ent 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