a Journalist_ (MURRAY) is a volume of which the title is
its own sufficient description, save that it leaves unsuggested the
interest that such briskly written and comprehensive comments as these
of our old friend, Sir HENRY LUCY, must command. His book differs from
most of those in the flood of recollections that has lately broken
upon us in being a selection from "impressions of the moment written
without knowledge of the ultimate result." In these stray moments
between the years 1885 and 1917 I find at least two examples in which
this ignorance of the final event adds much to the interest of the
immediate record--the startling forecast of the EX-KAISER'S destiny,
entered in the Diary under November '98; and the mention, long before
the actual illness of KING EDWARD declared itself, of the growing
belief in certain circles that his coronation would never take place.
It is at once obvious that not even "TOBY'S" three previous volumes
have by any means exhausted his fund of good stories, the scenes of
which range from Westminster to Bouverie Street, and round half the
stately (or, at least, interesting) homes of England. Of them all--not
forgetting DISRAELI and the peacocks and a new W. S. GILBERT--my
personal choice would be for the mystery of the Unknown Guest, who not
only took a place, but was persuaded to speak, at a private dinner
given by Sir JOHN HARE at the Garrick Club, without anyone ever
knowing who he was or how he came there. A genial lucky-bag book,
which (despite unusually full chapter headings) would be improved by
an index to its many prizes.

* * * * *

Mr. JAMES HILTON is very young and very clever. If, as he grows older,
he learns to be clever about more interesting things he ought to write
some very good novels. _Catherine Herself_ (UNWIN) has red hair, but
then she has a rather more red-haired disposition than most red-haired
heroines have to justify it, so this is not my real objection to
the book. My quarrel is that, though I cannot call it an ugly story
without giving a false impression, it is certainly a quite unbeautiful
one, and at the end of its three hundred and more pages it has
achieved nothing but a full-length portrait of an utterly selfish
woman. Mr. HILTON has dissected her most brilliantly; but I don't
think she is worth it. Catherines, whether they marry or are given in
marriage, or do anything else, are really stationary; and, since the
persons of