Elderly Gentleman (alone in a compartment with fully-armed soldier, next stop one hour). "Excuse me, my man, but your face is strangely familiar to me."
Soldier (with meaning). "Quite likely, Sir, seein' as you were the gent in the Tribunal who made game of me bein' a conscientious objector. But you'll be glad to 'ear I've changed my mind, and I ain't now got any objection to takin' 'uman life."
When Mr. Frankfort Moore is not out to be funny I enjoy his novels, and The Rise of Raymond (Hutchinson) is pleasantly free from humorous intent. Raymond's father, a cheap house-furnisher by trade, was a terribly blighting person of peculiar religious views. By rod and rote he tried to instil his narrow creed into his son, and the latter's suffering during this process is revealed all the more forcibly because it is not unduly insisted upon. Though Raymond has his quiverful of virtues, one's powers of belief in them, though taxed heavily enough, are not super-taxed. It may seem curious that this young man, whose vocation it was during some of the best years of his life to handle and sell uninspiring things like linoleum, should have had artistic tastes; but as the reason for this endowment is not given away until the very end of the story I prefer not to give it away at all. In contrast to the scorn and ridicule scattered over the puritanical sect of which Raymond's parents were members, the Church of England parson, Mr. Bosover, receives a very warm pat on the back. "The tradition of gentleman is kept alive by the English parson. He is the only remaining interpreter of that ancient culte." So now you know.
A Woman in the Balkans (Hutchinson) is a book of which the publishers very properly observe that it "will undoubtedly make a wide appeal at the present moment." These are times when the records of anybody intelligent "in the Balkans" must be attractive reading; and Mrs. Will Gordon (Winifred Gordon) is not only intelligent, but—what is even more important in the writer of a popular memoir—excellent good company. Her vivid account of her pre-War travels in Serbia, Bulgaria, and Roumania gives one the feeling of being the fortunate friend of a correspondent whose views on home-writing are not confined to picture post-cards. In short a pleasant, not too professional, record of adventure and observation. The many excellent photographs that illustrate it are in precisely the same style, being, many of them, the successful little snapshots of an artistic amateur, such as often convey a far better impression of places and people than the more ambitious products of expert science. Not all the pictures, however, are from the writer's own camera. Two, which, with a grim sense of drama, are placed next to each other, represent the Coronation of King Peter of Serbia, and the tragic ride of the Monarch from his invaded country. There is a whole tremendous chapter of European history in the contrasted pictures. Small wonder if books about the Balkans should make "a wide appeal."
From a trade circular:—
"Since the beginning of the War we have encouraged our men to enlist, and have filled their places with girls of military ineligibles."