(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS_.)
At this date "The Junior Sub" fortunately needs no introduction to a
public that has long gathered him and his to its appreciative heart. I
should not like to guess how many people read and enjoyed _The First
Hundred Thousand_; they all, and more, will delight in the appearance
of _Carrying On_ (BLACKWOOD), in which the exploits of the famous
regiment, of _Major Wagstaffe_ and _Captain Bobby Little_ and the rest
of them are continued. What the precise war position of IAN HAY may be
by now I am unaware, but I should emphatically suggest his appointment
to the post of Official Cheerer-Up. Perhaps (how shall I put it?) the
eye-pieces of the writer's mask are a trifle too rose-coloured for
strict realism; great-hearted gentlemen as we know our heroes to be,
are they always quite so merry and bright as here? One can but hope
so. In any case, as special propaganda on the part of the O.C.U., the
stories could hardly be bettered. One, called "The Push that Failed,"
I would order to be read aloud to the workers in every munition
factory in the land; its heartening tale of how the British people
had, to the paralysed astonishment of Brother Bosch, "delivered the
goods" to such effect that his projected spectacular attack under the
eyes of WILLIAM the Worst was smashed before it began, is of a kind to
strengthen the most weary arm. While I was yet upon the final page the
bells in a famous abbey tower close by broke into grateful clamour for
the news of victory. But IAN HAY does not wait on victory; he has his
joy-bells ringing always in our hearts.
* * * * *
_The Tree of Heaven_ (CASSELL) spread its friendly branches over a
pleasant corner of a roomy Hampstead garden. Matter-of-fact _Anthony_,
the timber merchant, always would insist that it was a mere common
ash; but the others, _Frances_, and the children, _Dorothy, Michael,
Nicky_ and adopted _Veronica_, knew better, as also, no doubt, did
_Jane-Pussy_ and her little son, _Jerry_, who was _Nicky's_ most
especial pal. Miss MAY SINCLAIR, without being a conscienceless
sentimentalist, does us the fine service of reminding us that the
world of men is not all drab ugliness, but that there are beautiful
human relationships and unselfish characters, and wholesome training
which justifies itself in the day of trial. She divides her charming
chronicle into three parts--Peace, The Vortex, and Victory. The
first deals with the childhood of the happy brood of _Anthony_ and
_Frances_, delicate studies subtly differentiated. Even the little
cats have their astonishing individuality, and I don't envy anyone
who can read of _Jerry's_ death and _Nicky's_ grief without a gulp.
The Vortex is--no, not the War; that comes later--but the trials of
a world which tests adolescence, a world of suffrage rebellions,
of Futuristic art and morals. Then the real vortex of the War, the
Victory which means ready (or difficult, unready) sacrifice and death
for the boys and their friends and as great a sacrifice and as cruel a
thing as death for the others, the women and the elders.... A novel,
which is much more than a novel, packed with beauty and sincerity,
setting forth its tragedy without false glamour or shallow
consolations.
* * * * *
Since it is natural to expect that a much-heralded book will fail,
when it does eventually appear, to fulfil the promise of its
publishers, it is the more pleasant to find oneself agreeing with
Messrs. HODDER AND STOUGHTON that bashfulness on their part would have
been out of place in regard to Mr. JAMES W. GERARD'S memoirs, _My Four
Years in Germany_. As read in their completed and collected form these
papers are not only, as one could foresee, of historic importance,
but they are moreover capital reading. There is a world of unaffected
geniality and humour about them that forms a most admirable complement
to such serious matters as the protracted negotiations over the U-boat
campaign, or the now famous incriminating telegram addressed by the
ALL-HIGHEST to President WILSON in the days before the Huns had quite
decided with what lies to defend the indefensible. This document is
reproduced in facsimile as the egregious sender of telegrams wrote it
for Mr. GERARD to transmit, and is one link more in the thrice-forged
chain of evidence. But even stronger witness to German guilt is to be
found in the series of minor corroborations appearing incidentally in
the course of Mr. GERARD'S narrative, whether the author is pretending
to be in awe of Prussian Court Etiquette, or openly laughing at the
Orders of the Many Coloured Eagles, or simply detailing his work at
Ruhleben and the other prison camps. His devotion there has earned a
gratitude throughout this country that it would be mere presumption to
try to put into words.
* * * * *
Those of us who have loitered with Mr. DE VERE STACPOOLE by blue
lagoons and silent pools know that he is a master of atmosphere, and
so he proves himself again in _The Starlit Garden_ (HUTCHINSON),
though it takes him some time to get there. When a young American
finds himself the guardian of an Irish flapper--a distant
relation--and comes over to take her back with him to the States, it
does not require much perspicacity to guess what will happen. _Phyl
Berknowles_ strongly objects to the intrusion of _Richard Pinckney_
into the glorious muddle of her Irish ménage, and irritates him so
successfully that he returns in a considerable tantrum to America,
leaving her with some friends in Dublin. So far the tale is lively
enough, but not until _Phyl_ feels the call of her blood and goes to
stay with her relatives in Charleston does the author find scope for
his peculiar charm. Then we get a most delightful picture of a starlit
garden in the south of America, where _Phyl's_ experiences, without
placing a tiresome strain upon our powers of belief, produce a
sensation at once romantic and unusual. Memories of the past hang
over this garden, and although Mr. STACPOOLE'S attempt to reconcile
the period of which he writes with the years that are gone is not
uniformly successful I am cordially glad that he made it.
* * * * *
The publishers of Mrs. ALICE PERRIN'S new volume, _Tales that are
Told_ (SKEFFINGTON), appear to be anxious that the public should have
no hesitations on the score of measure supplied, as they explain that
the chief of the tales is "a short novel of over 20,000 words." I am
content to take their word for the figure, but I agree that they were
well advised to focus attention upon "Gift of God," which, whatever
its length, is an admirable and distinguished piece of writing. The
subject of it is the old question of mixed-marriage, but treated from
a new aspect. _Kudah Bux_ (the Gift in question) is the son of an
adoring Mohamedan father; he goes to England for education in the law,
and there falls in love with and marries the brainless daughter of a
London landlady. He is a very human and appealing figure. The debacle
that follows his return to India with so impossible a bride is told
in a way that convinces. Here Mrs. PERRIN is at her best. Some of the
shorter tales also succeed very happily in conveying that peculiar
Simla-by-South-Kensington atmosphere of retired Anglo-Indian society
which she suggests with such intimate understanding. But, to be
honest, the others (with the exception of one quaint little comedy
of a canine ghost) are but indifferent stuff, too full of snakes and
hidden treasure and general tawdriness--the kind of Orientalism,
in fact, that one used to associate chiefly with the Earl's Court
Exhibition. Mrs. PERRIN must not mingle her genuine native goods with
such Brummagem ware.
* * * * *
My idea is that when Mr. H.C. BAILEY called his latest story _The
Young Lovers_ (METHUEN) he was doing it something less than justice.
For the width and variety of the plot make it far more than a mere
love-tale. _Arma virique_ are quite as much Mr. BAILEY'S theme as
Cupid, who indeed makes a rather belated appearance at the tag end.
Before that we have a vast deal of agreeable adventuring. The scene is
set in the period of the Peninsular War; all the characters, lovers,
parents and hangers-on, are more or less involved in the fluctuating
fortunes of my Lord WELLINGTON. There are spies of both sides,
intrigues, abductions and what not. Mr. BAILEY has a pretty touch
for such matters; his people move with an air; and, if at times their
speech seems a trifle over-burnished, dulness is far from them.
Moreover, the incidents of the campaign give scope for some vivid
descriptions of war and battles, as such were in the old days before
Mars put off his gold lace and sacrificed the picturesque. Sometimes,
on the other hand, it is the similarity of conditions then and now
that will strike you. For example, the passage telling how, despite
apparent inactivity and home prognostications of stalemate, the
confidence of the Army grew from day to day--impossible not to see the
very obvious parallel there. In fine, Mr. BAILEY has given us another
brisk and engaging romance, which, if it is not quite the kind you
might expect from its title, is something a good deal better worth
reading.
* * * * *
"Fort Worth, Texas.--Poolville, Parker county, near here, has
raised $1,246.50 as a reward for the delivery of the German
emperor into the hands of the American authorities."--_Buffalo
Courier_.
On reading this item HINDENBURG is reported to have said that if
Poolville would make it even money he would think about it.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED INCIDENT IN THE HISTORY OF
ANCIENT ROME. SEQUEL TO THE WARNING GIVEN BY THE PATRIOTIC GEESE.]