Chapter 4

The _Duchess of Wrexe_ (SECKER) is, I think, the longest as it is certainly the most substantial novel that Mr. HUGH WALPOLE has yet given us. It is the work of one who has already made himself a force in modern fiction, and after this book will have more than ever to be reckoned with. Whether the reckoning will be to all tastes is another matter; I incline to think not. Four hundred closely printed pages, in which hardly anything happens to the bodies of the characters, but a great deal to their spirits--this perhaps is toughish meat for the ordinary devourer of fiction. But for the others this study of the passing of an epoch, the time of the Old Society, as symbolised by the figure of the _Duchess_, will be a delight. You might suppose from this (if you were unfamiliar with your author) that we had here a social comedy. Nothing in fact could be further from Mr. WALPOLE'S design. For him, as for his characters, there is almost too haunting a sense of the tragedy of trivial things. No one in the book is happy. The _Duchess_ herself, stern, aloof, terrible, broken but never bent by the oncoming of the New Order; the various members of the family whom she terrified; _Rachel_, the granddaughter, between whom and the old woman there exists the bond of one of those hatreds in which Mr. WALPOLE so exults; the secretary, _Lizzie Rand_--all of them are tremendously and miserably alive. I think the matter is that they have too much sensibility, of the modern kind. They see too many meanings. A primrose by a river's brim, or more probably in a flower-seller's basket, is not for them a simple primrose, but a portent of soul-shaking significance. To make up for this the author has gifted them with his own exquisite sense of colour and words, and especially a feeling for the beauty of London that at times almost reconciles them to life. But I could wish them merrier.

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Mr. HAROLD SPENDER'S new novel, _One Man Returns_ (MILLS AND BOON), opens with a very powerful and dramatic situation. Nothing in its way could be better than the description of the lonely _Trevena_ family, of their vigil during the terrible storm, of the shipwreck and the sudden arrival of the two strangers, father and son, who are its only survivors. The father dies immediately without revealing his identity, and the son, slowly nursed back to health by the devoted care of _Enid Trevena_, resumes his life without any consciousness of the past, having forgotten even his own name. As a matter of fact he is _Cyril Oswald_, the lawful inheritor of Oswald Hall and great estates, which, of course, pass into the possession of the nearest villain. This is _Major Harley_, a gentleman of a lurid past and an infamous present, mitigated only by the fact that he has a beautiful and amiable daughter, _Dorothy_, who, having been educated at Roedean School, conceives herself to be qualified to run after beagles. In the natural course of things she sprains her ankle and is beloved by _Rupert Sandford_, the chief beagler of the novel. She then quarrels with her disgraceful parent, is adopted by _Mrs. Sandford_ (mother to _Rupert_), and becomes the affianced bride of _Rupert_, though for a time she had been inclined to look with favour on _Cyril_. This young gentleman eventually recovers his estates by course of law and returns to Cornwall and _Enid_ just in time to cut out that young lady from under the guns of _Merrifield_, a South African millionaire who had complicated the situation by providing _Cyril_ with money for his law-suit. What happened to _Major Harley_ is not stated, but I presume he must have drunk off the phial of poison which such desperate adventurers always carry concealed about their persons.

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"The matrimonial career of suburban lovers," says Miss JESSIE POPE in a prologue to _The Tracy Tubbses_ (MILLS AND BOON), "is seldom variegated by so many curious happenings as fell to the lot of Mr. and Mrs. _Tracy Tubbs_;" and to this statement I can give my unqualified assent. No sooner were the _T. T.'s_ married than they were beset by such wonderful and various misfortunes that I should like to try and "place" them. The Lion, I think, won in a canter, _Aunt Julia_ was a bad second, and The Chafing-dish was third, while among the "also ran" were several Policemen, The Balloon, _Cross-eyed Cranstone_ and The Motor-Bicycle. But whether the _T. T.'s_ were nearly devoured by wild beasts or merely annoyed by aunts and chafing-dishes, they continued to embrace each other with magnificent heartiness whenever they had a moment to spare. In short, Miss POPE'S high spirits never flag; and, even if you fail to be amused by all the incidents in the _T. T.'s_ career, you will be glad to make the acquaintance--under a new aspect, for Miss POPE'S talent as a maker of light verse is established--of a writer so unaffectedly cheerful and exhilarating.

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"I cannot marry you or any man; _I am not free_," said _Polly Adair_ to _Hemingway_, and the italics were her own. For my part, having been rather pointedly informed earlier in the story that the lady was understood in Zanzibar to be a widow, I began at this stage to suspect that there was something lacking in the lateness of _Mr. Adair_. This was a great pity, because _Polly_ and _Hemingway_ were obviously meant for each other, as she and he and I and Mr. RICHARD HARDING DAVIS were unanimously agreed. But there the fatal obstacle was, whatever it might be. "I am not free," she repeated, and again the italics were her very own. After much to-do, it came out that what she meant was that she had a brother who oughtn't to be free; ought, if justice were done, to be picking oakum or whatever else they pick in their leisure hours way back in U.S.A. And this was the whole and the sole fatal obstacle! _Hemingway_ took it as it came; Mr. DAVIS seemed quite pleased about it; but I felt that I had been wantonly deceived. Baffle me by all means, said I, but do not lie to me. Maybe I was not in a good temper at the time, for the three preceding stories were not calculated to stir the gentlest reader's sympathies. Possibly I am not in a good temper now, for the three later stories (though "_The God of Coincidence_" only just missed fire) were not distracting enough to deaden my sense of injury. A pity, for _The Lost Road_ (DUCKWORTH) has such a good cover and the name of such a good author on the back of it.

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EDITORIAL CANDOUR.

Notice in _Nash's Magazine_ at the beginning of a new serial:--

"The theme of this story is a strange one handled with the consummate skill one expects from so clever a writer as Gouverneur Morris.... This story will stimulate your interest. It is quite different from anything Mr. Morris has previously written."

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"Cambridge.

The appointment of Mr. W. W. Buckland, of Caius, to be Regius Professor of Civil War is in accordance with general expectation, though there were those who thought that the Government might go outside the circle of University teachers."--_The Record._

Mr. DEVLIN was surely indicated.

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"CANARY WANTED.--Young, intelligent bird wanted for training. For right bird, right price paid. Apply, with bird, Tuesday morning next, at 11 o'clock. M. D., Stage Door, Palladium, London, W.C."

_The Referee._

Dangerous, asking for the bird like that.

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