hall. His was a winning personality, kindly, humorous, with a large heart that reached out in many ways,—" Dr. Davidson," said one who knew him well, "is never too busy to speak to a strange cat." And he could be decisive on occasion. A young City clerk told him one day that "the Lord had laid it upon him to speak to the congregation at the
Agricultural " Have you ever spoken to your fellow- clerks P " asked the Doctor. It was a hard test—many would find it more difficult to speak to one than to a thousand— but in the circumstances it was perfectly just. We began by doubting whether the reminiscences were worth publishing, but ended with the conviction that it would have been a great loss not to have had them. One little anecdote we must give. Some of our readers may remember be Wright, the "con- verted burglar." He had preached at the Hall, and on the next Sunday Dr. Guthrie came. " Is he a burglar too, papa?" whispered one of the children of the house, to the Doctor's intense delight.
Richard Cadbury's life has its lessons for more than one class of his countrymen. There was something heroic in his start in business. He and his brother (aged twenty-five and twenty-two) bore up against a time of loss. For some years this went on. More than four-fifths of his capital of £4,000 had gone before the tide turned. But as long as be could pay twenty shillings in the pound to creditors he held on; then a small profit was realised, and before long wealth flowed in. But when times were at their hardest Richard Cadbury never ceased to think of others. To care for his workpeople was his first duty— 'and it is a tradition of the firm—but he had large views of what he owed to others, and as his means increased these views became wider and wider. It would take long even to catalogue his good works. Perhaps the most striking of them was the giving up of his own home, Moseley Hall, for the purposes of a convalescent home for children. It had always been his delight to welcome his poorer neighbours there ; now be rose to the height, not often reached, of giving it up altogether. At the same time, he was ready with help for such things as Palestine and Egypt Exploration Societies. Some of Richard Cadbury's social and political beliefs are not at all to our mind; but he was a conspicuously honest and large-hearted man.
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