(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)
I can imagine the feelings of a romantic maiden who, prone to choose her
novels by title, has set down on her library list _The Price of Love_
(METHUEN), and finds herself landed with one of Mr. ARNOLD BENNETT'S
intimate little guides to "Bursley" and the four other drab towns. And
yet if she will set her teeth and read the first fifty pages without
skipping she will discover that she is being let into real secrets of
real human hearts; that handsome _Rachel_ (penniless companion to a
benign old lady), and her debonair _Louis_ (who somehow never can run
straight where money is concerned), are becoming known to her as she
knows few, if any, of her friends; and that, because known, they are
extraordinarily interesting. She will see _Rachel_ drawn out of the
haven of her staunch and critical common sense by her infatuation for
_Louis_; threatened by the shipwreck of despair when she realises his
weakness and her irrevocable mistake, and again putting into a new
harbour of determination to pay the price of her love and make the best
of things. And I should not be altogether surprised if even our romantic
library-subscriber finds the next live-happily-ever-after story a little
flat by comparison. For there is no doubt that Mr. BENNETT has some
uncanny power of realising the conflict of human souls, and that there
is an astonishingly adroit method in his mania for unimportant and
unromantic detail. I refuse altogether to accept as adequate (or
appropriate) his explanations of the adventures of the banknotes on the
night of their disappearance, but I am grateful for every word and
incident of this enchanting chronicle and for the portrait of _Rachel_
in particular.
* * * * *
_Modern Pig-Sticking_ (MACMILLAN) is a book that, appearing at this
particular moment, has an air of detachment not without its own charm.
Chiefly, of course, it appeals to a special and limited public--a
public, moreover, that is at present too busy to give it the attention
that it would otherwise command. Certainly Major A. E. WARDROP'S
spirited pages deserve to rank with the best that has been written about
this sport. As one frankly ignorant, I was myself astonished to find how
considerable a body is this literature. As for the gallant Major's own
contribution, it is sufficiently well-written to make tales of sporting
feats and adventures interesting to the outsider. Which is saying a lot.
At the same time his sense of humour is sufficiently strong to save
enthusiasm from becoming oppressive. Certainly he loves his theme, as I
suppose a good pig-sticker should. "To see hog and hunter charge each
other bald-headed with a simultaneous squeal of rage is," he says
youthfully, "always delightful." It is all, in these more strenuous
times, most refreshing and even a little wistful in its _naïveté_. The
honest and brave gentlemen whose exploits it records are about another
kind of pig-sticking now. One hopes that practice with the Indian
variety may help them in their chase of the Uhlan road-hog. Here's power
to their spears!
For all his good humour, Mr. PETT RIDGE can say a hard thing now and
then about humanity in general and point it with a touch of startling
sarcasm. Possibly it is this combination which makes him the favourite
author he is. While we get tired of the harsh satirist who is always up
against us, and pay little attention to his teaching, we not only profit
by the occasional home truths of the genial humourist, but thoroughly
enjoy hearing them. Certainly it is not Mr. RIDGE'S plots which so
attract everybody, including myself. _The Happy Recruit_ (METHUEN) might
as well (or even better) have been plotless. There is the central
figure, _Carl Siemens_, who comes to England from abroad in his youth
and has an unremarkable career, and there is a mysterious and rather
tiresome trunk which is mentioned from time to time and finally opened;
but apart from these the book is but a collection of little episodes
more or less about the same people, the _Maynard_ family in particular.
It is not the story that lends the charm but the people who come into
it, that upper-lower section of Londoners whose little peculiarities of
thought, word and deed Mr. Ridge so perfectly understands. Through their
mouths he utters his truest sayings, and they make his books always
worth reading. It should be added that this one has nothing to do with
present warfare; it is antedated by a reign and a half. In this the
title is misleading, for there are so many recruits about nowadays and
all of them are happy.
* * * * *
After reading Messrs. HUTCHINSON'S announcement that the critics
describe Mr. F. BANCROFT as the most remarkable South African novelist
now at work, I searched for a talent that was too successfully hidden
for my finding. I was on the track of it two or three times, and once at
least the scent was so hot that I thought the quarry was mine; but it
got away. With _Dalliance and Strife_ the author completes a trilogy
upon the Boer War, but here we are given too much flirtation and too
little fighting. His liberality in the matter of heroines compensates me
not at all for his niggard accounts of the war. That he himself should
apparently take more interest in dalliance than in strife seems to
indicate sheer perversity, for, when once he has ceased to toy with
tennis-teas and trivialities, it is possible to respect the opinions of
those admiring critics even if it is impossible to agree with them. The
little fighting and the few whiffs of the veldt that we are given come
as welcome reliefs to the rather stuffy atmosphere that Mr. BANCROFT has
been at such pains to create. The British officer in his hours of
dalliance is in his hands merely a figure of fun, but the militant Boer
in field and camp is a faithful picture, so faithful, indeed, when
contrasted with the other, that it leaves me astounded at such a
combination of skill and futility.
* * * * *
_Germaine Damien_ was a little girl with considerable force of
character. Having been told by a Socialist shoemaker that Squires were a
mistake, she endeavoured to correct this error by driving a large knife
into the first specimen of the race whom she met. This was _Miles
Burnside_, a decent young man enough, and one obviously qualifying to be
the hero of the story. So that when, quite early in its course,
_Germaine_ caught him asleep and apparently left him dead with a dagger
in his heart, I was for a little time considerably puzzled as to how
Mrs. BAILLIE REYNOLDS was going to get on with her tale. However, I need
not have worried. Of course _Miles_ was not dead; indeed the last six
words of the book tell you that "His smile was good to see." And
naturally he wouldn't have been smiling like that if he had not been
enfolding the heroine in his strong arms. But before this happy moment
we had a lot to get through. _Miles_ on recovery had told the properly
apologetic _Germaine_ that she must never, never let anybody else know
about the dagger business, and she said she wouldn't. Personally, if I
had been _Germaine_, I should have done the same. Later in life,
reflecting upon this injunction, and discovering that her grandfather
had also killed a man, _Germaine_ got it into her head that the habit
was inherited, and the idea worried her quite dreadfully. This, I
suppose, is why her story is called _The Cost of A Promise_ (HODDER AND
STOUGHTON). Eventually, however, when the thing had gone on long enough
and the revelation of her secret had scared away a superfluous rival,
_Miles_ informed her that her grandfather's record was (forgive me!) not
germane to the matter, and that she was as sane as anybody in the story.
M'yes. But Mrs. REYNOLDS has done better.
* * * * *
Illustration: "IT 'TAIN'T 'ARF FINE TER BE A GENERAL, COS 'E CAN CALL A
BLOKE 'POODEN FICE,' AN' 'AVE 'IM SHOT IF 'E SORCES 'IM BACK."
* * * * *