THE CRIMSON BOOKSHELF REVIEWS

Time was when the lure of travel and of the sea furnished an irresistible call to the young New Englander. The great development of industry has changed all this, and with the passing of the old clipper ship has gone a large part of the romantic atmosphere that attached itself to the professional sailor.--in this country at least. The Briton however, must perforce be a mariner. The nation lives by commerce, and hence the sea is a popular calling. It has been left to an Englishman to show that in steam ships there is a fascination that equals that of the earlier sailing vessels.

William McFee is the ship's engineer of a tramp steamer travelling hither and yon over the Seven Seas. This man of machines, who loves the intricacies of boilers and turbines, is at the same time a writer and a thinker of unusual merit. With the eyes of a poet, he surveys the life about him, on shipboard, in unfrequented corners of the earth, and then, in his spare time, he gives his impressions to the world through essays and short sketches that have a scholarly tone reminiscent of Lamb, yet enlivened by a virile strain inseparable from a man of action. It is a remarkable combination that gives one at the same time the invigorating flavor of the sea and the peaceful meditation of the literary recluse. McPhee is a man of two personalities, or would be if his duty and his avocation were not so closely intertwined by circumstance; but any attempt to keep work and play separated has been thwarted by his complete subordination of his writing to his real work,--primarily he is a sailor, and he cannot forget it.

It has been said, that Mr. McFee writes about the sea. This is really a very incomplete estimate of his range, for he wanders about, the world of men and geography quite indiscriminately, drawing upon all varieties of material for his subjects. Now an Assyrian restaurant proprietor seizes his attention; a moment later, he will be discussing the latest New York "best seller". His scope is indefinite. Nor is he a vague romantic, blinded by fancy to the disagreeable realities of situations and personality, for he treats each new topic with a calculating steadiness that is pleasing, as much in its solid sanity as in its unique charm.

"Harbours of Memory" is his latest volume, and in it one may travel on an antiquated freighter from London to sunny Mediterranean ports. He shares with his readers the stifling atmosphere of a submarine chaser on a sultry summer afternoon off the coast of Spain. One can dreamazily with him of other ports and climes, and all the while may remain in the easy chair in his study while the logs on the hearth crackle merrily and the snow falls softly in the Yard outside