stly quite short, relating to (I quote its text,
taken from the Articles of War) "the Navy, whereon, under the good
Providence of God, the wealth, safety, and strength of the Kingdom
chiefly depend." Never surely did a book appear so aptly. At a moment
like this, when the dullest collection of naval facts can stir the
pulse, such pages as these, full of the actual life and work of the men
who are safeguarding us all, deserve a public as vast as the Empire
itself. The appeal of them is amazing, for their art is of so concealed
a quality that the writing seems simplicity itself. To say that they
bring the atmosphere of salt winds and the tang of the sea, is nothing;
a skilful novel about Margate sands would deserve this praise; it is in
their humanity that the charm lies, the sense of courage and comradeship
and high endeavour that is in every one of them. You will laugh often as
you read; and sometimes, quite suddenly, you will find yourself with a
prickly feeling at the back of the eyes, because of the tears that are
in these things; but they are the proud kind, never the sloppily
sentimental. And at the end I am mistaken in you if you do not close the
book with the rare and moving sensation that you have found something of
which you can say, as I myself did, "This is absolutely It!"

* * * * *

Amongst the thousands of helpful suggestions for the conduct of war
which have recently filled the columns of the daily press, I do not
remember having seen any scheme for supplying the officers of the Allied
Armies with an Irish terrier apiece. And yet if MARIE VON VORST is to be
trusted, this is a very serious omission, for, had it not been for
_Pitchoune_, I fear that the gallant hero of _His Love Story_ (MILLS AND
BOON) would have perished in the Sahara and never have won the lady of
his heart. The _Comte de Sabron_ was forbidden by his military orders to
take a dog with him to Algiers, but _Pitchoune_ ran all the way from
Tarascon to Marseilles and jumped into the boat. Subsequently, when his
master was lying wounded in the desert, he tracked down the nearest
native village--twelve hours away--and barked till they sent out a
relief expedition. A boy scout could not do more, and, though my own
experience of Irish terriers has led me to think that they do not spend
over much time in the study of ordnance maps, yet for sentiment's sake,
and because _His Love Story_ is a charmingly written romance