st half of the book
describes the upbringing and early battles of this man of peace, Rose
Cottage at Llanystumdwy with "Uncle Lloyd"--there is a touching picture of
the courage, wisdom and unselfishness of this grand old man--the little
attorney's office at Portmadoc, squire- and parson-baiting _passim_,
capture of Carnarvon Boroughs, guerilla tactics in the House, suspension,
recognition, pacifism, office, original budgeting, Limehousing (very
reticently indicated), social reform. Then War and the supreme opportunity
for the energy, persuasiveness, adroitness and determination which must
extort even from opponents the tribute of admiration. Not a dull page;
occasionally an obscure one. None of your cold and calculated criticism for
Mr. SPENDER. Have idols clay feet? Well, not this one, thank you. And it
is an attitude which enables him to convey to the reader something of the
irresistible personal magnetism of his distinguished friend, and the
courage which delights in riding the storm and is at its best in the tight
corner (one might suspect the PREMIER of holding the view that if there
were no tight corners it would be necessary to invent them). The summary of
the War period is admirably done. The history of events leading to the
formation of the second Coalition Government--and the third--is again
tactfully presented. It would be unreasonable to suppose that all of Mr.
SPENDER'S verdicts and estimates will be unchallenged by historians. But it
is unlikely that the PREMIER will find a more competent hagiographer.

* * * * *

A story that so far violates the conventions as to start with a mother
whose moral instability is a worry to her children, and a hero who longs to
be a practical builder despite a parental command to follow art--such a
tale can at least claim the merit of originality. Mr. J. D. BERESFORD would
be fully justified in claiming this and much more for _An Imperfect Mother_
(COLLINS). Here is an interesting, fascinating and certainly unusual story,
in which only two characters are of any real moment, _Cecilia_, the
imperfect mother, embodiment of the artist temperament, egotistical almost
to inhumanity, who abandons her dull husband and boring daughters to "live
her own life"; and _Stephen_, the son, who alone can give her a
half-sympathetic, half-resentful understanding. You see already the
cleverness of Mr. BERESFORD'S conception. Really, it is just this that
works (at