New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1909-10-16

his intimates The talk is of many things, but
chiefly about religion. We see type of the Old
pagan thought confronted by the beginnings of
Christianity instinctively feeling his way
toward a new religion. yet hlnsuspieious of the
tremendous future of the one developing at his
door. The tale is curiOusly beguiling 1t is
really piece of discussion. We are enabled TO
apprehend Gallio's ideas and then in further
pages these are, in their turn. subjected to
analysis from modern point of view The
book might not unfairly be described as the
diversion of a philosophical dilettante We are
not moved, bat we are undeniably amused, and.
in a measure. edited There is stimulus, too in
the broad drift of the authors argument, which
makes for an ideal of peace. supported by
kind of federation of the nations. The last
chapter. however, in which he carries his prob
lem to it's logical conclusion and paints picture
of life as ii may be lived in the year 221O, is n
little disappointing Here NJ. France does what
Mr.: H. c. Wells has done before him, and does
not do il SO well.
He is more persuasive in the pages in which
he offers his sardonc compliments to those ideas
of war and colonization which prevail to-day.
But in the bulk Of the book. whether we take it's
grave reflections seriously not, we are en-
chanted by it's wildly beautiful reproduction of
the Corinth of Gallo. Here is a characteristic
scene:
Doves few in nocks from the roof of the, ba-
silica down to the large open spaces on which
the shOne. and picked up grain between the
cracks of the heated hagstones.
\ girl of twelve dark and Velvety as pansy or
Nanthus. placed on the ground her little brother;
: unable to walk. put beside him a chipped
bowl filled with porridge and a wooden spoon,
Eat Comatas, eat and keep quiet or that little
red horse will have YOU"
Then holding an obo!us in her hand, she ran
toward the fish dealer. whose wrinked face ana
naked breast the color of saffron, appeared amid
baskets lined with seaweed.
While she thus engaged a dove lowering
about the little Comatas got its talonS entangled
in the chiIds locks The boy began to cry and to
call his sister to his help, screaming in voice
Choked with sobs:
'tJoessai JoeSsa,"
BIT Joessa heard him She rummag-
inc in the old mans baskets. amid the FISH and
the shellfsh, for something that would improve
the taste of her stale bread Naturally she did
not pick ont peaCoCk-hsh or a Smaris whose
flesh is delicate but which cost money. she
brought away in the hollow of her gown, when
she had tucked up. three handfuls of Sea-urchins
Meanwhile little Comatas. his mouth wide open,
and drinking his own tears, was still bawling:
"Joessa JOessa,' 49,
Unlike Jove's- eagle, the bird of Venus did not
carry off little Comatas into the glorious skies II
left him the earth, taking with 1T in its flight.
between its pink talons, three golden hairs from
The, child. with cheeks gistening with tears
and begrimed with dust, clenching his wooden
spoon in his tiny fists, was sobbing beside his
overturned bowl
It is in passages like this. full of movement,
color and atmosphere and breathing the charm
of the ancient Roman spectacle, that Anatole
France takes us captive. THE White Stone" is
full of them.