He certainly
thought this particular woman of singularly small account, or else the
brusque and tactless allusion to his books may perhaps have annoyed
him as it did me; but whatever the cause, when he promptly left me at
the first approach of a mutual acquaintance, I felt distinctly
snubbed. Of the two men, Mr. Gladstone was infinitely more agreeable
in his manner, he left one with the pleasant feeling of measuring a
little higher in cubic inches than one did before, than which I know
no more delightful sensation. A Paris, bientot.

Elsewhere, we find cleverly-written descriptions of life in Italy, in
Algiers, at Hombourg, at French boarding-houses; stories about Napoleon
III., Guizot, Prince Gortschakoff, Montalembert, and others; political
speculations, literary criticisms, and witty social scandal; and
everywhere a keen sense of humour, a wonderful power of observation. As
reconstructed in these letters, the Inconnue seems to have been not
unlike Merimee himself. She had the same restless, unyielding,
independent character. Each desired to analyse the other. Each, being a
critic, was better fitted for friendship than for love. 'We are so
different,' said Merimee once to her, 'that we can hardly understand each
other.' But it was because they were so alike that each remained a
mystery to the other. Yet they ultimately attained to a high altitude of
loyal and faithful friendship, and from a purely literary point of view
these fictitious letters give the finishing touch to the strange romance
that so stirred Paris fifteen years ago. Perhaps the real letters will
be published some day. When they are, how interesting to compare them!

The Bird-Bride, by Graham R. Tomson, is a collection of romantic ballads,
delicate sonnets, and metrical studies in foreign fanciful forms. The
poem that gives its title to the book is the lament of an Eskimo hunter
over the loss of his wife and children.

Years agone, on the flat white strand,
I won my sweet sea-girl:
Wrapped in my coat of the snow-white fur,
I watched the wild birds settle and stir,
The grey gulls gather and whirl.

One, the greatest of all the flock,
Perched on an ice-floe bare,
Called and cried as her heart were broke,
And straight they were changed, that fleet bird-folk,
To women young and fair.

Swift I sprang from my hiding-place
And held the fairest fast;
I held her fast, the sweet, strange thing:
Her comrades skirled, but they all took wing,
And smote me as they passed.

I bore her safe to my warm snow house;
Full sweetly there she smiled;
And yet, whenever the shrill winds blew,
She would beat her long white arms anew,
And her eyes glanced quick and wild.

But I took her to wife, and clothed her warm
With skins of the gleaming seal;
Her wandering glances sank to rest
When she held a babe to her fair, warm breast,
And she loved me dear and leal.