has not much intrinsic interest about it, nor are the author’s general reflections very different from what one could supply oneself without much effort.  His notes on war slang are about the best thing in the volume, and I liked the story of the blinded soldiers—­feeling anything in the world but mournful or pathetic—­who played pranks on the Tube escalator; but on the whole this is a book which will be of considerable interest only to the writer’s fellow-labourers.  They, beyond any doubt, will be glad to read this history of their familiar rounds and common tasks.

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Wanted, a Tortoise-Shell (LANE) would have made an excellent short story, but to pursue its farcical developments through three hundred pages requires a considerable amount of perseverance.  The scene of Mr. PETER BLUNDER’S book is laid in tropical Jallagar, where the British Resident was keener on cats than on his duties.  A male tortoise-shell was what he fanatically and almost ferociously desired, and to obtain it he was ready to barter his daughter to one Kamp, who is tersely described as “a fat Swede.”  I conceived a strong distaste for this large and perspiring man, and can congratulate Mr. BLUNDELL on having created a character odious enough to linger in the memory.  For the rest there are some gleams of real fun where a beach-comber tries to palm off a dyed cat as the long-deferred tortoise-shell, and the exit of this animal from a world too covetous to hold it is thoroughly sound farce.  But on the whole I failed to get many of those quiet gurgles of delight which are the best tribute one can pay to a funny man’s work.

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[Illustration:  Chairman at Farmers’ Ordinary. “NOW, GENTLEMEN, FILL UP YOUR MATCHBOXES TO THE VERY GOOD HEALTH OF THE CATERER.”]