Mr. Will Rogers is a man of wisdom as well
as wit. He flew from Berlin to Moscow, and sums up the present situation there very acutely in There's not a Bathing Suit in Russia (A. & C. Boni, New York, $1.75). He tells us of "a bird named Stalin, a great big two-fisted fighting egg from the Caucasus— a Borah of the Black Sea," and of the other notorieties in the " land of boots and blood," as he calls it. He is a fair critic, however, with few prejudices and a very shrewd sense not only of humour but of humanity. His final judgment seems to us as just as it is quaint : " Communism will never get any- where till they get that basic idea of Propaganda out of their head and replace it with some work. If they plowed as much as they Propagandered, they would be richer than the Princi- pality of Monaco. The trouble is they all got their theory's out of a book, instead of any of them ever going to work and practicing them. I read the same books these Birds learned from, and that's the books of that guy Marx. Why, he was like one of these efficienCy experts. He could explain to you how you
could save a million dollars, and he couldeat save enough himself to eat on." The Letters of a Self-made Diplomat to his President (Brentano's, 7s. 6d.) is as good or better. His description of our Parliament, our General Strike, and the bureaucratic "Sir" who kept him waiting for an hour in the Foreign Office strike the reader as thoroughly realistic, and, are of distinct importance to those of us who would see ourselves as others see us, for Mr. Rogers is a representative albeit an exceptional American. His letters on Rome and on Signor Mussolini are both funny and wise. Of the Duce he says that many of his public utterances " sound like boasting, but are only meant for Home consumption." " You yourself, Mr. President," he slily adds, " know that you have to pull a lot of apple sauce on various occasions." Both these books combine entertainment and instruction and we thoroughly recommend them. * * * *
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