(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._)
I own that to find the publishers, those sometimes too generous
critics, writing upon the wrapper of _An English Family_ (HUTCHINSON)
an appreciation that bracketed it with _The Newcomes_, did little to
predispose me in its favour. Later, however, when I had read the book
with an increasing pleasure, I was ready to admit that the comparison
was by no means wholly unjustified. Certainly Mr. HAROLD BEGBIE has
written a very charming story in this history of the _Frothinghams_
and the growth of their typically English characters, maturing just
in time for the ordeal that has tested and (one is proud to think)
triumphantly approved the spirit of our country. In fact these memoirs
of _Hugh Frothingham_ are something more than an idle romance; there
is an allegory in them, and some touch of propaganda, cunningly
introduced in the fine character of _Torrance_, the great surgeon who
married one of the _Frothingham_ girls and was bombed in the hospital
raids. Through the varied activities of the family, as they develop,
passes the cleverly-shown figure of _Hugh_, the narrator, who,
starting with fairer prospects than any of the others, is ruined by
indolence and an income, and hardly saved by the War from degenerating
into the torpid existence of a social pussy-cat. _Hugh_ is an
admirable example of the difficult art of seemingly unconscious
self-revelation. Altogether I have found _An English Family_ greatly
to my taste, displaying as it does a dignity and breadth that recall
not unworthily the best traditions of the English novel. But did we
speak of _Serbia_ in 1914? I only ask.
* * * * *
_High Adventure_ (CONSTABLE) is in certain ways the most fascinating
account of flying and of fliers which has come my way. Captain NORMAN
HALL, already well known to readers of _Kitchener's Mob_, tells us in
this later book how he became a member of the Escadrille Américaine
and how he learned to fly. And, as his modesty is beyond all praise,
I feel sure that he will forgive me for saying that it is not the
personal note which is here so specially attractive. What makes his
book so different from other books on flying is that in it we have
a novice suffering from all sorts of mishaps and mistakes before he
has mastered the difficulties of his art. Whether consciously or not
Captain HALL performs a very great service in describing the life of
a flier while his wings are--so to speak--only in the sprouting stage.
In an introduction Major GROS tells us of the work done by American
pilots before America entered the War, a delightful preface to a book
which both for its matter and style is good to read.
* * * * *
I confess at once that _The Uprooters_ (STANLEY PAUL) is a story that
I have found hard to understand. There seems an idea somewhere, but
it constantly eluded me. To begin with, exactly who or what were the
Uprooters, and what did they uproot? At first I thought the answer
was going to name _Major_ and _Mrs. Elton_, who for no very sufficient
reason would go meddling off to Paris, and transporting thence the
brother and sister _Ormsby_ to Ireland. The _Ormsbys_ had been happy
and (apparently) harmless enough hitherto, but once uprooted they
promptly developed the most unfortunate passions--reciprocated,
moreover--for their well-wishers. The obvious and laudable moral
of which is, never remove your neighbour from his chosen landmarks.
Later, however, it became apparent that Mr. J.A.T. LLOYD had a more
subtle interpretation for his title in the activities of a band
of pacifists, headed by a multi-millionaire, who called himself an
American, though somehow his name, _Schwartz_, hardly inspired me
with any feelings of real confidence. On his death-bed, however, this
gentleman reveals blood of the most Prussian blue, confessing that his
wealth has actually been derived from the dividends of Frau BERTHA;
and as the War has by this time resolved the emotional difficulties
of the other characters the story comes to its somewhat procrastinated
finish. My own belief in it had to endure two tests, of which the less
was inflicted by a scene specifically placed in a "dim _second class_
carriage" on the L.&N.W.R. in 1916; and the greater by the _cri
de coeur_ of the lady, whose husband surprised her with her lover:
"Edmund, get that murderous look out of your eyes, the look of that
dreadful ancestor in the portrait gallery!" I ask you, does that carry
conviction under the circumstances?
* * * * *
Really, the delight of the publishers over _Cecily and the Wide World_
(HURST AND BLACKETT) is almost touching. On the outside of the wrapper
they call it "charming," and are at the further pains to advise me
to "read first the turnover of cover," where I find them letting
themselves go in such terms as "true life," "sincerity," "charm"
(again), "courage," and the like. The natural result of all which was
that I approached the story prepared for the stickiest of American
cloy-fiction. I was most pleasantly disappointed. Miss ELIZABETH F.
CORBETT has chosen a theme inevitably a little sentimental, but her
treatment of it is throughout of a brisk and tonic sanity, altogether
different from--well, you know the sort of stuff I have in mind.
_Cecily_ was the discontented wife of _Avery Fairchild_, a young
doctor with three children and a fair practice. After a while her
discontent so increased that she betook herself to the wide, wide
world, to live her own life. And as both she and _Avery_ before long
fell cheerfully in love with other persons I suppose the move could
so far be counted a success. Before, however, the divorce facilities
of the land of freedom could bring the tale to one happy ending an
accident to _Cecily's_ motor and the long arm that delivered her
to her husband's professional care brought it to another. I am left
wondering how this dénouement would have been affected if _Avery_
had been, say, a dentist, or of any other calling than the one that
so obviously loaded the dice in his favour. I repeat, however, a
distinctly well-written and human story, almost startlingly topical
too in one place, where _Dr. Avery_ observes, "There's a lot of
grippe in town, and it's a thing that isn't reported to the Health
Department." The obvious inference being that it ought to be. _Avery_,
you observe, had more practical sense than the majority of heroes, few
of whom would ever have thought of this, or, at any rate, mentioned
it.
* * * * *
Baroness ORCZY's romance of old Cambrai, _Flower o' the Lily_ (HODDER
AND STOUGHTON), should not be regarded as in any way bearing upon the
more modern history of that remarkable city. It has nothing to do with
our war; it has a war of its own, a rapid affair of bows and arrows,
scaling ladders and such desperate situations as can be, and were,
saved by the arrival of the right man, single-handed, in the right
place at the right moment. Familiar as is his type in novels of
this adventurous kind, I think I shall never tire of the consummate
swordsman hero who impersonates, for political and matrimonial ends, a
man of infinitely higher degree but far less real worth than himself,
handling the vicarious business with an incredible adroitness, but
mistakenly carrying by storm the love of the lady for himself. The
lady is so confoundedly attractive in these circumstances, possibly
because there is about them a tonic which lends additional colour
to the feminine cheek and a new brilliance to the eye. And, however
bitter may be the first moment when the true personalities are
divulged, it all comes right in the end. Here is a story of intrigue
and battle and love, written in the necessary phraseology of the time
and woven round (and, I trust, consistent with) the historical contest
between the Spanish and French Powers, disputing the terrain of
Flanders; in every way a worthy successor of _The Scarlet Pimpernel_.
It is inevitable to suggest that this story should also be dramatised
in due course; it would make as a play an instant and irresistible
appeal to that great public which loves the theatre most when it is
most theatrical. And it is doubtless destined also for the Movies.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SCENE.--_Cologne_--_Present Day_.
"GIE YE CHOCOLATE! _GIE YE CHOCOLATE!!_ D'YE THINK I'VE BEEN BOBBIN'
UP AN' DOON IN FRONT O' YOUR AULD MON FOR FOUR YEARS JUST TAE COME
HERE AN' GIE YE CHOCOLATE?"]
* * * * *