By the publication of _The Play Actress_ (S. R. CROCKETT) Mr. FISHER
UNWIN fully maintains the success attained by his Autonym Library. My
Baronite is least attracted by the scenes which possibly pleased the
author most--those in which he describes life in the purlieus of
London theatres. Mr. CROCKETT is much more at home in Galloway, and
with the people who sparsely populate it. The opening chapter,
describing Sabbath day in the Kirk of the Hill is in his best style,
as are others describing the Great Preacher's tender caring for his
little grand-daughter. _The Play Actress_ is just the sort of thing to
buy at a bookstall on starting for a journey. It will be felt to be a
matter of regret if the journey isn't quite long enough to finish it
at a sitting.
In _The Worst Woman in London_ ("and other stories," a subtitle
craftily suppressed on the outside of the book by F. C. PHILIPS) the
author gives us a number of capital detached stories of a most
irritating abruptness. Almost every one of these stories is a novel
thrown away; that is, every story is in itself the germ of what might
have been a good novel. They are little more than "jottings for
plottings." Yet, to be read with a pipe or small cigar, they just
suffice to wile away time and obviate conversation. They are dedicated
to Mr. WALTER HERRIES POLLOCK, who has on more than one occasion shown
himself an adept at real good short stories--not merely as plots, but
genuinely complete in themselves and full of humour--and from whom the
Baron expects something more in the same line, or, rather, on the same
lines.
The BARON DE B.-W.
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