Scandinavian novel is translated into English, and this is pretty sure
to happen, when it does happen, through the agency of high-class
publishers. But it is a very different thing when translations of
foreign novels are thrown at our heads by the score, by writers or
publishers whose chief object is to pander to certain questionable
tastes. We fear that this evil is upon us, or not far off. But a word of
pleasant, if qualified, welcome is due to _A Distinguished Man: a
Humorous Romance_, by A. Von Winterfeld, translated by W. Laird-Clowes,
(C. Kegan Paul & Co. 3 vols.). The chief thing to _qualify_ the welcome
is the fact that the author is too fond of hinting at the skeleton in
the cupboard of what people call "modern thought." But apart from this,
the book is amusing, and often more than amusing. It belongs to a type
which is very rare in English literature--a sort of child-like farce,
that is exceedingly difficult to describe; but it must be a very
saturnine reader that can help a good laugh at some of the wild
adventures of the German schoolmaster and German doctor upon English
ground. These two men are rivals in love, and have both sought the hand
of a German butcher's daughter. In the fulfilment of a certain ordeal,
or test, which he imposes, they have to travel by way of Ostend to
London, and thence to Edinburgh; the one who is first at certain marked
points in a given route, to be the winner of the fair prize. Make up
your mind that you are going to read some nonsense, and you will enjoy
the book. The accuracy of the German in guide-book matters, in spelling,
and in just those matters in which a French author always fails, is very
striking. But we fear he is a little off the line once or twice. Is
there in London any teacher of mathematics who keeps a man-servant, and
covers his floor with carpets of velvet pile?