THE SKETCHER.

Otago Witness, Issue 3114, 19 November 1913, Page 75

THE SKETCHER.

HUNCH AND INGUSH LITERARY ART., By T. P. O’Connor. Whenever I find myself dwelling fox some weeks, in France, as I have been doing lately, I make it a rule to read scarcelv anything but French, books ana even French newspapers. It is a natural opportunity for brushing up one s knowledge and for a further study of the extraordinary nation within whose gates I am dwelling for the time being. And this enables me to enter on a system ox revaluation of certain views with regard to the differences between French and English art in literature. Let me say at once that in any such revaluation one must be careful to avoid that common mistake of the tourist of finding everything right in a foreign country and everything wrong in one’s own. It is a form of snobbery—just as much as the depreciation of other countries and the ostentatious glorification of one s own. It is what I may call inverted Podsnappery. The fundamental truth, I believe, in the enormous contrast between the spirit of the literature of - two countries is inevitable, and to large extent perennial. We may learn from them and they from us, Iqut essentially we must remain different. Our literature in both cases is the outcome of climate, national character, and national conditions, and as those things are to a large extent subject to little change—unless, pernaps, the last of them —so our literature, remaining true to , its roots, must remain also different in spirit. This is the explanation of that controversy which is now actively' going on in the* papers with reference to the books of Mr Hall Caine, Mr Maxwell, and Mr Compton Mackenzie. To one who, like me, has been reading French books for more than a month, it comes as a surprise that certain passages in these books should bring a raging storm of criticism around the heads of the distinguished authors. These passages would no more strike any' French man or woman as daring than a washing bill, because it contained the names of certain articles of clothes that are not usually' mentioned in polite society. And there you have the irreconcilable points of view of the two nations and the two literatures. What we call indecent they regard as an essential part of the veracious description of life and of man. What we designate modesty they denounce as prudery and as hypocrisy. And there the controversy will remain for a long time, if not for ever. —Points of View.— But still, as I have said, we may learn much from each other, and I propose now to examine the different noints of view and try to apportion, after the judicial manner of a true literary court, what is to be said on both sides. I will make this confession at the outset, that, as a rule, I read French novels with greater interest than English. I- find myself often too tired to talk or to be talked to, but I am never too tired to read a French novel—a state of feeling which I share, I have heard, with two such distinguished men as Mr Balfour and Mr Chamberlain. Why is it? It is not, I am certain, because of any especial delight in pornography ; as a matter of fact, I am not interested in pornography. It is the degradation, of art and 3 a caricature of hfe. The real reason, I believe, is that I have a sense of greater truth in the Frencn than in the English novel. The French frankly acknowledge in their literature what we all acknowledge outside of it- - namely, that human beings are not soul only, but body and soul combined, and that these two factors of the human being influence each other, that the physical part of man lies at the roots of all his emotions, and that therefore no picture of life can be true which does not deal frankly with physical as well as with the spiritual side of man. Now, of all the human emotions with which the novel and the drama have to deal, the most vital is the passion of love. How can any real student of human nature refuse to see that in the passion of love the physical plays a dominating part? If anybody wants to understand this side of human love he had better give an hour’s reading to Schopenhauer’s masterly essay on woman. It is the work of a pessimist and of a misogynist, and much of it is pure nonsense. But in analysing the origins and roots of the great and superhuman passion. Schopenhauer is the truest of teachers. You will complete your education by reading some of the pages of Tolstoy—though there, again, you have to make allowance for the fact that the author is a disillusioned and somewhat mystical writer who, in his maturity, was reflecting on some of the fleshly sins of his youth, and who therefore became an agnostic in love. But making allowance for' all this, Tolstoy does analyse with extraordinary truth and penetration the origins of the love of men and women for each other. And, of course, both he and Schopenhauer arrive at this conclusion—that the passion has its point of departure in Nature’s determination that the race shall be perpetuated.

—False and True Art.—

This, then, being the origin of human love, and human love being the chief raw material of literature, the French writer would show some impatience if he were precluded from discussing with perfect frankness the physical side of man. He would regard reticence as not merely prudery. hut —what is a much worse offence in his eyes—as false art. And whatever the faults of French literature, it is free, as a rule, from any conscious falsehood in art. I take a recent French book which has been exciting a great deal of attention in France —I mean M. Marcel Prevost’s “Anges gari dens.” It is not a pleasant book, especially ns a countrywoman of ours plays the part of one of the villains in the drama, but it is wonderfully absorbing. From its first page to its last you have the feeling that you are reading

of life as it really is, without veil, it is true, but also without false pretence Take another French book—l mean M. Louis Barthou’s biography of Mirabeau. •Here you have a grave statesman —at this very moment the powerful Prime Minister of France—father of a family and everything that is respectable. Yet when he is dealing with the life of Mirabeau he does not hesitate to speak with perfect frankness of that great Frenchman’s passions, which formed, as everybody knows, so large and, in the end, so disastrous a part of his life; and M- Barthou does so with a frankness which would set the hairs on end of the heads of the respectable gentlemen who are supposed to be acting the part of literary censors on our English novelists. But, again, who will eay that M. Barthou is not justified 1 Without such fearless analysis of the passionate side of Mirabeau’s character, not only his own life, but the life of all France at one of its most critical moments of crisis, would not be fully understood. Contrast such a biography of a great Frenchman with the biographies one knows of our own Nelson. We all know what a part Lady Hamilton played in the life of Nelson, and through Nelson in the life of England, at also one of her most critical hours. But the biographer of Nelson would not dare to dwell with any amplitude or any frankness on that page in Nelson’s life. He does not look at it at all, or he turns his chaste eyes away and refuses to confront it straight in the face. This is not truth, and truth after all is the supreme thing in all things, and above all in literature —that great court which knows every secret of the human heart, and is as indulgent, as sympathetic, and as exhaustive as though it were a divine instead of a human court of appeal. Turn, on the other hand, to some of our novels—-especially to those which are written by women. 1 complain of these novels that they are, in the first case, coarse and morbid. They are, in short, pornography, not literature. And their horrors are only increased in my mind by the fact that very often their pornography is sandwiched with some forms of religious appeal which are positively sickening to anybody who really respects religion. This curious tendency which t see in so many of our English books is in utter contrast with the spirit of most French books —1 except, of course, the purely pornographic, of which, unfortunately, there is a great deal too much in France. I remember seeing once at the Grand Guignol—that weird little theatre in Paris—a little play, one feature of which made a profound impression upon me, and, curiously enough, by its reticence and not by its audacity. The play in itself was sufficiently frank, heaven knows, for it described the sudden death of a high official in surroundings of revolting vice. And yet you were left to infer all the brutal horrors and squalors of the situation. The official never said a word and never used a gesture which approached even indelicacy. It proved to me that even crude frankness is always in France modified and limited by certain restraints of decency and mamers which even the most daring writers will not venture to overstep. And so it is also with even their fiank novels. It would be impossible for any French writer of repute to publish a book which would have the crude brutality of some of our English novels—especially, I must again say, from the pens of women. —The Physical Side.— What, then, is one to say about the recent outcry against some of our most conscientious ami brilliant it is that the tradition still persists that literature must ignore the physical side of man. The answer must be that art which does so is not true art; it is essentially false. We have happily among us _ still a great writer, who has steadily refused to be bound by these outworn traditions and conventions. And yet, though is a rebel, Thomas Hardy is a beaten rebel—at least, in his later years. Since Tolstoy ceased to write great stories in the impartial spirit of ail true literature anti devoted himself to religious tracts, l know no greater literary tragedy than the refusal of Thomas Hardy to write novels since the stupid reception of his last romance—“ Jude the Obscure It ;s high time that a stern protest should be made against anv attempt to narrow and falsify our literature. It is not the inevitable fruit of cur civilisation or our racial or our religious tendencies. If so, there would be no use in fighting against it— Nature in the end prevails everywhere and in even thing. The p-liy? of Shakespeare, the novels of Fielding, are proof that there were epochs in our literary historv in which literature could speak of human life and human be in -s in the frank language of reality. We don’t try to veil this side of human life anywhere else but in our books. I rc*d a good many newspapers, including some Sunday editions, which are kind enough to present in a compendium all the horrors of the preceding week. I should be sorry to think that any foreigner, looking at such prints, should try to reconstruct our present civilisation fiom the materials that are there placed at his disposal. But assuredly it' is a strange contradiction in our attitude that, while such enormities can be printed for the public in all their horrible and crude repulsiveness, it is forbidden to the student of human nature to allude to some of the same tragedies of the human lot with the moderation, the reserve, and the indulgent analysis of true literature. The one defence I would make for some of our ideas in literature is that which I indicated in my opening remarks. We are a very different nation after all from the French—l do not say either better or worse, hut different—as all but insane people say of man and woman. Take our social conditions, too, and see how different they are. We are a nation of large families: the French are a nation of small families. We are a commercial nation, where the struggle for life' is necessarily severe, and, therefore, however large a part love plays in the lives of our people, it cannot play the

same part as it does in nations where the struggle for life is so much less severe — where the number of mouths to be fed is so much smaller. The child of the French parent hangs around his mother’s apronstrings all through his young life, arid it would be regarded as a family tragedy if circumstances should ever separate the children from the parent. It is a beautiful sentiment—part of that wonderful, delightful, and sacred family spirit which is one of the finest and the best things in France, —but it is not a sentiment which we can cultivate in the same way in England. Our children have to take wing from the parent nest and find their own living in distant parts of our world-wide Empire. The struggle for food can become hard enough to mitigate the absorption of a nation -or an individual in the search for emotion. And to the extent to which the passion of love is subordinated as a picture of all life our men of letters are entitled to adopt different methods from those of their French confreres. But that leaves the question untouched whether, when human passion is discussed, it should be done in the dry light of leality and of truth or in the refraction of false sentiment. And no real man of letters can have any doubt as to which is the wise choice in such an alternative.—T. P.’s Weekly.

THE REBfL! IOUS TLMPIR AND THE SIRLSS OF THOUGHT.

THE SPIRIT OF THE DAY. “For myself,” said Goethe, “I am happy enough. Joy comes streaming in upon mo from every side. Only for others 1 am not happy.” Quoting this piquant saying of Goethe’s, Mr H. W. Nevinson in his stimulating book, “Essays on Rebellion” (Nisbet), adds: “So it is that the Hound of another’s Hell, gives us no rest, and we are pursued by furies not our own.” Mr Nevinson shows us in an arresting way how the temper of the age rebels against more authority unless it fully justifies itself. -—Rebels in Literature. — “The literature of the last three or four generations, for instance, has been distinguished by Rebellion as a ‘stvle.’ Rebellion has been the characteristic expression of its most vital self. “It has been an age of rebels in letters as in life. Of course, acquiescent writers have existed as well. The great majority have, as usual, supported traditional order, have eulogised the past or present, and been not only at ease in their generation, but enraptured at the vision of its beneficent prosperity. Such were the writers and orators whom their contemporaries hailed as the distinctive spokesman of a happy and glorious time, leaping and bounding with income and population. —Rebellion—A Century’s Personality.— “But, on looking back ; we see their were entirely mistaken. The people of vital power and prolonged, far-reaching influence—the ‘dynamic’ people—have been the rebels. Wordsworth (it may seem strange to include that venerable figure among rebels; but so long as he was more poetic than venerable he stood in perpetual rebellion against the motives, pursuits, and satisfactions of his time) —Wordsworth till ho was 45, Byron all his short life, Newman, Carlyle, Dickens, Matthew Arnold, Ruskin—among English writers these have proved the dynamic people. “In other parts of Europe, from ‘Faust,’ which Opened the nineteenth century, onward through ‘Les Miserables’ to ‘The Doll’s House’ and ‘Resurrection,’ it was the same. As, in political action, Russia hardly ceased to rebel, France freed herself three times, Ireland gave us the line of rebels from Robert Emmet to Michael Davitt, and all rebellion culminated in Garibaldi, so the most vital spirits in every literature of Europe -were rebels. Perhaps it is so in all the greatest periods of word and deed. For examples, one could point to Euripides, Dante, Rabelais, Milton, Swift, Rousseau —men who have few attributes in common except greatness and rebellion. But, to limit ourselves to the familiar period of the last three or four generations, the words, thoughts, and actions most pregnant with dynamic energy have been marked with one mark. Rebellion has been the expression of a century’s personality.

“Of course, it is very lamentable. The rebel, like the storm-swept sailor, cries to heaven for tranquillity. It is not the hardened warrior, but only the elegant writer who, having never seen bloodshed, clamours to shed blood. All rebels long for a peace in which it would be possible to acquiesce, while they cultivated their minds and their gardens, employing the shining hour upon industry and intellectual pursuits. -—Rebels Who Want Tranquillity.— “ T can sav in the presence of God,’ cried Cromwell, in the last of his speeches —T can say in the presence of Cod, in comparison with whom we are but poor creeping ante upon the earth—l would have been glad to have lived under mv Woodside. to have kept a flock of sheep, rather than undertaken such a Government as this.’ Every rebel is a Quietist at heart, seeking peace and ensuing it, willing to let the stream of time glide past without his stir, dreading the onset of indignation’s claws, stopping its ears to the trumpet-call of action, and always tempted to leave vengeance to Him who has promised to repay. —Rebels of To-morrow.— “In spite of the longing for tranquillity, then, we .cannot confidently hope that rebellion will be less the characteristic of the, present generation than of the past. It is true, wo are told that, in tins country at all events, the necessity for active and political rebellion is past. However much a man may detest the Government, he is now, in a sense, governed with his own consent, since he is free to persuade his fellow-citizens that the Government is

detestable, and, as far as his vote goes, to dismiss his paid servants in the Ministry and to appoint others. Such securities for freedom are thought to have made active and political rebellion obsolete. “But even if political and fairly simple motives to rebellion are likely soon to become obsolete in our country and Empire, other and vaguer rebellious forms, neither nationalist nor directly political, appear to stand close in front of us, and no one is yet sure what line of action they will follow. Their line of action is still obscure, though both England and Europe have felt the touch of general or sympathetic strikes, and of ‘sabotage,’ or wilful destruction of property rather than, life—the method advocated by Syndicalists and Suffragettes to rouse the sleepy world from indifference to their wrongs. “In this collection of essays I have included some descriptions of the causes likely to incite rebellion of this kind. Such causes, I mean, as the inequality that comes from poverty alone—the physical unfitness or lack of mental opportunity that is due to poverty. These things make happiness impossible, for they frustrate the active exercise of vital powers, and give life no scope. For many despair cf the goodwill or the power of the State, finding little in it but hurried politicians, inhuman officials, and the ‘experts’ who docket and label the poor for ‘institutional treatment,’ with results shown in my example of a workhouse school. —Xo Knowing What Man May Come To.— “The troubling and persistent alarm of rebellion calls from many sides, and as instances of its call I have introduced mention of various rebels, whether against authority or custom. I have once or twice veltlured also into those twilit regions where the spirit itself stands rebellious against its limits, and questions even the ultimate insane triumph of flesh and circumstance, closing its short-lived interlude. The rebellion may appear to be vain, but when we consider the primitive elements of life from which our paragon of animals has descended, the mere attempt at rebellion is more astonishing than the greatest recorded miracle, and since man has grown to think that he possesses a soul there is no knowing what lie may come to.

“I have added a few other scenes from old times and new, just for variety, or just to remind ourselves that, in the midst of all chaos and perturbation and rage, it is possible for the world to go upon its way, preserving, in spite of all, its most excellent gift of sanity.”

—No Isaiahs in Country Houses.—

Mr Nevinson’s is a very versatile and inspiriting book, which shows clearly some, of the streams of to-day’s tendency. In a chapter on “The Charm of Commonplace,” Mr Nevinson says: “George Eliot warned us somewhere not to expect Isaiah and Plato in every country house, and the warning was characteristic of the time when one really might have met Ruskin or Herbert Spencer. How uncalled for it would be now ! If Isaiah or Plato were to appear at any country house, what a shock it would give the company, even if no one present had heard of their names and death before. We do not know how philosophers and prophets would behave in a country house, but to judge from their books, their conversation could not foil to embarrass. What would they say \flhe.n the daughter of the house inquired if her toy Pom was not really rather a darling, or the host proclaimed to the world that he never took potatoes with fish? What would the host and daughter say if their guests began to prophesy or discuss the nature of justice? There is something irreligious in the incongruity of the scene.”

—How Places of the Spirit are

Reached.—

“It i<s very seldom that Englishmen have been affected by spiritual passion of any kind, and that is why our country, of all the eastern hemisphere, has been least productive of saints. But still, in the midst of our discreet comfort and sanity of moderation, that spiky bracelet of steel may help to remind us that, whether in war, or art, or life, it is only by the passionate refusal of comfort and moderation that the high places of the spirit are to be reached. ‘Still bo ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground !’ is the song of all pioneers, and if man is to bo but a little lower than the angels, and crowned with glory and honour, the crown will he made of iron, or, perhaps, of thorns.” THE SPORES OF NATIONS. The modern idea or conception of sport —that is, some form of diversion or exercise usually conducted in the open air—generally allows of it being divided into two classes —viz., field sports, such as shooting, hunting, and racing, and athletic sports, such as running, jumping, boxing, wrestling, and organised games like football or cricket. Different nationalities have, of course, different sports, just as they appeal to the temperament and suit the character of the people. Few countries can, however, boast of such a remarkable variety of sports as have been popular in Great Britain tor the last five centuries. But times change, and people with them, and in those countries where sport and athletic games and exercises have been neglected lost ground is being made up, and it is being increasingly realised that athletic sports have a distinct value in building up the physique of a nation’s youth. —Ancient Sports.—

The history of sport goes a long wayback. Various forms of sport were indulged in by ancient races, such as the Egyptians, centuries before the Christian era". From these people the Greeks probably adopted the elements of their athletic exercises, which reached their highest expression and development in the famous Olympic Games. Originally, the athletes, who were often of good family, entered the lists for glory and without desire for

■ C ; —; ; —r gam. But it is an astonishing fact that ao Jong ago as the fifth century b.c. a class of professional athletes arose, who caane chiefly from the lower classes. Tha sports indulged in were running, leaping, throwing the discus, wrestling, boxing, and the pancratium or combination of boxing and wrestling. Victory in tho pancratium was considered the highest and most difficult of athletic achievements. Professional Greek athletes wera introduced into Rome about 186 b.cT., and, gradually becoming popular, supplanted the gladiators in public favour.

Nor were the more active forms of sport neglected by the peoples living in the cooler .climate of the north and west of Europe. The original Celtic inhabitants of Great Britain were an athletic race, while it is a fairly well-authenticated tradition that Ireland can boast of the most ancient organised sports known: the Tailtin Games, established by Lugair of tha Long Arm 3000 years ago, and conducted for many centuries. In Teutonic literature, too, are to be found many references to sport and feats of athletic prowess. —The Sixteenth Century.— In England, after the Norman Com quest, the nobles devoted themselves to the pleasures of the chase and the joust or tournament; while humbler classes enjoyed their games of ball, tilting at tha quintain, fencing with club and buckler, wrestling, and other pastimes. The English love of sport flourished all through' the centuries, and was a notable feature of the national life during the Middle Ages. In fact, several British Sovereigns found it necessary to restrict and even prohibit certain popular 1 pastimes on the ground that they .allured the people from the practice of archery. In the sixteenth century we find that Randel Holme, a north country minstrel, making mention, besides football, of* throwing the sledge, jumping, “wrastling,” stoolball (cricket), running, shooting, leap-frog, stow-ball (golf), and other sports now obsolete as common sports of the period. James I recommended his son to practise “running, leaping, wrestling, fencing, dancing, and playing at the caith or tennise, archerie, pall mall, and such like other fair and pleasant field games.” —ln Modern Days.— Ideas and ideals regarding sport and what constitutes sport have changed curiously from time to tigie. For instance, in “The National Sports of Great Britain” a series of 50 engravings with descriptions by Henry Aiken, published in 1825, the writer defines sport as “the diversion and amusement of civilised nations, drawn from the pursuit of wild animals.” His idea of sport may be gauged from his list of subjects, which includes horse-racing, foxhunting, coursing, shooting, fishing, falconry, d'og-fight-ing, cock-fighting, and bull, bear, and badger baiting. On the athletic side of sport the single instance given is “prizefighting commonly called boxing, or pugilism,” as ho puts it. Horse-racing is nowadays considered “the sport of Kings,” and the English turf is regarded as a model for Other countries. The foreigner who pays a visit to the Derby, Ascot, Goodwood, the St. Leger, or the Grand National, and sees the great concourse of people, gentle, simple, and otherwise, and the wild enthusiasm during the events, would not unnaturally conclude that horse-racing is our national sport. And this, although a great many people who take an interest fn racing have seldom or never seen a race, is certainly more true of horse-racing than, say, of hunting. Hunting is one of the most ancient of sports —so old, in fact, that it became a sport soon after the far-off primitive days, and when it ceased to be a necessity. But for a long time hunting has been possible only to the wealthy classes. Staghunting was for centuries a favourite pursuit of English royalty and is still followed to a limited extent in the Highlands of Scotland and in the vicinity of Exmoor. Fox-hunting is a comparatively modern institution. In olden times foxes wera hardly considered as worthy objects of the chase. Lord Wilton, in his ‘'Sports and Pursuits of the English,” wrote that “about the year 1750 hounds began to be entered solely to fox.” Fox-hunting Jjas since developed until it has become the most characteristic form of the chase in these islands. At the beginning of the twentieth century there were no fewer than 170 packs of foxhound.-: in England, 23 in Ireland, and 10 in Scotland. The Irish hunts are more democratic and less exclusive than the English, and the local farmers are often hard riders to hounds. It is a curious fact that English fashions in sport, and even the word “sport” itself, has been adopted in France, both as applied to field sports (hunting and racing) and athletic sports, more especially football. It is when we turn to athletic sports that we find the most remarkable and interesting developments. It must be kept in mind that the organisation of games and sports as we know them to-day is quite a modem growth, dating only from the beginning of the nineteenth century, although the Scots Highland Games date further hack. The Royal Military College at Sandhurst was,, in 1812, the first to inaugurate athletic sports, and it was not until about the “forties” that the great public schools of Rugby, Eton, and Harrow followed suit. The earliest athletic contest betwen Oxford and Cambridge, apart from the boat race, took place in 1864. Since that time athletic sports have leapt into popular favour, until nowadays the youth who does not take part or interest in either football or cricket or both is somewhat of a rara avis. And not only in this country, but on the Continent, athletic sports axe being taken up with increasing enthusiasm. Football in particular is being adopted all over Western and Central Europe. Clubs and leagues are being former! in France, Belgium, Holla£<f, Germany, and even as far east as ITxngary. Cycling and football are rapidly becoming so übiquitous, in fact, that they threaten to oust some of the

more characteristic old national sports, which would be a pity. —lce Sports.—

In those countries which have severe winters and a regular snowfall, snow and ice sports take first place in the affections of the populace. In Norway ski-ing and ski-jumping are practised by many, and the winter sports near Christiania attract great numbers of' people. In Canada skating and toboganning are the order of the day and night, for the rinks are brilliantly lighted at night, and in such cities as Montreal, Quebec, and Ottawa play an important part in the social life of our kinsmen of the Dominion. In Switzerland, too, there are nowadays winter sports, chiefly toboganning, skating, and ski-ing, which attract would-be participants and spectators from all parts of Europe. In the keen and bracing air of Davos arid St. Moritz our modern cosmopolitan society has discovered a new and healthgiving sensation. These fashionable winter sports are, however, a modern phenomena not of indigenous growth. .The old-fashioned pastimes of the Swiss themselves are very different. The first place is given- to rifle practice, for which ammunition and target facilities are provided by the Confederation. In the Oberland great interest is evinced in the numerous wrestling matches. Among the Alpine sports are some whose names might be translated as “flag-wavers/' “hornets,” and “haymakers.” The '’hornet” is a wooden disc driven towards a wedge-shaped enclosure guarded by “goalkeepers,” with paddles, who try to stop its progress in mid-air. The flag-waving and the loading of carts with hay are popular events at Swiss sports meetings. —ltaly and Spain.— Climatic conditions naturally have a marked effect on the character of a country s sports, and just as the frost and snow of a sub-Arctic winter render the games of a temperate climate impracticable, so also the strenuous sjiorts of the north are impossible under the more ardent sun of Spain or Italy. In the latter country there is no really national game like our cricket or football. Italy has, however, two pastimes from which tennis and football are supposed to have derived their origin. The first is “pallone, ’ which is played in an oblong court, nine players taking part. The ball is an inflated one of leather, and the players are armed with “uracciale,” a cylindrical sort of wooden glove weighing 61b, and made to fit the hand. This represents the racquet. Otherwise the service and rules of the game closely resemble those of modern tennis. Guioco del Calcio, the reputed ancestor of football, resembles its lineal descendants, save that it is usually played only on festive occasions and in the fourteenth century costume !

In Spain polo and tennis are played by the upper classes. A spirited game called Pelota is very popular, and in the Basque provinces it may he considered as the national sport. Pelota is a ball game played between two high walls by six players armed with basket-work “chistera. But the characteristic national sport of Spain is, of course, the bullfight. Many English people condemn this sport as brutal, and the Spaniards as cruel. The true Spaniard, however, enjoys a bull-fight because the practised skill and cool nerve of the picadores and toreros are matched against the savage fury of the bull. There are cruel incidents undoubtedly, but the spectators do not necessarily go to see blood spilled. From a spectacular point of view the bullfight is the most picturesque of sports. The Easter bull-fight at Seville in the Plaze de lores presents a scene of colour and animation not easily forgotten. —ln the East.— Passing to the other side of the world we find among the Island people of the East a very different sport which is practised with characteristic thoroughness and zest. The Japanese form of wrestling which is known as ju-jutsu or jiu-jitsu (really muscle science) is of very ancient origin. _ It was originally practised by the samurai and nobility, and was kept secret until the fall of feudalism. Nowadays this method of offence and defence without weapons is the basis of Japanese physical culture, is taught in the schools, the navy army, and the police forces. Latterly jiujitsu has been introduced into most" civilised countries.

So much for the sports of individual nations. In our limited space it -has only been possible to select a few typical examples. In sport, too, ‘as in many other phases of activity, there is some tendency towards internationalisation. The spread of football in Western Europe has already been mentioned, and although most of the “international” contests in football, cricket, and cycling have been between British and British colonial teams, we may live to see the day of “inter-Conti-nentals in these as well as other sports and pastimes. Perhaos the most promis"'p factors in the movement are the Olympic (lames (new style), revived at Athens in 1896. As far as field sports are concerned horse-racing and hunting are wel] nigh universal wherever horses and wild animals are to he found. 'lhe popular taste for athletic sports is, however, still widespread and still growing. OVER THE ANDZS. THE HIGHEST TUNNEL IN THE WORLD. That mighty range of mountains in South America, the Andes, which has made peoples, changed customs and languages, and set natural and political boundaries, has now been conquered by the railway engineer. During the last few weeks two important lines have been laid across it, one from Chile into Bolivia and another from Peru into Chile. The new Bolivian line starts from Arica, in Chile, and runs to Las Pas, a distance of 270 miles. It crosses the Andes at an altitude of 12,864 ft. This

height, however, is eclipsed by the Peruvian enterprise, which at one point reaches an altitude of 16,104 ft, or over three miles, above sea level, making it far and away the loftiest railway in the world. ' ‘

—From Buenos Aires to Valparaiso.— More important still, in opening un this wonderful continent to trade and commerce and also to tourists, is the recentlycompleted Trans-Andine railway, which connects Buenos Aires, on the Atlantic, with Valparaiso, on the Pacific. It is the first transcontinental railway to be built in South America.

This daring railway over the snowcapped Andes virtually follows a straight line across the continent, and is some 888 miles in length. Compared to the 3000mile track of the Canadian Pacific, it looks insignificant, but it was, nevertheless, a far more difficult feat. It meant the carrying of a track up and over one of the loftiest ranges in the world, where the engineers had to pit their skill and strength against the eternal snows, which were only conquered by piercing the summit with a two-mile tunnel.

Starting from Buenos Aires, the line runs for 650 miles over the Pampas to Mendoza. The Pampas is a gradual rising plateau, and from this region comes the bulk of Argentine’s enormous wheat, wool, and hide export. Mendoza lies 2470 ft above the sea level, and here rises the Andes, that groat barrier which runs the whole length of the continent and which has made historical the building of the first South American transcontinental railway. For a distance of 156 miles from here the track lies among the mountains, the remaining 82 miles being across the rich central plain of Chile to Valparaiso. —Following the Old Trail.—

From Mendoza the railway follows the old Andean trail into the heart of the mountains. For centuries this has been the highway between the Argentine and Chile, but it is only passable in summer, being blocked by heavy snow-drifts in winter, and rendered dangerous to travellers by blizzards. Leaving Mendoza, the river of that name is crossed and recrossed by seven bridges, and then ever upward climbs the railway like a huge serpent, now crawling aloqg the edge of some steep precipice, then over yawning chasms by neat steel bridges, or piercing its way through the mountain side by laboriously cut tunnels. So the journey continues till Punta de las Vascas is reached at an altitude of 7709 ft.

From this point the' gradient is so steep —over 1 in 40—that the cog and rack system is employed. The powerful triplicate teeth of the engine grip the third Or rack-rail, which safeguards and expedites the running of the trains. Soon one is in the heart of the mountains, among the grandest mountain scenery in the world. In the distance the hoary extinct volcano peak of Tupungato is detected, and then the promontories of the cathe-dral-like ridge of Los Penitentes come into view in seared dignity, followed by a glimpse of the mighty Aconcagua, the highest peak-tin the whole range, its head towering some 23,000 ft above sea level. Above all, it is a wonderland of colour, crowned by towering peaks in a mantle of white snow. —The World’s Highest Tunnel. — The old trail crosses the mountains by the Cumbre Pass at an altitude of 12,796 ft. But at an elevation of 10,500 ft the engineers called a halt, and then pierced the summit by a tunnel just over two miles in length. It was at once a difficult and arduous feat, necessitating the toil of an army of brave men for several years in a region of eternal snow and frightful blizzards. Indeed, this tunnel in the Andes lies 1500 ft higher than the highest carriage road in Europe—that over the Stelvio Pass—and more than 3500 ft higher than the Mount Genis, St. Gothard, and Simplon Passes. The tunnel is virtually a replica of the Simplon, though the conditions were entirely different. Here, close upon two miles above the sea, the air is rare, and at first the men suffered from mountain sickness, while during the winter months the cold was intense. Sudden blizzards would spring up and bury the shelters feet deep in snow. In this rarefied air and intense cold the men worked summer and winter. Operations were commenced simultaneously on each side of the mountain, the men meeting in the middle, 1500 ft below the summit. As in the case of the Simplon, the pathway was laboriously bored by powerful drills driven by compressed air.

The rock proved exceedingly hard amt very dillicult to drill. The drill-bits were always slipping ,and jamming, causing endless trouble. Sometimes as long as 20 hours were required to drill a round of holes for the explosives. As soon as the rock was excavated, masons followed; filling the wooden forms with Portland cement 2fl in thickness. Continual watchfulness was necessary to guard against loose pieces of rock coming down unexpectedly and injuring the men. -—Made by English Engineers.— The whole undertaking was carried out by English engineers. Altogether an army of 1640 men wore employed, 640 "ii the Chilian side, and over 1000 on the Argentine side. With the exception of a few Spaniards, Italians, and Englishmen, the labour was entirely Chilian. The work was carried on in eight-hour shifts, night and day, without a stop, from one month's end to the other. The only stoppage was for two days, when the headings met, nearly four years after the work had been put in hand. How carefully the calculations had been made is evident when it is stated that the difference in the two levels was hut threequarters of an inch, and the difference in line 2^in. The men were housed in special shelters at each end of the tunnel. The whole camp was covered with corrugated iron, and to the visitor presented a strange spectacle. Owing to the long winter and snowfall, a large amount of covered-in

space was necessary for storage purposes, and the various buildings and sheds were all connected together oy passages. The snowfalls on the mountains here are not particularly heavy, remembering the high altitude, but owing to its light, powdery character, and the fierce winds which usually rage, it is soon piled up into drifts 20ft, 30ft, and 40ft in depth. Once through the tunnel, the engineering wonders of the line are by no means exhausted. From the Chilian end of the tunnel right down to Los Andes the laying of steel rails demanded all the resources of the engineer. Here, again, the cog and rack system is employed, owing to the steep gradient. Before Los Andes is reached the track crosses no fewer than 118 bridges, passes through 24 tunnels of varying lengths, and also through innumerable enow and avalanche sheds, those latter are necessary to keep the line clear of snow, which collects upon the sides of the mountains, to be ultimately precipitated upon the track. ihe bridges invariably cross deep chasms through which turbulent waters rush after the melting of the snows. They vary in length from a few feet to 100 ft and more, consisting, as a rule, of a single span. The scenery here, too, almost baffles description, being wild and grand. The first stopping-place after emerging fiom the tunnel on the way to Valparaiso is Jnncal. where the railway company have erected an hotel. —A Remarkable Statue.— It is in the mountains here where there is a remarkable statue, known as Christ of the Andes. It stands on the dividing line between Argentine and Chile, and was erected in celebration of peace between the two Republics. The statue, which is of bronze cast from cannon, is 26ft high, and the granite pedestal on which it stands is 20ft high. The pedestal bears this interesting inscription: “Sooner shall these mountains crumble to dust than Argentines and Chilians break the peace, which at the feet of Christ the Redeemer they have sworn to maintain.”

No railway in. the world runs through such magnificent and almost indescribable mountain scenery as the trans-Andine line, and already it has attracted a wide tourist traffic. Then it is a wonderland of gorgeous colours, in this respect easily rivalling the Grand Canon of the Colorado. The whole journey, from Buenos Aires to Valparaiso, is nOw made in 30 hours in well-appointed trains. It brings Chile nearer to London by at least 12 days. Before the coming of the railway builder, goods had to be taken bv boat through the treacherous Straits of Magellan.—H. ■I. Shepstonk.

SIORY OF THE GUNS. Admiral Harris supplies a matter-of-fact narrative of how the naval guns got to Ladysmith, luckily enough some few hours before the Boers were able to finally shut in its garrison. “I feel justified in taking a little additional credit to myself regarding this supply of 4.7 guns, as I personally and solely selected them as the most suitable guns with which to help Ladysmith. A cable to me from the Admiralty had suggested my sending 4in guns, a very inferior weapon. The fact that 21 4.7’s were ultimately landed well vindicated my selection. 1 have taken the present opportunity to make all this as clear as I can, with the view of publicly refuting the absurd stories that were circulated and printed as to my humble self in any way objecting to send help to Ladysmith. Also, I now take the further opportunity publicly to refute the very inaccurate statement which is published in “'The Times History of the Boer War.” It is stated there that “Sir George White asked for naval guns, having probably heard of Captain Scott’s experiments in mounting heavy naval guns.” This is absolutely incorrect. Sir George White has told me that he never heard of any such experiments, nor had Captain Scott made any experiment or attempted to mount a gun heavier than a 12-pounder down to that time. Nor had he suggested mounting a 4.7 gun until I sent for him. It is also stated that I gave Captain Lambton permission to take the guns to Ladysmith. As a plain matter of fact, 1 gave that gallant officer written orders to take his ship to Durban, and the guns to Ladysmith, and very splendidly ho carried them out. ... It was without any doubt a very happy circumstance that Captain Scott was present, and also able t-;o expeditiously to provide plans to mount the guns; but even without him, I had, from the moment I received Sir George White’s earnest request, fully determined that he should have them. Lambton would have had to take them into Ladysmith unmounted; when once there ho would have had with him finite sufficient talent available amongst his own crew wherewith to construct extemporised mountings, which would have been fully as effective, as those which wo provided. It was the resources of Simon’s 1 own dockyard that put the mounts for the two 4.7 guns together with so much celerity.”

HIGHLAND GIRL’S ROMANCE. .MARRIAGE TO A PEER. A strange romance of the Peerage is brought to light in connection with the succession to the Peerage, on the death of his father, of the now I/ord de Frevne. Succession from the humble position of a private in the United States army to the barony and estates of do Frevne does not exhaust the romance in the life of the new Peer, whoso accession to these dignities was announced a few days ago. It has transpired that 11 years ago he married by special license in London the daughter of a Highland hotelkeeper. Annabel Angus, now Lady de Freyne, spent the most part of her youthful days in the sleepy little Banffshire town of Rothes. Her mother, left a widow while her three children aero quite young, purchased in the early eighties the Kcafield Arms Hotel in the town, and conducted

it till her death in 1899. Mrs Angus was the daughter of a crofter in the county, and her husband the son of an Aberdeenshire hotelkeeper. Annabel, who was the second of the family, was considered even in childhood to be remarkably pretty, and her charms increased with the passing of years. Tall and fair, with a stately carriage, she was often spoken of as the must handsome girl in Speyside. Her education was of the usual type for village children, and she was considered to be intelligent and clever. She left school at an early age, and assisted her mother in the management of the hotel. When 18 years of age the new Lady de Freyne left the little Highland town lo work in a London hotel. In the metropolis she remained some years, becoming acquainted with the Hon. Arthur Reginald French, son and heir of the then Baron de Freyne by Lady Laura Dundas, sister of the Marquis of Zetland. On November ’l4, 1902, Miss Angus and the Hon. Arthur French were married by special license, and thev spent part of their honeymoon in visiting the North of Scotland. Three years later the heir to the de Freyne Rarony disappeared while on a visit to New York. Subsequently it was found that he had enlisted as a private in the army of the United States, receiving as allowance the sum of £2 12s monthly. Lord de Freyne, who at. one time had held a commission as lieutenant in the Royal Fusiliers, appears to have liked the life immensely, and rose to the rank of ‘sergeant. When the news of his father’s death came he was serving at Fort Slocum.

The new Peer is 34 years of age, and the estate, which was the subject of much discussion during the recent Irish land agitation, extends to about 40,000 acres. In one letter received at Aberdeen, Lord de Freyne states that he became a common soldier “to gain experience of the world.” He was undergoing training as an ordinary private at Fort Slocum, and none of his fellows in barracks knew cf his connection with the British peerage. While abroad the young man’s annual allowance was £SOO, all of which was given to the comfort of his wife.'