(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)
When _Hargrave Ladd_, who was a solicitor in a very fair way of
business, with an agreeable but unemotional wife, happened to be getting
into an omnibus at the moment when _Stella Rayne_ fell off the top of
it, he unconsciously put himself in the way of a lot of bother.
Naturally, as a gentleman and the male protagonist of a novel--_Let Be_
(METHUEN)--he could do no less than pick the girl out of the mud and see
her home in a cab. Whether, quite strictly speaking, he need have called
next day to see how she was getting over the accident is another matter.
Certainly his interfering aunt, _Mrs. Dering_, was of the opinion that
_Hargrave_, as a married man, was displaying an excess of courtesy
towards the pretty tumbler. As for Miss SYBIL CAMPBELL LETHBRIDGE, who
has written the tale, she gives no indication of her views one way or
the other. Indeed this attitude of humorous tolerance for humanity is
Miss LETHBRIDGE'S most striking characteristic. It is at once a source
of strength and weakness to the book, making, on the one hand, for the
reality of the characters, and, on the other, for a certain
non-conductiveness of atmosphere that robs their emotions of warmth.
Anyhow, the inevitable happens, and _Hargrave_ falls in love with
_Stella_, who in turn reciprocates his passion up to almost the last
page in the book, when, having come to the edge of the precipice and
made every preparation for her leap into the gulf of elopement, she does
a mental quick-change and walks away as the contented betrothed of
Another. So _Hargrave_, making the best of a good job, rejoins _Mrs.
H._; and one may suppose that, if any more distressed damsels fall off
omnibuses in his presence, he will prudently "let be." You may think
with me that this abrupt finish lessens the effect of an otherwise
well-written and entertaining story.
* * * * *
Miss MURIEL HINE in _The Individual_ (LANE), essaying a problem novel,
does not disdain the old-fashioned way of the woven plot and the
dramatic incident. Her hero, _Orde Taverner_, surgeon by trade and
eugenist by profession, falls in love with _Elizma_, a Cornish beauty
and rare fiddler. His inquiries as to her eugenical fitness having been
answered satisfactorily but inaccurately, he marries, to find that
_Elizma's_ mother really died insane. His principles conquer his desire
for children, and his decision is communicated to the fiery _Elizma_,
who, fierce maternalist that she is and coming of a wild stock that
never stuck at anything, undertakes a desperate flirtation by way of
solving the difficulty in her own heroic way--at least you will
certainly make this kind of a guess, but on investigation you may find
that you've been wrong! Happily in the end a deathbed confession proves
the second version of her birth as inaccurate as the first. She really
comes of quite untainted stock, so the eugenist is satisfied and husband
and wife reconciled. That is to say the author runs away from her
problem, which was perhaps, all things considered, the wisest thing to
do. She has some eye for character and has made a good thing of her
_Elizma_, but has let herself scatter her energies over a team too large
to be driven with a sure hand. And why, oh why did she drag in the War?
Or call her butler _Puffles_? But she keeps the interest of her story
going, and you mustn't skip or you may be set off on a hopelessly wrong
tack.
* * * * *
So great is my admiration for the humorous gifts of Mr. WILLIAM CAINE
and so strong my gratitude to him for such books as _Boom_ and _Old
Enough to Know Better_, that I have decided to erase from my memory with
all possible speed his latest effort, _Bildad the Quill-Driver_ (LANE.)
A man with so many bull's-eyes to his credit may be forgiven an
occasional miss; and, to be candid, _Bildad the Quill-Driver_ seems to
me to come nowhere near the target. Most of Mr. CAINE'S work would be
the better for a certain amount of condensation, but this is the only
occasion on which he has really lost control of his pen. He has had the
unfortunate idea of writing a comic _Arabian Nights_ in close imitation
of the style of the original translation, even to the insertion of short
poems at every possible opportunity. Now, this is one of those ideas
which at first blush would seem to contain all the elements of
delightful humour; but it has the deadly flaw that it involves a
monotony which becomes after a few pages more than irritating. For a
while the novelty is entertaining, and then the reader becomes crushed
by the realisation that he has got to rely for his amusement on the same
sort of joke repeated over and over again for more than three hundred
pages. And, once that happens, the doom of the book is sealed, for the
adventures of _Bildad_ are not in themselves diverting--his love-affair
with the giantess is as unfunny a thing as ever I yawned over--and if
you cease to chuckle at the burlesque pomposity of the style there is
nothing left. There are some things which do not lend themselves to
sustained parody, and the manner of the _Arabian Nights_ is one of them.
But, as I say, I am not going to allow this book to shake my opinion
that Mr. CAINE is one of our most engaging humorists.
* * * * *
[Illustration: HOW A PRUSSIAN ST. GEORGE WOULD HAVE DONE IT.]
* * * * *
I recommend, absolutely without reserve, a war book entitled _Day by Day
with the Russian Army_ (CONSTABLE). It is written by Professor BERNARD
PARES, the Official British Observer with the Russian Armies in the
Field, and is the real thing. Although incidentally it is to be praised
as a modest and lucid piece of writing, well in keeping with the
character of an author whose habit of viewing an action from the most
dangerous, because the most interesting, point can be discovered only by
reading between the lines, primarily it is to be prescribed as a
sovereign tonic against German-made depression. The writer, after being
present at the conquest of Galicia and the triumphant advance to the top
of the Carpathians, after witnessing much of the historical Russian
retreat under pressure of overwhelming artillery superiority, and after
conversing freely with his friends of all ranks on different sectors of
the Front whilst offering greetings in the name of their English
comrades in arms, announces finally, in a wholly satisfactory fashion,
his unalterable conviction as to the unqualified supremacy of our Allies
when on anything like equal terms with their opponents as regards
munitions of war. And that is a matter which, though never in doubt, it
is pleasant to hear again in tones of authority at a time when we
believe the Russian lack of supplies is at last being made good. The
evidence is the more complete because not only do we learn of the
interrogation of many prisoners, but because a long extract from the
diary of one of them, an Austrian officer, is included, to point the
difference in spirit between the two armies. The demoralisation of the
Austrian forces, even when advancing, is so strikingly presented that
one cannot doubt their dependence on German domination and German
batteries to hold them together at all. Although Professor PARES
attaches several excellent maps, he is not really much concerned with
questions of strategy, but has devoted himself to just two
points--_moral_ and munitions.
* * * * *
I am afraid that Mrs. HODGSON BURNETT is in a little danger of overdoing
it. She knows (who better?) the briskness of the popular demand for
long-lost heirs; and she may well have argued that the longer he has
been lost, the more squalid his present environment, and the more
brilliant his heritage, the more assured would be the heir's welcome.
Perhaps indeed this may be so in America; but for this side, as I say, I
have my doubts. I daresay your own intuition will tell you that the hero
of _The Lost Prince_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) is a prince who has been
lost. In fact so effectually had the branch of the regal house to which
_Prince Ivor_ belonged been mislaid that the story opens upon him
dwelling in a London slum with no companions but a mysterious father and
a crippled playfellow (called _The Rat_). All sorts of mysterious things
are constantly happening just out of sight; and presently the dynastic
intrigues of Mrs. BURNETT launch the two boys upon a secret journey
through Europe, to convey to a number of pleasantly melodramatic
conspirators the message that "The Lamp is Lighted!" As their object is
expressly stated to be protection for a small principality, the fact
that the interviews include one with Emperor of AUSTRIA has in these
days a quaintly anachronistic effect, and at least serves to emphasise
the neutral origin of the story. However, they are of course successful;
and in the last chapter _Prince Ivor_ manages to be enormously
astonished at finding that the mysterious monarch of Samavia, for whom
he has been working, is none other than his own father--an obvious fact
that, with truly royal tactfulness, he had contrived to ignore
throughout the story. My advice to the author is to write up her
villains (at present they haven't a chance) and make the whole thing
into a film play. The wanderings of the two boys offer a fine
opportunity for scenic variety; while the sentiment is of precisely the
nature to be stimulated by a pianoforte accompaniment. As a three-reel
exclusive, in short, I can fancy _The Lost Prince_ entering triumphantly
into his appropriate kingdom.
* * * * *
"UNFURNISHED ROOM to Let in Clyde Road; quiet house; convenience
for washing once a week if necessary; rent 3s."--_Hastings and
St. Leonards Observer._
It sounds dirt-cheap.