The Birmingham age-herald., 1911-03-19


 A book that drips with the wholesome sweetness of human nature as honey comb drips with honey.
 book that seems a happy accident.
 There is not the whiff of the smell of midnight oil about it. It seems to have sprung naturally and eagerly from the soil of genius.
 It is as fresh as the English hedgerows along which it's many characters walk and blow and peddle, make love or meet for tlse short, sharp shot of the duel. It teens with types of English Folk. Good gentlemen of England, bucks" beaus, dandies, and 'mincing macaronis,' famous beauties reigning toasts. tinkers, soldiers. peddlers, positions, plowhoys, blacksmiths, inn keepers and inn keepers fair daughters-a splendid, motley crew.
 Each one of the types Is drawn with a masterly hand, it is as of a modern Hogarth had exchanged paint for pen, bit terness for sweetness, cariacture for ideality, and had so drawn. for us DOT trayalS of all the folk from prince regent to pckpocket that went to make up the England of the early nineteenthp century. A series of vignettes, these portraits, each perfect and pleasing if it stood alone, the more entrancing held together as they are by a story strong and stren- uous. a.
 The tinker. "a literary cove,' who likes his novels with a little blood'' in them and his novelist to know "summat about love-"
 Adam, the groom, with his gift of a pipe, "a mortal good pipe and as sweet as nut
 The jovial highwayman who all too soon for Peters comfort made of an OX- ford scholaral beggar
 Tom Cragg, the pugilst, "Cragg, my lord, by name. and Craggy. by natur', ," whom the prince regent one time slapped on the back wi his merry own and" The young former with a good pair O whiskers," lass to love him and soon to become possessed of "a mighty fine weskit, all worked wi little flowers;" this fast bought from an over-hungry but highly educated incompetent Tom. the soldier, now turned carrier, with wooden leg and horse. and cart of his own, and all his for having carried off the field under fire my officer, Ensign Stand ish, barely IS years old.''
 Here permit the quoting of bit of word painting no better than is to be found in almost every one of the 300 pages, nor no worse, either, for there S good stuff here:
 Thus we climbed the hill of Pembry, by tree and hedge and lonely cottage, by rolling meadow, the twilt wood Tom tho soldier and I.
 Much he told me of lonely night watches, of death sudden and sharp of long, weary marches, and stricken fields, of the bloody doings of the Spanish guer- rillas, of Nina and his deviltries. And in my ears was the roar of guns, and before my eyes the gleam and twinkle of bayonets. By the side of Tom the soldier waited the thunderous charge of the sFrench dragons, saw their stern, set faces, and the flash of brandished steel as they swept down to break in red con- fusicn before our bristling bayonets; and the air was full of the screams of.smitten horses and the deep-throated shouts and groans of men.
 By the side of Tom the Soldier I stormed through many reeking breach swept by fire, and slippery with blood, and all for love of it, the munificent sum of eight pence per day, and that which we call glory Bravo Tom the Soldier
 And Bravo. MT. Farnol! To find like vigorous writing we must go to the recital of the brave deeds of Etinne Geraod, or to the recounting of the stiff engagements of Sir Amyas Leigh. Here a vignette of Beverly of the ditches, the battered hat and of the silver buckle who by the broad and easy road of Folly" had reached the "Howling Destituton, which we call nowhere-in- Particular" even as our Peter had reached the same spot trav- cling the Marrow and Thorny.''
 Then "Gabbling Dick the peddler. who has learned the loneliness of the long road, and all the tricks the trees and edges gets up to a nights"
 1fcid Doc T man, the man with a sore grievance, who Peter is destined to meet with later
 The Ploughman who bought the sil- yer buttons from the coat of our gen tleman and scholars fast diminishing outfit. Good reader, open your book there and take in that clear vignette and wonder if you haven't fallen on an hitherto hidden bit of Fielding
 "The Ancient" with a personally con ducted ghost whom he won't have put out of business; of "wunnerful mem 'ry," "or strength like to a bull-or strongest cart horse as ever was'- and "tur'ble vig'rus" fos all his ninety odd years.
 The highland piper "of royal race" playing the ghost to his own comfort and the confusion of all the country side. May we take time to listen to his Dit pfbroch made to Wullie Wal lace.'
 Then all at once from drones and canter, there rushed forth such a flood of melody as seemed to sweep me away upon its tide.
 First I seemed to hear a roar of wind through desolate glens, a moan of trees and a rush of sounding waters; yet softly, softly there rises above the flood of sound a little ripping melody IipJ, again, growing ever sweeter with repe- tition. And now the roar of wind is changed to the swing of marching feet, the tread of mighty host whose step is strong and free; and To! they are singing as they march, and the song is bold and wild, wild, wild. Again and again. beneath the song, beneath the rhythm of marching feet, the melody rises, very sweet but infinitely sad, like u silver pipe or an angels voice tremu lous with tears. Once again the theme changes and it Is battle, and death, sudden, and sharp; there is the rush and shock of charging ranks and the surge and tumult of conflict, above whose thunder loud and clear and shrill like some battle cry, the melody swells, one moment triumphant, and the next lost again.
 .But the thunder rolls away, distant and more distant-the day is lost, and won but sudden and clear the melody rings out once more, fuller now, richer and completes; the silver pipe has be- come a golden trumpet. And yet, what sorrow, what anguish unspeakable rings through it, the weeping and wail- ing of a nation! So the melody sinks slowly to die in one longdrawn, minor note -