Jugo-Slavs of South-Eastern Europe), but they always furnish the reader with the facts enabling him to test their conclusions; and that in these times is a great merit.  My own feeling is that if they had begun their concerted labours a few years earlier the War might never have happened; or at least we should have gone into it with a much more accurate notion of the real aims of the Central Powers, and a much better chance of quickly defeating them.  The tragedies of Serbia and Roumania would almost certainly have been averted.

* * * * *

I am unable to hold out much prospect that you will find Frailty (CASSELL) a specially enlivening book.  The scope of Miss OLIVE WADSLEY’S story, sufficiently indicated by its title, does not admit of humorous relief.  But it is both vigorous and vital.  Certainly it seemed hard luck on Charles Ley that, after heroically curing himself of the drug habit, he should marry the girl of his choice only to find her a victim to strong drink.  But of course, had this not happened, the “punch” of Miss WADSLEY’S tale would have been weakened by half.  Do not, however, be alarmed; the author knows when to stop, and confines her awful examples to these two, thereby avoiding the error of Mrs. HENRY WOOD, who (you may recall) plunged the entire cast of Danesbury House into a flood of alcohol.  Not that Miss WADSLEY herself lacks for courage; she can rise unusually to the demands of a situation, and I have seldom read chapters more moving of their kind than those that depict the gradual conquest of Charles by the cocaine fiend, and his subsequent struggle back to freedom.  Here the “strong” writing seemed to me both natural and in place; ever so much more convincing therefore than when employed upon the love scenes.  I have my doubts whether, even in this age of what I might call the trampling suitor, anyone was over quite so heavy-booted over the affair as was Charles when he carried off his chosen mate from a small-and-early in Grosvenor Square.  Fortunately the other parts of the story are less melodramatic, and make it emphatically a book not to be missed.

* * * * *

Happy is the reviewer with a book which gives him so much delightful information that he tries to ration himself to so many pages per day.  This is what I resolved to do with In the Northern Mists (HODDER AND STOUGHTON); but I could not keep to my resolution, so attractive was the fare.  These sketches are the work of a Grand Fleet Chaplain, and are packed with wisdom from all the ages.  If you haven’t the luck to be a sailor you will learn a lot from this admirable theologian about the men and methods and the spirit of the Grand Fleet.  His book fills me with pride; yet I dare not express it for fear of offending the notorious modesty of the senior service.  So shy indeed is our Fleet of praise that I feel my apologies are due to their Chaplain for my perfectly honest commendation of his book.  But he seems human enough to pardon the more venial sins.