(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._)
I foresee the appearance, during the next few years, of many
regimental handbooks that will record the history at this present
visibly and gloriously in the making. One such has already reached me,
a second edition of _A Brief History of the King's Royal Rifle Corps_
(WARREN), compiled and edited by Lieut.-General Sir EDWARD HUTTON,
K.C.B. It is a book to be bought and treasured by many to whom the
record of a fine and famous regiment has become in these last years
doubly precious. The moment of its appearance is indeed excellently
opportune, from the fact that, in the first place, the K.R.R. was
recruited from our brothers across the Atlantic, the 60th Royal
Americans (as they were then) having been raised, in 1756, from the
colonists in the Eastern States, with a view to retrieving the recent
disaster to General BRADDOCK'S troops, and to provide a force that
could meet the French and Indians upon equal terms. Thus the Regiment,
which its historian modestly calls a typical unit of the British Army,
is in its origin another link between the two great English-speaking
allies of to-day. It has a record, certainly second to none, from
Quebec to Ypres--one that splendidly bears out the words, themselves
ringing like steel, of its motto, _Celer et Audax._ I should add that
all profits from the sale of the book will go to "The Ladies' Guild of
the King's Royal Rifle Corps." Friends past and present will no doubt
see to it that these profits are considerable.
* * * * *
In _The Immortal Gamble_ (A. AND C. BLACK), by A.T. STEWART and C.J.
PESHALL, the Acting Commander and Chaplain of _H.M.S. Cornwallis_
describe the part taken by their ship and its gallant complement in
the bombardment of Gallipoli and the subsequent landings down to the
final evacuation. The account is clear, concise, unemotional, and
uncontroversial. As a glimpse rather than a survey of the Dardanelles
campaign it strengthens our faith in the spirit of the race without
hopelessly undermining our confidence in its intelligence. Beyond
the fact that it records deeds of brave men the book has no mission,
and its cheerful detachment might not, in the absence of sterner
chronicles, be salutary. But as long as there are enough Commissions
to publish scathing reports on this or that phase of national
ineptitude it is not the publishers' business to provide cathartics
for the fatted soul of a self-satisfied people. As the passing of time
obliterates the futilities and burnishes the heroisms of the noblest
and most forlorn adventure in the history of the race, _The Immortal
Gamble_ will find a just place among the simple chronicles of courage
which the War is storing up for the inspiration of the generations to
come.
* * * * *
I fancy that of late the cinema has somewhat departed from its
life-long preoccupation with the cow-boy, otherwise, I should have
little hesitation in predicting a great future on the film for _Naomi
of the Mountains_ (CASSELL). For this very stirring drama of the
wilder West is so packed with what I can't resist calling "reelism"
that it is almost impossible to think of it otherwise than in terms
of the screen. It is concerned with the wooing, by two contrasted
suitors, of _Naomi_, herself more or less a child of nature, who dwelt
in the back-of-beyond with her old, fanatic and extremely unpleasant
father. But, though the action is of the breathless type that we
have come to expect from such a setting, there is far more character
and serious observation than you would be prepared to find. Mr.
CHRISTOPHER CULLEY has drawn a real woman, and at least two human and
well-observed men. I will not give you in detail the varied course
of _Naomi's_ romance, which ends in a perfect orgy of battle, with
sheriffs and shooting, redskins and revolvers--in short, all the
effects that Mr. HAWTREY not long ago so successfully illustrated on
the stage. To sum up, I should describe _Naomi of the Mountains_ as
melodrama with a difference--the difference residing in its clever
character-drawing and some touches of genuine emotion which lift it
above the ordinary. And this from one to whom the Wild West in fiction
has long been a weariness is something more than tepid praise.
* * * * *
Sir CHARLES WALDSTEIN, author of the thoughtful _Aristodemocracy_, is
a thinker with an internationalist mind. But pray don't think he's
not a whole-hogger about the War. In _What Germany is Fighting For_
(LONGMANS) he analyses the Germans' statement of their war-aims and
does good service by presenting an excellent translation, with comment
and epilogue, of the famous manifesto of "The Six Associations," and
the "Independent Committee for a German Peace." It is an insolent,
humourless, immoral document. Anything like it published in England
would be laughed out of court by Englishmen. It is difficult to keep
one's temper when one reads all this nauseating stuff about the
little German lamb being threatened by the wolf, England (or Russia
or France, as best suits the current paragraph), and Germany's fine
solicitude for the freedom of the seas. It is no disrespect to Sir
CHARLES WALDSTEIN that his acute and dispassionate comment is not so
forcible an argument to hold us unflinchingly to the essence of our
task as any page of the manifesto itself. The German, with all his
craft, has an almost unlimited capacity for giving himself away. It
would seem that, after all, humour _is_ the best gift of the gods....
Our commentator ends with an epigram to the general effect that
"until they adopt, in common with us, the ideal of the Gentleman, in
contradistinction to that of the Superman," we must continue to strafe
them in war or peace. His book constitutes an important War document.
* * * * *
If I had been compelled to nominate an author to write a book called
_The Gossip Shop_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) I should have selected Mrs.
J.E. BUCKROSE without a moment's hesitation. So I ought to be happy.
Anything more soothing to tired nerves than the tittle-tattle of
these Wendlebury old ladies it is impossible to imagine. And to add
to the lullaby we are given an ancient cab-horse called _Griselda_,
who with a flick of her tail seems to render the atmosphere even
more calm and serene. Then there is a love-story which, in spite of
misunderstandings, is never really perturbing, and--as a spice--a
fortune telling lady who in such respectable society is as near to
being naughty as doesn't matter. Small beer? Perhaps. But if you want
to get away from the War and rumours of it, I advise you to take a
draught of this tranquillizing potion.
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR HISTORICAL MUSEUM.
FANCY PORTRAIT OF THE LAST BLOWER OF THE LAST WHISTLE FOR A LONDON
CAB, AUGUST 21ST, 1917.]
* * * * *