(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._)
When a story bears the attractive title of _The House of Courage_
(DUCKWORTH); when it begins in the Spring of 1914 with a number of
pleasantly prosperous people whose faith in the continuance of this
prosperity is frequently emphasised ("as if they had a contract with
God Almighty" is how an observant character phrases it); and when,
in the first chapter, the hero has an encounter with two Germans in
a Soho restaurant--well, it requires no great guessing to tell what
will happen before we are through with it. And, in fact, Mrs. VICTOR
RICKARD'S latest is yet another war-story; though with this novelty,
that the hero's experiences of service are almost entirely gained in a
German prison-camp. As perhaps I need not say, both divisions of the
tale are admirably written. It is hardly the author's fault that the
earlier half, with its pictures of a genial hunting society in County
Cork, is distinctly more entertaining than the scenes of boredom
and brutality at Crefeld, well-conveyed as these are and almost
over-realistic and convincing. Inevitably too the scheme is one of
incident rather than character. One has never any very serious doubt
that in the long run the hero, _Kennedy_, will marry the girl of his
choice, despite the fact of her engagement to the clearly unworthy
_Harrington_. But as part of the long run was from Crefeld to the
Dutch frontier, over every obstacle that you can imagine (and a few
more, including an admirable thrill almost on the post), one is left
with the comfortable feeling that the prize was well earned. You will
rightly judge that most of _The House of Courage_ is rather more
frankly sensational than Mrs. RICKARD'S previous war-work; but it
remains an excellent yarn.
* * * * *
When _Esmé Hillier_, possessed by _The Imp_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON),
was only ten, in a fit of annoyance she pushed the hero (to whom she
had had no previous introduction) into the sea. I have some sympathy
with her energetic protest, for a Highland Chieftain even at the
age of sixteen should know better than to row about in an open boat
kissing a young lady. _Esmé_, a pained spectator, showed her public
spirit by punishing his bad form, but in the act she sealed her own
fate, for after this it was inevitable that they should ultimately
marry each other, the girl of the kissing episode notwithstanding. The
immediate incentive to their union, which was by the Scotch method,
was that _Esmé_ had applied mustard-plasters to a Cabinet Minister's
person by affixing them to his dress-suit, and _Tourntourq_, the
Chieftain, had nobly attempted to bear the blame. Though married
in haste they did not wait for leisure before they repented, but
commenced quarrelling at once, until _Esmé_, in order to test his love
and that of an admirer who was helping to complicate matters, "bobbed"
her hair and threw the severed tresses at her husband. After this they
separated. Presently the War came, and the admirer, who was really
quite a nice person, was killed, and _Tourntourq_, who was apparently
a lunatic, though that is not stated in so many words, was blinded.
It seems quite superfluous to add that _Tourntourq_ wins the V.C. and
recovers both sight and wife in the last chapter; but there are such
good patches in the book that I cannot help hoping that some day
WILSON MACNAIR will try her hand (I feel it is _her_ hand) at another,
which I shall really believe in all through.
* * * * *
Of late our costume-romancers have become strangely unprolific. So I
was the more pleased to find Mrs. ALICE WILSON FOX bravely keeping the
old flag flying with a story bearing the gallant title, _Too Near the
Throne_ (S.P.C.K.). I daresay its name may enable you to give a fairly
shrewd guess at its plot. This is an agreeable affair of a maid,
reputed Catholic heir to the English Crown, and used as pretext for an
abortive rising against KING JAMES I. You can see that in practised
hands (as here) and decorated with a pretty trimming of sentiment,
abductions, witch-finding and other appropriate accessories,
this furnishes a theme rich in romance. Perhaps I was a thought
disappointed that more was not made of the actual conspiracy, and
that, having started "too near the throne," the tale subsequently gave
it so wide a berth. But this is no great fault. I can witness that
Mrs. WILSON FOX has at least one essential quality of the historical
novelist in her appreciation of picturesque raiment. Almost indeed she
emulates those jewelled paragraphs in which the creator of _Windsor
Castle_ would fill half a chapter with a riot of sartorial
coruscations. As a birthday present, say for an appreciative niece, I
can think of few volumes whose welcome would be better assured.
* * * * *
Mr. JOHN MASEFIELD has brought together in _St. George and the Dragon_
(HEINEMANN) a speech "given" by him in New York on last St. George's
Day, and a lecture on The War and the Future which he delivered up
and down America from January to August of last year. Since then
many things have happened. But nothing has happened that can make Mr.
MASEFIELD other than proud of the part he has played in explaining and
glorifying his country's cause and commending it to the hearts and
minds of all good Americans. I confess that when I took up the book
and read the first few lines I was afraid that Mr. MASEFIELD had
yielded to the temptation of delivering his speech in poetical prose
of a faintly Biblical character, as thus: "Friends, for a long time
I did not know what to say to you in this my second speaking here. I
could fill a speech with thanks and praise--thanks for the kindness
and welcome which have met me up and down this land wherever I have
gone, and praise for the great national effort which I have seen in so
many places and felt everywhere." Mr. MASEFIELD however soon abandoned
this manner and made the rest of his way in a good solid pedestrian
style. But he did not disdain to go so far in flattery of the
Americans, his audience, as to use the word "gotten" for the past
tense of the verb "to get."
* * * * *
There can be few Irishmen who look at their England with such
affectionate eyes as Lord DUNSANY. _Tales of War_ (FISHER UNWIN) is
full of this sweet theme. The first of the tales is a fine story of
the Daleswood men who, cut off from their supports and worried because
there would be none left in their native village to carry on the
Daleswood breed, were for sending out their youngest boy to surrender.
But, deciding that that wasn't good Daleswood form, they (for their
last hours, as they thought) fell to recalling the familiar beauties
of their old home and to cutting in the Picardy chalk the roll of
their names for remembrance. You get it again, that calling-up of
the home memories, when, in another marooned party, the Sargeant that
was keeper begins with a vision of sausages and mashed and goes on
to the birds and beasts and flowers and soft noises of English woods
at night. And in a half-dozen other sketches. And it is good to find
an Irishman and a poet to say things which stick on our embarrassed
tongues. Lord DUNSANY has a happy trick of compressing a great deal
into a little space, and his vignettes, sketched in with a conscious
art, should find a place on our shelves among the war records which
our children are to read.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE BIRTHDAY PRESENT.
_War Profiteer_. "Stow that row, 'Orace. 'Ow did _I_ know yer wanted
a toy?"]
* * * * *
"When the wife of President Wilson was in London she spent
hours shopping in Regent Street and other quaint sections of
London."--_Daily Gleaner_.
Regent Street _will_ be pleased.
* * * * *
"Captain Hayes, of the Olympic, in receiving a loving cut from
Halifax citizens, described how the Olympic sank the U-boat 103, a
few months ago. The liner cut through the submarine without losing
a single revolution of the propellers."--_Australian Paper_.
One good cut deserves another.
* * * * *