not the story that lends the charm but the people who come into
it, that upper-lower section of Londoners whose little peculiarities of
thought, word and deed Mr. Ridge so perfectly understands. Through their
mouths he utters his truest sayings, and they make his books always
worth reading. It should be added that this one has nothing to do with
present warfare; it is antedated by a reign and a half. In this the
title is misleading, for there are so many recruits about nowadays and
all of them are happy.

* * * * *

After reading Messrs. HUTCHINSON'S announcement that the critics
describe Mr. F. BANCROFT as the most remarkable South African novelist
now at work, I searched for a talent that was too successfully hidden
for my finding. I was on the track of it two or three times, and once at
least the scent was so hot that I thought the quarry was mine; but it
got away. With _Dalliance and Strife_ the author completes a trilogy
upon the Boer War, but here we are given too much flirtation and too
little fighting. His liberality in the matter of heroines compensates me
not at all for his niggard accounts of the war. That he himself should
apparently take more interest in dalliance than in strife seems to
indicate sheer perversity, for, when once he has ceased to toy with
tennis-teas and trivialities, it is possible to respect the opinions of
those admiring critics even if it is impossible to agree with them. The
little fighting and the few whiffs of the veldt that we are given come
as welcome reliefs to the rather stuffy atmosphere that Mr. BANCROFT has
been at such pains to create. The British officer in his hours of
dalliance is in his hands merely a figure of fun, but the militant Boer
in field and camp is a faithful picture, so faithful, indeed, when
contrasted with the other, that it leaves me astounded at such a
combination of skill and futility.

* * * * *

_Germaine Damien_ was a little girl with considerable force of
character. Having been told by a Socialist shoemaker that Squires were a
mistake, she endeavoured to correct this error by driving a large knife
into the first specimen of the race whom she met. This was _Miles
Burnside_, a decent young man enough, and one obviously qualifying to be
the hero of the story. So that when, quite early in its course,
_Germaine_ caught him asleep and apparently left him dead with a dagger
in his heart, I was