Over Fen and Wold. By James John Hissey (Macmillan and
Co. 16s.)—Mr. Hissey does not quite possess the "feeling for Nature " exhibited either by the well-known American writer, Mr. John Burroughs, or by the late Richard Jefferies,—although, by the way, Mr. W. E. Henley is, perhaps, not so wide of the mark when he describes the latter as "a reporter of genius." But, as he has shown in his previous books, such as "A Drive Through England" and "Through Ten English Counties," he has a very genuine and boyish enthusiasm for driving in country roads and discovering the secrets of country inns and country churchyards ; and his enthusiasm is, happily, contagious. Over Fen and Weld is an admirable addition to the works of Mr. Hissey's favourite class. As its name almost sufficiently indicates, -it is "the chronicle of a leisurely and most enjoyable driving tour through a portion of Eastern England little esteemed and almost wholly neglected by the average tourist, for Lincolnshire is generally deemed to be a flat land, composed mostly of fens, and with but small or no scenic attractions." Mr. Hissey has, however, discovered Lincoln- shire to be a country of hills as well as of fens. It is also the para- dise of small towns like St. Neots and St. Ives, of country rectories and manor-houses. All these Mr. Hissey presents to us in that fashion which has now become familiar, and is as pleasant as it is agreeable. Then he has an eye for whatever is quaint in the way of curious carving, gargoyles, and graveyard inscrip- tions, and a positively omnivorous appetite for stories, some of which it may be allowed are distinctly poor. Occasionally he seems a trifle too credulous. He came across an antiquary who was also a sweetmeat-shop keeper. " We were allowed to gaze upon and even handle his treasure of treasures, namely, the snuff-box of Bobbie Burns, the great Scotch poet,' in the shape of a small horn with a silver lid. This, we were assured, had once belonged to Burns. It may have done ; anyway, on the lid is inscribed ' R. B. 1768,' and it looks that age." Mr. Hissey should have remembered that Burns was born in 1759, and was hardly likely to have possessed himself of a snuff-box at the age of nAie. One is not disposed, however, to be hypercritical in dealing with a book which treats so pleasantly, and, at the same time, so exhaustively, of the country of Cromwell and Tennyson. Mr. Hissey's general style may be gathered from this description of Boston :—" A dreamy place in spite of its prosperity, dreamy but not dull ; quaint perhaps rather than picturesque—a delightful unspoilt old-world town, with an indescribable flavour of the long ago about it, a spot where the poetry of a past civilisation lingers yet."
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