The story of the Tsar's love for Princess Dolgorukova, later his morganatic wife under the name of Princess Iurievskaia, is exhaustively told in these memoirs for the first time.

The later years of his reign were perturbed. Alexander II had premonitions of his tragic end. He was a fatalist and did not want any special precautions to be taken. He did not believe that gendarmes and secret police would save his life, although he followed their reports with interest. Almost daily he received threatening or cautioning letters. Someone's mysterious hand invariably placed them upon his desk in his absence. With a real horror the Tsar noted in his diary the one that was transmitted to him by his own son, Prince Iurievski, to whom it was handed in the street with a request to forward it to his father.

The atmosphere was stifling. Revolutionists were getting bolder every day. The Tsar changed Ministers and appointed commissions with kaleidoscopic frequency, but without avail. All means were exhausted, and finally the Emperor's forces as well. He felt an overwhelming desire to retire and enjoy a legitimate personal happiness. He decided to crown Princess Iurievskaia as Empress of Russia and orders were given accordingly. A project of constitution was drafted and signed. The Tsar was planning to live the rest of his life in retirement under the soft skies of the Riviera, but on the first of March, 1881, an anarchist bomb ended all these plans.

The book is to be illustrated by exceptionally interesting drawings and photographs.

THE 'INDEX GENERALIS'

A FRENCH rival of the German Minerva, which for years was a standard work of reference for the learned

world, has just appeared. It is the Index Generalis, published in Paris under the direction of R. de Montessus de Ballore, a professor in the Catholic University at Lille, and also of the Faculty of Science in Paris. The new handbook is approved by the Ministry of Public Instruction, and is therefore, so far as its French section is concerned, practically an official document.

It consists of more than two thousand pages, and lists practically every college, university, and professional school in the world, as well as observatories and learned societies. It is arranged by countries, is well indexed, and, for the present at least, will probably replace the old Minerva.

This is quite evidently the aim of the French publishers, who have gone to the trouble of putting an English cover on copies intended for this country and Great Britain. They send out their review copies with a little note saying: 'You will be delighted to learn (Vous apprendez avec plaisir) that the German Minerva has had but one edition, at the beginning of 1921, since the end of the war.' It will be remembered that French scholars were unwilling to cooperate in making that one edition.

The learned world after the war is even more polyglot than before, because of the rise of small nationalities and the consequent founding of many more national universities. To meet this situation the publishers have given the entries of every university and professional school in the language of the country of origin. In general, this involves the use of technical terms in various languages; but these as a rule are readily understood, and where there is any difficulty short vocabularies are inserted. The new volume comprises one thousand and seven entries, which are distributed as follows: France and her Colonies, 141; British Empire, 369; Germany, 71; United

States, 112; other countries, 314. These data are as accurate as they can be made, having been submitted by the authorities of the institutions concerned.

the city completely, but its site had such natural advantages that it was not long before a new Roman city grew up where the Phoenician colony had formerly stood and flourished for

In a silk-lined case, standing on a supporting base, you see the violin made by Joseph Guarnerius del Jesu, which belonged to Paganini, father of violin technique. In the circumstances in which I saw it, with three broken strings, there was nothing in its outward appearance to give a man, who did not know, any cause for flights of fancy into the realm of poetry. And yet to me, even in such neglect of this costly instrument, shut away from light, air, sun, and playing, there was something deeply tragic. A hundred years ago men by thousands were enchanted by the strains that poured from these few bits of wood. This magnificent little object, covered with red varnish, helped its master to set up a tradition of violin-playing which, if it had been used in the service of a higher art, would have fully justified its existence. Our modern critics may think and say what they will of Paganini; nevertheless he became a distinguished musician in spite of his technique.

'CARTHAGO SERVANDA EST'

DR. L. CARTON, the French archæologist of Tunis, writes in L'Echo de Paris on the preservation of the ruins of Carthage, which were described in the Living Age a few months ago. The Roman Conquest in 146 B.C. destroyed

It is for the preservation of these ruins that Dr. Carton appeals. He urges that the localities where investigation shows most of the ruins are to be found buried beneath the soil should be purchased and made secure for future scientific work. The territory involved is too extensive to make complete purchase possible, but he believes that in this way much can be done.

An organization known as the Comité des Dames Amies de Carthage is exerting itself in France and Belgium to raise funds for making the ruins more available to tourists. They have set up a huge colored map of the ruins in the Carthage railway-station, and have done a good deal to make the ruins more accessible by means of guides, guideposts, and other means of spreading information. The Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, of which Dr. Carton is a correspondent, has appointed a commission to consider the questions relating to the ruins.

fro on one system, and that was the Midland. He started from St. Pancras at midnight, and journeyed to Leeds, which he reached at 4.05 A.M. In seven minutes he began the return journey, getting back to St. Pancras at 8.15 A.M., having so far accounted for 391 miles in 488 minutes of actual riding.

Next, boarding the 9.30 A.M. north express at St. Pancras, he was rushed to Carlisle, distant 308 miles, arriving at 3.50 P.M., and leaving only an eight-minute margin before he had to be seated in a return train for London, due in at 10.25 P.M. The punctuality was so wonderful that the entire programme, fine as the margins were, was carried through as planned, 1005 miles being traveled in, as nearly as possible, 1260 minutes, or 180 minutes within the specified time.

THE DOTS OF H. G. WELLS

MR. H. G. WELLS was the goodnatured victim of a students' 'rag' at the Training College of Education at Leeds, where he had gone to deliver an address. He had just concluded when a pair of students disguised as policemen entered armed with a warrant from 'The Crown and Anchor.' Mr. Wells threw up his hands and cried 'Kamerad!' Taken in charge by the police, the novelist confronted a court of students with judge, counsel for the accused, jury, and bellman, all quite complete. The novelist was lodged in an improvised dock which consisted of a table with its legs turned upward.

The indictment against Mr. Wells alleged certain crimes against art and punctuation, the latter accusation being apparently more serious in the minds of the accusers. To quote from the indictment, it was alleged 'that he will

fully and maliciously used an excessive number of dots in the emotional scenes of his novels; and that he had used "outlines" in a certain work of history written by him.'

The prosecuting counsel delivered a fiery denunciation, in which the argument was not nearly so clear as some amusing parodies of the author's style, wild imaginative flights, and an earnest examination examination of infinity. Witnesses testified that to save himself the adequate expression of emotion the prisoner put 'rows of dots.' Sometimes he even sank so far as to break off in the middle of a sentence into 'inexpressible dottiness.'

- was

The Outline of History, which has been the target for the specialists ever since it appeared, without suffering very much at their hands, — at least so far as its readers can see, also dragged into court, and an artist testified on the principles of impressionism that no outline was 'properly visible to solid objects in a lambent atmosphere' which may mean something or may be merely impressionism.

The prisoner's advocate argued in mitigation of the offense that the prisoner had written only an outline of history and was to be congratulated upon not having filled in his outline. As for the dots, he assured the court that 'every dot has its day,' and that furthermore these dots bubbled up from the Wells of Truth.

The prisoner was then sentenced to 'translate the dots into semaphore.' Mr. Wells, assuming a cockney accent, said he could 'do it on 'is 'ead.' He was then removed from court.

The Hill Tribes of Fiji, by A. B. Brewster. London: Seeley, Service, 1922. 21s. net. Cannibal-Land, by Martin Johnson. London: Constable. 1922. 12s. 6d. net.

British North Borneo, by Owen Rutter. London: Constable, 1922. 21s. net.

[Saturday Review]

WE once spent a week in Fiji, and only the pressure of duty saved us from the temptation of missing the boat that was to carry us away. The most superficial view of that enchanted island fills one with longing to know it more thoroughly, and Mr. Brewster's fascinating book at last satisfies that longing. Its ample subtitle, more in the style of the eighteenth than the twentieth century, describes it with accuracy as 'a record of forty years' intimate connection with the tribes of the mountainous interior of Fiji, with a description of their habits in war and peace, methods of living, characteristics mental and physical, from the days of cannibalism to the present time.'

Mr. Brewster's knowledge of Fiji dates back almost to the murder of Mr. Baker in 1867. When he landed in 1870, the Suva children were singing a dirge in which that enterprising but indiscreet missionary's fate was recorded, with the refrain:

Oh! dead is Mr. Baker,

They killed him on the road,
And they ate him, boots and all.

Many years after the tragedy, when Mr. Brewster was Resident Commissioner of the Tholo North Province, he happened to hear the whole story from the actors in it, who 'hotly resented the accusation of having eaten the boots. They said they were not such fools, as they knew quite well that such were adjuncts of the vavalangi or white men, in the same category as their guns, powder, axes, knives, and so forth. . . .'

Mr. Johnson's Cannibal-Land is a cinematographic film in prose. It describes his adventures in the New Hebrides which he first saw when a passenger in the late Mr. London's Snark-in search of material for the 'movies.' The earliest of these adventures was nearly the last, since Mr. Johnson and his wife put themselves at the mercy of a cannibal chief whose preparations for a banquet were only stopped by the accidental arrival of a gunboat. But they got their picture, and two years later they had the unique experience of exhibiting it to the same chief, with whom they had then made friends; they did not even

grumble at having to pay the audience for attending.

Major Rutter has written a comprehensive and interesting account of the little State of North Borneo, a British Protectorate which has been administered for forty years by the British North Borneo Chartered Company. During this time the country-which is about half the size of England - has been converted from a neglected tropical wilderness into a 'scene of patient toil and industry.' Major Rutter, who was formerly a Government officer and is now a planter in North Borneo, describes the romantic origin of the Company and its methods of administration, the prospects of agriculture - rubber and tobacco are at present the most remunerative crops

- the indications of mineral wealth, native customs, and daily life. North Borneo is a country, he says, in which no European should remain longer than four years at a time; but it is a land of great possibilities, and living is cheaper there than almost anywhere in the world to-day.

Extemporary Essays, by Maurice Hewlett. London and New York: Oxford University Press. 1923. 68. 6d.

[To-Day]

THE publishers of these essays have been well advised in issuing them in pocket form; they may now be read, as they most surely will be read, in all manner of places by those who love convenient scholarship, bright ideas, and rich phrases, backed by an outlook which is both broad and sane. Mr. Hewlett has given us a most winning volume of essays, which will live long in the admiration and even affection of essay-lovers.

On Secret Patrol in High Asia, by Captain L. V. S. Blacker. With an introduction by MajorGeneral Sir George Younghusband. London: Murray. 1922. 188.

[Times Literary Supplement]

'AWAY back in the third week of August, 1914, I found myself marching just after midnight out from the walled city of Yarkand through the desert of Takla Makan straight into the North Star' in this opening sentence Captain Blacker of the Guides suggests to us the frame of mind in which to read the story of his enthralling adventures. From that day in August when he had yet to learn of the war, until 1920, he seems to have been marching from Yarkands toward nothing more definite and accessible than the North Star. A coherent analysis of his wanderings would

give a false impression of them; on foot and on horseback he covered ten thousand miles of country, and that vague figure is in keeping with the evocative names of the places he mentionsMerv, 'Asqhabad, Tashkend, Shignan, Kashgar, Samarkand. He crossed deserts, glaciers, icy fords, huge mountain ranges set one behind the other, the frozen wastes of Karakoram and untrodden Karakash. And always, whatever his mission, he is accompanied - such is the impression given - by sixteen indestructible Pathans.

It is a nightmare country: time and space are on a nightmare scale; height and depth are without limit; blizzards shriek over the roof of the world; the people encountered wear strange clothes and all move stealthily. There is nothing incoherent in Captain Blacker himself; his decisions are taken instantly- but there is something of the nightmare in the rapidity with which they produce their result; it is as if he controlled marionettes by a string. But the marionettes have to be set up again laboriously before the play can proceed, and then it is quite a different play.

This is no fault of his; his orders might be out of date when he received them; those who issued them could do no better than guess at the conditions in the country to which they sent him; policy changed with the repercussion of every shock in the war. He and his sixteen were always doing something adventurous-carrying out a mission into Chinese Turkestan, hunting emissaries of the enemy over mountains, descending into the plains to fight 'the Reds' with armored trains. The stage is so vast that there is place in it both for a Kirghiz rider on a yak and for the armored train; there would be place in it for Diplodocus...

At a late period of the war, Enver conceived the plan of utilizing the German, Magyar, and Austrian prisoners of war who had been released by the Soviet, backing them with raiders from 'the Chorasmian waste,' and sweeping into the plains of the Sutlej and the Ganges with an army two hundred thousand strong. To oppose them, says the author, we had 'the proverbial two men and a boy.' He was one of those required to find out what was contemplated.

Names do not much concern the reader of this story, and it will be enough to say that it was near the shrine of Duldulhokar that Captain Blacker heard from an Afghan merchant traveling with his caravan that about a hundred armed men, apparently Afghans, led by Germans and Turks, had been seen making for the gorge where

the Tashkurghan River breaks its way down from the Pamirs. That was enough. Off went Captain Blacker in pursuit, with improvised equipment at a moment's notice, on a hunt through desolation; the men with him were few but fit; two tents held them all — Kanjutis, fair Kirghiz, Punjabis, and Pathans, all mixed up together.

In the morning they hit by the best of good fortune on the deep prints of men and horses in the snow. 'We were to know that same spoor by heart during the next fourteen days.' They pushed on over ridges fourteen thousand feet high, starved, froze, and always when at the last gasp got a fresh start. They knew that the whole movement might be a decoy; they knew that the pursued might lay an ambush for them anywhere in the mountains; they knew that fifty such chases would be needed for one capture; but they pushed on. The leader had only one quarrel with his men, and that was because they had contributed out of their rations that he might have

more.

Gradually the scent grew hotter. One day they found in the bivouac of the quarry a new china tea-bowl broken in half with a fresh clean fracture scarcely a day old; the reader will feel a Dr. Watson when he learns the inferences that were to be drawn - 'visions of a sudden joyous scrimmage with someone prefixed "von" came into everyone's mind.' In another bivouac was a dead quail and his little straw cage. 'These two last told us plainly the land that some of the gang came from, if not all. It is a pleasant little peculiarity of the Pathan to carry about tame quail and partridges in odd folds of his raiment.'

The hunt ended when the great iron-studded gates of the Badakshi Sarai were flung open and its hundred Afghan denizens threw up their hands in a flash on seeing, behind the bayonets gleaming in the morning sun, the sixteen gaunt, wolfish faces.

BOOKS MENTIONED

Index Generalis, 1922–1923, issued under the direction of R. De Montessus de Ballore. Paris: Gauthier-Villars et Cie., 55 Quai des Grands-Augustins, Paris 6. English edition,

$6.50.

MASON, PAUL-MARIE. Berlioz. Paris: Alcan, 1923. (For early publication.)

MOLTKE, HELMUTH VON. Erinnerungen, Briefe, Dokumente, 1877-1916. Published with a preface by Eliza von Moltke. Stuttgart: Der kommende Tag, 1923.