The latter book was,
with Lady Wilde's translation of Sidonia the Sorceress, my favourite
romantic reading when a boy. Her letters from Egypt are wonderfully
vivid and picturesque. Here is an interesting bit of art criticism:

Sheykh Yoosuf laughed so heartily over a print in an illustrated paper
from a picture of Hilton's of Rebekah at the well, with the old
'wekeel' of 'Sidi Ibraheem' (Abraham's chief servant) _kneeling_
before the girl he was sent to fetch, like an old fool without his
turban, and Rebekah and the other girls in queer fancy dresses, and
the camels with snouts like pigs. 'If the painter could not go into
"Es Sham" to see how the Arab really look,' said Sheykh Yoosuf, 'why
did he not paint a well in England, with girls like English
peasants--at least it would have looked natural to English people? and
the wekeel would not seem so like a madman if he had taken off a hat!'
I cordially agree with Yoosuf's art criticism. _Fancy_ pictures of
Eastern things are hopelessly absurd.

Mrs. Ross has certainly produced a most fascinating volume, and her book
is one of the books of the season. It is edited with tact and judgment.

* * * * *

Caroline, by Lady Lindsay, is certainly Lady Lindsay's best work. It is
written in a very clever modern style, and is as full of esprit and wit
as it is of subtle psychological insight. Caroline is an heiress, who,
coming downstairs at a Continental hotel, falls into the arms of a
charming, penniless young man. The hero of the novel is the young man's
friend, Lord Lexamont, who makes the 'great renunciation,' and succeeds
in being fine without being priggish, and Quixotic without being
ridiculous. Miss Ffoulkes, the elderly spinster, is a capital character,
and, indeed, the whole book is cleverly written. It has also the
advantage of being in only one volume. The influence of Mudie on
literature, the baneful influence of the circulating library, is clearly
on the wane. The gain to literature is incalculable. English novels
were becoming very tedious with their three volumes of padding--at least,
the second volume was always padding--and extremely indigestible. A
reckless punster once remarked to me, apropos of English novels, that
'the proof of the padding is in the eating,' and certainly English
fiction has been very heavy--heavy with the best intentions. Lady
Lindsay's book is a sign that better things are in store for us. She is
brief and bright.

* * * * *

What are the best books to give as Christmas presents to good girls who
are always pretty, or to pretty girls who are occasionally good? People
are so fond of giving away what they do not want themselves, that charity
is largely on the increase. But with this kind of charity I have not
much sympathy. If one gives away a book, it should be a charming book--so
charming, that one regrets having given it, and would not take it back.