or about it and muttering "Sentiment" when you had
to blink away the unbidden tear lest your fireside partner should find
you out. So let me commend to you this idealised vision of a corner
of the great War seen through the eyes of an American woman of vivid
sympathies.

* * * * *

_Rovers of the Night Sky_ (CASSELL) is for more reasons than one
a welcome addition to my rapidly bulging collection of books about
flying. "NIGHT HAWK, M.C.," was in the Infantry--what he calls
a "Gravel-Cruncher"--before he took to the air, and by no means
the least interesting part of his sketches is the way in which he
explains the co-operation which existed between the fliers and the men
fighting on the ground. And his delight when a bombing expedition was
successful in giving instant assistance to the Infantry is frequently
shown. After his training in England "NIGHT HAWK" was attached as an
observer to a night-flying squadron in France, and he tells us of
his adventures with no sense of self-importance but with an honest
appreciation of their value to the general scheme of operations. He
has also a keen eye for the humours of life, and can make his jest
with most admirable brevity. "Doubtless," he says in a foreword, "the
whole world will fly before many years have passed, but for the moment
most people have to be content to read about it." I am one of them,
and he has added to my contentment.

* * * * *

My studies of recent fiction induce the belief that modern Wales
may be divided into two parts, in one of which the inhabitants call
each other _Bach_ and follow a code of morals that I simply will not
stoop to characterise; while the other is at once more Saxon in idiom
and considerably more melodramatic in its happenings. It is to the
latter province that I must assign _A Little Welsh Girl_ (HODDER AND
STOUGHTON), the Romance, with a big R, of _Dylis Morgan_, who pushed
an unappreciated suitor over a precipice and came to London to make
her fortune in revue. Really the suitor didn't go all the way down
the precipice; but as, by the time he recovered, _Dylis_, disguised,
had fled for England, he was promptly arrested for her murder, and
as _Dylis_ thought she had murdered him there was presently so much
confusion (increased for me by the hopelessly unpronounceable names
of a large cast) that I found it increasingly hard to keep the affair
in hand. As for _Dylis's_ the