re_ (FISHER UNWIN), by RAYMOND E. PRIESTLEY, tells the
story of SCOTT'S Northern party. That party, as you probably remember,
spent an unexpected winter underground, owing to the failure of the ship
to relieve it. Its story was shortly told by its leader, Lieutenant
CAMPBELL, in _Scott's Last Expedition_--the official report of a sailor
to his commanding officer. Mr. PRIESTLEY is more communicative. As one
of the famous six who went through it, he gives us, from his comfortable
rooms in Cambridge, the full tale of that extraordinary adventure. He
had a good angle of observation in the igloo, for it was he who doled
out the eight birthday lumps of sugar and the other few ridiculous
luxuries which relieved the monotony of seal. He was, in fact, the
commissariat officer. How he must have been loved--and hated! To what a
large extent also (one begins to realise) the ultimate safety of the
party must have been due to his management. I recommend to boys and
grown-ups a story as absorbing as _Robinson Crusoe_, and as heartening
to the pride of Englishmen as the other stories which we are hearing now
from places less remote. For boys in particular _The Voyages of Captain
Scott_ (SMITH ELDER) has been written by CHARLES TURLEY, a compilation
excellently made from the original diaries; to which Sir J. M. BARRIE
has written a true BARRIE preface describing the boyhood of SCOTT. I can
think of no better present for a nephew.

* * *

_The Woman in the Bazaar_ (CASSELL), by Mrs. PERRIN, is a story of the
Anglo-Indian life in which she always moves at ease. It is _Captain
George Coventry's_ first wife, the golden-haired and "phenomenally" (as
the newspaper-men will go on saying) innocent _Rafella_ of the
high-perched Cotswold vicarage, who eventually finds her deplorable way
down to the Bazaar. If _George_ (that beastly prig) at the psychological
moment of their first serious quarrel, instead of threatening and
laughing like a drunken man and reeling back into the room, had reeled
forward and gone into the matter quietly, the entirely virtuous, if
idiotic, _Rafella_ would not have flown into the practised arms of that
unscrupulous barrister, _Kennard_, who, as everybody knew, had left a
mournful trail of dishonoured wives all over India, his legal knowledge
presumably saving him at once from the inconvenience of marrying his
victims and from the physical violence of outraged Anglo-Indian
chivalry. And when _George_, now a colo