arthly paradise (snakes included), and the _Spragge_ family had
made it all themselves out of unclaimed land on the Californian coast.
Wherefore the _Spragges_ loved it with a love only equalled perhaps by
the same emotion in the breast of Mr. H. A. VACHELL, who has written a
book about it. The _Spragges_ of the tale are _Mrs. Spragge_, widow of
the pioneer, and her son _George_. With them on the ranch lived also a
cousin, _Samantha_, a big-built capable young woman, destined by
Providence and _Mrs. Spragge_ to be the helpmate of _George_. But
_George_, though he was strong and handsome and a perfect marvel with
rattlesnakes (which he collected as a subsidiary source of income), was
also a bit of a fool; and when, on one of his rare townward excursions,
he got talking to _Hazel Goodrich_ in a street car, her pale
attractiveness and general lure proved too much for him. Accordingly
_Hazel_ was asked down to the ranch on a visit (I am taking it on trust
that Mr. VACHELL knows the Californian etiquette in these matters) and
has the time of her life, flirting with the love-lorn _George_,
impressing his mother, and generally scoring off poor _Samantha_. At
least so she thought. Really, however, _Mrs. Spragge_ had taken
_Hazel's_ measure in one, and was all the time quietly fighting her
visitor for her son's future. This fight, and the character of the
mother who makes it, are the best things in the book. I shall not tell
you who wins. Personally I had expected a comedy climax, and was
unprepared for creeps. But _George_, I may remind you, collected snakes.
A good and virile tale.

* * *

Sir MELVILLE MACNAGHTEN hopes, in his Introduction to _Days of my Years_
(Arnold), that his reminiscences "may be found of some interest to a
patient reader"; and, when one considers that _Sir Melville_ spent
twenty-four years at Scotland Yard, many of them as chief of the
Criminal Investigation Department, he can hardly be accused of undue
optimism. Speaking as one of his readers, I found no difficulty at all
in being patient. I have always had a weakness for official detectives,
and have resented the term "Scotland Yard bungler" almost as if it were
a personal affront; and now I feel that my resentment is justified.
Scotland Yard does not bungle; and the advice I shall give for the
future to any eager-eyed, enthusiastic young murderer burning to embark
on his professional career is, don't practise in London. I would not
lightly st