Vyse_. The situation was further complicated by the fact that
in his youth he had been the officer of the guard who ought to have
prevented the murder of _Sonia's_ august parents, and didn't. Quite
early I gave up counting how many times _Sir Francis_ and his fair
ward were set upon, submerged, imprisoned and generally knocked about.
You never saw so convulsed a courtship; for I will no longer conceal
the fact that, when he was not more strenuously engaged, he soon began
to regard _Sonia_ with a softening eye. And as _Sonia_ herself
was growing up to womanhood, or, in Mr. WATSON'S elegant phrase,
"muliebrity claimed her definitely"--well, he is an enviable reader
for whom the last page will hold any considerable surprise.

* * * * *

"ETIENNE," in an introductory note to _A Naval Lieutenant, 1914-1918_
(METHUEN), gives an excellent reason for wishing to record his
impressions of the "sea affair." He was in _H.M.S. Southampton_ during
the earlier part of the War, and "on all the four principal occasions
when considerable German forces were encountered in the North Sea, her
guns were in action." Very naturally he desired to do honour to this
gallant light cruiser, and I admire prodigiously the modest way in
which he has done it. "ETIENNE" is not a stylist; a professor
of syntax might conceivably be distressed by his confusion of
prepositions; but apart from this detail all is plain sailing--and
fighting. I have read no more thrilling account of the Battle of
Jutland than is to be found here. The author does it so well because
he tells his story with great simplicity and without what I believe
he would call "windiness." Best of all, he has a nice sense of humour,
and would even, I believe, have discovered the funny side of Scapa, if
there had been one. "ETIENNE," whose short stories of naval life were
amusing, makes a distinct advance in this new work.

* * * * *

SONGS OF INNOCENCE.

GOLF IN SPRINGTIME.

Merry little baa-lambs sporting on the grass,
Playing ring-a-roses, dancing as you pass,
Crying,
"Jones has topped his brassie shot! What a way to play!
Now then, all together, boys--Me-e-eh!"
Pretty little woollies, white as driven snow,
Following your mothers, skipping as you go,
Crying,
"Jones is in the bunker! What a lot he has to say!
Give it all together, boys--Me-e-e-eh!"
Ha