attempt to depict these graver aspects of school life has
almost invariably defeated its own laudable end by lapses into mawkish sentimentality. We do not, therefore, blame Mr. Tur- ley for his abstention, since, given his standpoint, it is logically and artistically correct ; but we cannot altogether help regretting it, especially as he might have been trusted to handle such themes in a manly and discreet fashion.
Maitland Major and Minor, as the title indicates, recounts the experiences of two small boys, at home and at a pre- paratory school, as narrated by the elder. Roger, the minor, does not come on to the scene until the eighth chapter, but plays a conspicuous and exhilarating part throughout the rest of the book. The character of this juvenile laughing philosopher is neatly summed up by his brother when he observes that "every governess he had—and be had a perfect bevy—loved Lim vigorously and left him after one term.
My idea is that one term wore them out, for if I got into trouble occasionally, be simply went about seeking it ; but he regretted all these ladies, and wrote to them on wet afternoons if he could think of anything to say." Though this is primarily and chiefly a school-story, Mr. Turley's pictures of holiday life provide a series of admirable inter- ludes, as may be gathered from the following passage :—
"At the beginning of the holidays I took Lyon home with me and my people liked him at once, which was perhaps rather wonderful because I had fairly cracked him up to them, and I have found out since that this is a game which isn't always successful. I don't like saying so, but Lyon was most awfully good-looking and a lot of stupid people had let him know it, until, like the good sort he was, he got quite ashamed of himself, and couldn't stand any remarks about his face. I think he was more touchy than he need have been, because things which don't do at school are all right at home. But when I heard a lady say that his complexion was just like a peach and told him about it, he simply lost his temper with me. So I called him 'The Peach.' I don't know why I did it, unless it was to show that I was not afraid of him; and we had a bigger row than we had ever had before. It was on the second day of the holidays, and was all my fault. We patched up our flumel without fighting, because I suggested that the lady might have meant an unripe peach, and
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