tion, and to be loved by whom was a passport to the little
company of the elect.

***

When _John Barleycorn_ (MILLS AND BOON) came my way, I noticed that
the publishers had shown a reticence, unusual in these days, on the
outside paper cover; they didn't say a word as to the quality or
character of the contents. They had three good reasons: first, given
the name of JACK LONDON, there was no need of further advertisement or
lure; second, if they had started describing the book they would have
been unable to say with strict truth that it was or was not a novel,
for it isn't and it is; third, and best, they couldn't, as honest men,
have avoided mentioning that it is in a way a sermon on alcoholism,
and that, being said, might have acted as a deterrent, unless they
had explained (as they wouldn't have had room to do) how and why, when
they said "sermon," they didn't really mean "sermon." So they lay low
and said nothing, and I almost wish I had done the same, for no one
who has the lightest interest, practical or theoretical, in John
Barleycorn ought to be put off these alcoholic memoirs. The diarist
purports to have been first drunk at the age of five, again at the
age of seven, almost perpetually for a spell of years from the age of
fifteen, and yet to have taken over a quarter of a century to acquire
a liking for alcohol. That sounds odd, but is not unique. Not only
in California and not only in the lower grades of society, is
Youth, vigorous and unspoilt, bound to acquire the taste if it would
foregather on lively and intimate terms with its fellows; and not only
in the saloons of the Oakland water-front are fine youngsters drinking
themselves permanently silly because it is their only way of being men
among men, jolly good fellows among jolly good fellows. A sound enough
text for any sermon; and, I may honestly add, a sound enough sermon
for any text, with a strong smell of the sea and of adventure about
it. But I ask myself for what purpose the photograph of Mr. and Mrs.
JACK LONDON is inserted as a frontispiece? As well, I think, have had
a portrait of Mr. MILLS, with Mr. BOON inset.

***

Isn't _The Youngest World_ (BELL) an engaging title for a book? It
caught my interest at once. I am not altogether sure that the story
itself is as good as its name, but that still leaves a margin of
quality, and I for one have enjoyed it greatly--in patches. Let Mr.
ROBERT DUNN not too hastily condemn me if I s