rds
unwatched are dangerous. Such slipshod phrasing as "_young_ muscular
_youth_" must grieve the judicious, while the effect of the sentimental
interview on p. 99 was simply ruined for me through the unfortunate
suggestion conveyed by "her blood rose _in a boil_ to her face." The
italics are mine, but the proof-reading is (or should have been) the
author's.

* * * * *

_Miser's Money_ (HEINEMANN) brings Mr. EDEN PHILLPOTTS back to Devonshire,
and I wave my little flag to welcome him. Of late he has sometimes been a
shade too didactic for my liking, but here he gives us yet another plain
tale of his beloved moor, and he is instructive only in showing the danger
of too much money--a danger at which most of us can in these days afford to
smile. The _Mortimers_ were, one would have supposed, a clan unlikely to be
moved from their native soil by anything less convulsive than an
earthquake. But money did it. One of them was a miser, and when he
died--after a terrific gorge at his brother's expense--he left trouble
behind him. Some of his relations wanted more of his money than was good
for their souls, and one of them (actually) fought shy of receiving her
proper share. Altogether a pretty tangle, which was not unravelled until
the _Mortimers_ had resolved to try new pastures. True, they did not go
very far, but the disturbing influence of money is sufficiently illustrated
by the fact that it induced such deeply-rooted folk to move at all. If the
theme of this story is a little sordid it is relieved by its treatment from
any reproach, and faithful followers of the PHILLPOTTS' trail will enjoy
every word of it.

* * * * *

All that we ever hoped--some day, when the War was over--to hear about
those most fascinating mysteries, the Tanks, has been put together by Major
C. and Mr. A. WILLIAMS-ELLIS, under the title _The Tank Corps_ (_Country
Life_ Offices). Here are genuine uncamouflaged pictures of all kinds of
tanks, with detailed maps and descriptions showing their operations, as
well as stories not only of those that walked in orthodox fashion through
enemy villages "with the British army cheering behind," but of others that
disappeared entire in mud, or drove themselves unaided back to our lines
when too full of gas to be occupied, or scrunched up batteries of
field-guns, or cruised alone for hours, like the famous one called Musical
Box, among the enemy's co