_(BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS.)_
Not infrequently our novelists will follow success with a boy hero by a
sequel showing the same character grown up. Mr. E.F. BENSON, however,
has reversed this process, and in a second book about _David Blaize_
introduces him grown not up, but down. So far down, indeed, as to be
able to pass through a door conveniently situated under his own pillow
and leading to a dreamland of the most varied enchantments. I know, of
course, what you are about to say; I can see your lips already forming
upon the word _Alice_. But while I admit that _David Blaize and the Blue
Door_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) is frankly built after that famous plan
this means no more than that Mr. BENSON has used, so to speak, the
CARROLL formula as a medium for his agreeable fancies. These are
altogether original and filled with the proper dream-spirit of
inconsequence. Moreover the author has a pretty gift for remembering
just the stuff that childhood's dreams are made of--such transfigured
delights as swimming like fishes or flying in a company of birds; he
knows too the odd tags of speech that linger there from daytime, things
meaningless and full of meaning--"Rod-pole-or-perch," for example, or
that thrice-blessed word, "Popocatapetl." Best of all, he has resisted
the subtle temptation to be even momentarily too clever for his audience
(you know the devastating effect that may be produced if a grown-up
pauses on the edge of the circle and reminds the story-teller that he
has a reputation for wit). In fine, this early dream of _David's_ shows
him fortunate in having an old family friend like Mr. Benson to write it
down; also--what I must on no account forget--so sympathetic an artist
as Mr. H.J. FORD to make it into pictures.
* * * * *
Those who have learnt to value their "TAFFRAIL" will find matter very
much to their mind in his latest book, _A Little Ship_ (CHAMBERS). I
do not wish to institute any invidious comparisons between the marine
mixture as provided by "TAFFRAIL" and that of other nautical writers,
but this much I may say with perfect confidence: the men to be found in
"TAFFRAIL'S" stories are true human stuff, sturdy, dogged in doing their
duty, and brave almost beyond recklessness; but they are men all the
time, and not solemn and consecrated angels. That is, I suppose, why I
find that "TAFFRAIL'S" stories go straight to the mark and make their
effect with no undue waste of time; and, if a little bit of laughter is
occasionally worked in, so much the better. The last chapter in the book
gives an account of the Zeebrugge expedition. The story is so bravely
told that a man can hardly refrain from shouting in apprehension and
exultation as he reads it.
* * * * *
I have a grudge against the publishers of _Miss Mink's Soldier_ (HODDER
AND STOUGHTON) because they have printed on its wrapper, "By the Author
of _Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch_," which led me, perhaps foolishly,
to hope that _Mrs. Wiggs_ and I were to foregather once more, and when
we didn't made me just a little surly towards a book of short tales
which, opened with any other expectation, would have seemed much above
the average. There are eight stories in the book, and in almost all of
them is found that blend of pathos and humour that Mrs. ALICE HEGAN RICE
has taught us to expect. I liked "Cupid Goes Slumming," because it was
almost _Cabbage Patch_; but "Hoodooed," the story of an old negro who
believed himself the victim of a spell which involved the presence of a
cricket in his leg, delighted me even more. His wife removes the charm
with a vacuum cleaner, in which she has previously secreted a cricket,
and the victim recovers. It pleased me very much to learn that among
"white folk's superstitions" is the theory that it is "bad luck to sleep
with the windows shet," and, when I come to think of it, I believe that
it is very bad luck indeed.
* * * * *
I should have liked GABRIELLE VALLINGS' _Tumult_ (HUTCHINSON) a good
deal better if she could have managed it without the aid of a Pan who
wandered, emitting a strong smell, chiefly in the demesne of a very
expensive and over-cultivated French noble. It was his daughter (by an
Australian wife) who was suffering from an inordinate perplexity as to
which half of her blood had the real call. The Australian half suggested
that she should marry a gentleman-rider who won the Grand Prix in a
canter, but fell at the winning-post because his horse shied at the
irrepressible Pan. The French half--and both her parents--urged a
dissolute and anaemic aristocrat--blue blood and a gold lining. Her
grandfather, a strong unsilent sheep-rancher, was against this inept
decadent and converted to his view that saintly worldling, the gorgeous
_Cardinal Camperioni_. A neo-futurist of the most bizarre type prances
through the pages upon his head, causing enough "tumult" to satisfy any
one. So why drag in Pan? Miss VALLINGS can tell a story, cannot keep
down the volume of her puppets' talk, has a sense of movement and
colour, and ought to win for herself a good circulating library
constituency.
* * * * *
For myself I have never yet lived in a sailing barge, and under the
providence of Heaven trust to continue in this immunity. There are
however those who regard the matter differently; and for their benefit I
have no hesitation in recommending most warmly _A Floating Home_ (CHATTO
AND WINDUS), written by CYRIL IONIDES and J.B. ATKINS, and illustrated
partly with photographs, partly with water-colour sketches by that
various craftsman, Mr. ARNOLD BENNETT. Let me say at once that you have
no need to be an amateur bargee, either by practice or desire, to enjoy
this most entertaining volume. Witness my own case, who read every
page of it with delight. It is a reasonable contention that a writer
possessing the enthusiasm, the humour and the persuasive gifts of Mr.
IONIDES, with a twelve-and-sixpenny book for their display, could
present a case that would give some theoretic and superficial charm to
the most uncomfortable conditions of existence. Not that _A Floating
Home_ is a work only of theory; on the contrary, nothing could be more
practical than its account of the purchase, conversion and enjoyment of
the _Ark Royal_. The most prejudiced--again I speak personally--will
find pleasure in the author's zestful story of how the dingy,
foul-smelling _Will Arding_, full of cement (and worse things), was
transformed into the spick-and-span _Ark Royal_, with a piano in the
saloon and Queen Anne silver on the breakfast-table; while for the
persuadable there are added plans, scales of expense and the like,
which bring the whole matter to a working basis. The book, in short, is
propaganda at its best (was it perhaps this that attracted Mr. BENNETT?)
and as such well entitled to its toll of converts.
* * * * *
_Warriors and Statesmen_ (MURRAY) is a book selected from the
"gleanings" of the late Lord BRASSEY. Such gleanings depend so largely
on the personality of the gleaner that they may be worth anything or
nothing; so let me say at once that Lord BRASSEY had too sound a taste
to be a collector of ill-considered trifles. Although warriors have the
place of honour in the title they are given but little space in the
book. Still, in these days the soldier can well afford to let the
statesman have the advantage in a collection that does not deal with the
living. This limitation may explain the absence of all mention of Lord
ROBERTS, who was probably still alive when the gleanings were completed.
Apart from the evidence it gives of a fine mind the book preserves much
that is worth remembering and presents it in a convenient form. For this
we have in part to thank Mr. HORACE HUTCHINSON, to whom Lord BRASSEY
entrusted the work of selecting these literary sheaves.
* * * * *
_From the Home Front_ (CONSTABLE) is a further, and rather belated,
selection from the War verses that have appeared from week to week on
the second page of _Punch_. Conscious of cherishing a natural prejudice
in favour of his own productions, Mr. Punch forbears to commend this
little volume, but he may permit himself to say that, in the judgment of
_The Daily News_, which is above suspicion of bias, it is calculated to
provoke "a sorrow chequered by disgust."
[Illustration: _Topical Huckster_. "'ERE YOU ARE, LADY--AS CHEWED BY THE
PRESIDENT."]
* * * * *
"This royal throne of kings,
This sceptical isle, this seat of Mars."
_Quotation by Miss MARIE CORELLI in "The Pall Mall Gazette."_
No man is a prophet in his own country, and this is how Shakespeare gets
treated at Stratford-on-Avon.