(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)
Far too rarely does the conscientious reviewer enjoy such a chance as
has come to me now, a chance to let himself go in the matter of praise
without stint or reservation. As a reward doubtless for some of my many
unrecorded good deeds, there has come into my hands a slender volume
called _Naval Occasions_ (BLACKWOOD), which seems to me to be the most
entirely satisfactory and, indeed, fascinating thing of its kind that
ever I read. The writer chooses for his own sufficient reasons to
disguise himself as "BARTIMEUS," and under that name I have to ask him
to accept my very sincere gratitude. The little book contains
twenty-five sketches, mostly quite short, relating to (I quote its text,
taken from the Articles of War) "the Navy, whereon, under the good
Providence of God, the wealth, safety, and strength of the Kingdom
chiefly depend." Never surely did a book appear so aptly. At a moment
like this, when the dullest collection of naval facts can stir the
pulse, such pages as these, full of the actual life and work of the men
who are safeguarding us all, deserve a public as vast as the Empire
itself. The appeal of them is amazing, for their art is of so concealed
a quality that the writing seems simplicity itself. To say that they
bring the atmosphere of salt winds and the tang of the sea, is nothing;
a skilful novel about Margate sands would deserve this praise; it is in
their humanity that the charm lies, the sense of courage and comradeship
and high endeavour that is in every one of them. You will laugh often as
you read; and sometimes, quite suddenly, you will find yourself with a
prickly feeling at the back of the eyes, because of the tears that are
in these things; but they are the proud kind, never the sloppily
sentimental. And at the end I am mistaken in you if you do not close the
book with the rare and moving sensation that you have found something of
which you can say, as I myself did, "This is absolutely It!"
* * * * *
Amongst the thousands of helpful suggestions for the conduct of war
which have recently filled the columns of the daily press, I do not
remember having seen any scheme for supplying the officers of the Allied
Armies with an Irish terrier apiece. And yet if MARIE VON VORST is to be
trusted, this is a very serious omission, for, had it not been for
_Pitchouné_, I fear that the gallant hero of _His Love Story_ (MILLS AND
BOON) would have perished in the Sahara and never have won the lady of
his heart. The _Comte de Sabron_ was forbidden by his military orders to
take a dog with him to Algiers, but _Pitchouné_ ran all the way from
Tarascon to Marseilles and jumped into the boat. Subsequently, when his
master was lying wounded in the desert, he tracked down the nearest
native village--twelve hours away--and barked till they sent out a
relief expedition. A boy scout could not do more, and, though my own
experience of Irish terriers has led me to think that they do not spend
over much time in the study of ordnance maps, yet for sentiment's sake,
and because _His Love Story_ is a charmingly written romance, I am ready
to believe in all the feats of _Pitchouné_, and even to hope that he
will not after all be _de trop_ now that _M. le Comte_ is happily
wedded, but may have another brilliantly successful campaign in front of
him.
* * * * *
Although Mrs. PENROSE'S new novel, _Something Impossible_ (MILLS AND
BOON), gaily admits in its title its difficulties, I cannot pretend that
I consider her to have made the most of her opportunity. There are at
least two classic examples of her theme, Mr. ANSTEY'S _Vice Versâ_ and
Mr. DE LA MARE'S _Return_. Mrs. PENROSE cannot approach either the
charming humour of the one or the delicate beauty of the other. On a
lower plane her story has its amusing moments, and there is a vein of
real tenderness in her picture of the relations of her hero and his
faithful lady--a happy relief after the monotonous repetition of
matrimonial infidelities dealt out to us by the average novel. It will
be a consolation also to many readers to discover that plain people are
far more popular than handsome ones and that to "have features of
classical beauty" is the most unfortunate of handicaps in the race for
comfort and success. Mrs. PENROSE, like many other women novelists, is
very cruel to her own sex and never misses an opportunity of exposing
its shallow sentiments and transient affections. But why are all
novelists of to-day so merciless to the provincial town? There must be
some pleasant people in Cathedral cities. I am weary of retired colonels
with port-stained faces, and vinegary old maids, and unctuous canons.
Mrs. PENROSE has shown in her earlier books so real a sense of beauty
and so touching a spirit of kindliness that I am bound to confess that,
with the exception of her treatment of her hero, this rather acid and
ironical piece of nonsense is a disappointment.
* * * * *
Illustration: _The Small Man._ "IF I WAS AS WELL SET UP AS YOU I'D GO
AND FIGHT FOR MY COUNTRY, _I_ WOULD!"
_The Large Man._ "NO GOOD, MATE, I'VE TRIED IT. TOLD ME AT THE WAR
OFFICE I WOULD SPOIL THE UNIFORM APPEARANCE OF ANY REGIMENT, SO I'M
WAITIN' TILL THEY RAISE A CORPS OF CINEMA GUARDS."
* * * * *
From the Emperor of AUSTRIA'S telegram to WILHELM II.:
"Words fail to express what moves me, and with me my army, in these
days of the world's history."
The word "Servia" might express what moves his army.
* * * * *
_The Scotsman_ on the condition of things in Norway:--
"Food supplies and rents are controlled by the Government, and
spirits and wines cannot be purchased. Most of the English people
have now left Norway."
For other reasons, we hope.
* * * * *
"PLEASURE TOURS.--St. Petersburg from London _viâ_ Kiel Canal."
_Advt. in "Times."_
Take your camera with you, and snap the jolly little German battleships
as you go past. The result of the recent fight off Heligoland should
increase your popularity.