FICTION.
THE VERMILION BOX.t THE art of letter-writing is (quite erroneously) said to be dead. If any additional proof were needed of its healthy survival, it can be found in Mr. E. V. Lucas's study of social England under the war. He has used the epistolary method before, but never with better results, or with greater skill in getting under the skin of his different dramatis personae and varying the style to suit their varying tempera- ments. For though it is in the main a family chronicle, three genera- tions are concerned, and, while a certain underlying geniality may be traced in all the members of the Haven clan, abundant variety is supplied by the husbands of its daughters and the altered out- look of the younger generation. The theme of the book may be described as the war as a test of national character ; it is refreshing to find so-shrewd and critical an observer as Mr. Lucas ranging himself stoutly on the aide of the optimists; and his general verdict is, we take it, the -opinion -which he puts in the mouth of one of his characters that, for all the grousing of the pessimists, " things seem to go on much as before, except that many people are braver and more serious and therefore better." Above all, we have to thank Mr. Lucas for the tribute which he pays to the splendour and self- sacrifice of our youth. Richard Haven, the bachelor uncle and good genius of the plot, a man of fifty, whose mitis sapientia lends charm to his letters—the most numerous in the colleotion--eorpre,sses this new reverence for heroic boyhood in a passage which will go home to many hearts :-
" Not so much of your felicitation to me on being alone and child- less! Marriage and children are not for all, but there are times when even the most resolute single beings can feel wistful and parental. The other day in a restaurant I watched a father and son together, and I have not forgotten it yet. The father was about fifty or my age) ; the son, obviously a young officer, although in civilian clothes, about twenty-six. It was charming to see the solicitude with which the father pressed the eon to eat, and the little furtive affectionate touches of his hand on the young man's arm and shoulder. They had half a grilled chicken, and it was the son who ate the wing and breast. Afterwards the waiter brought cigars in a number of boxes of different kinds, and the son took a small one. The father gave it back and insisted on a corona taking its place, but he himself smoked ouly a cigarette. It was all very pretty, and I think it needed the war to bring it out. Without the war there would have been as much pride and affection, maybe, but the father would have been at once lees conscious of it and more ashamed of it. The war emphasized it, made it all more articulate and much more poignant. Well, I hope that youn fellow may come safely through, for both their sakes. The odd ' is that this is the first time I have really wanted a son. But even with such pain and dread in his heart, I sat there and envied that father. Envied him not only his tremors, but his opportunity of giving a son to his flag. So you see that the war is making me a sentimentalist too 1"
Tested by the war, Mr. Richard Haven comes out very well indeed, not merely as a judicious adviser and helpful friend, but as a stimulating critic. He has much to say on a variety of topics, and with one est:op- tion he says it very well indeed. He cheers his sisters with inspiriting stories and good sayings, he knows how to handle inveterate grousers, or self-pitying slackers who profess the utmost zeal yet always contrive to engineer their own rejection. He has deservedly hard words to say of incorrigible frivolists, of prancing able-bodied male choruses, of mischievous journalists, and yet he never despairs of the republic. He
• 7Mo Chased of English Churches. By Francis Bond. Oxford: at the University Press (7e. ed. net.) I rat Vermilion Box. By E. V. Lams London: Methuen and Bo. .is adored by his nephews and nieces, to whom he acts as a sort of pro- fessional fairy, godfather. He loves his country, but he is alive to her weaknesses. lie has an intense reverence for the grandeur of France, He is, in short, a delightful companion and commentator, but
"Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings," as Byron paraphrases Lucretius, and here the amari aliquid is anti-clericalism. It is not merely the wealth of Archbishops that offends him, but the inability of Churchmen to recognize the failure of Christianity. He would have a close time for all creeds during the war. We ought to say nothing about God—like the French ; but is this true ? He rallies the only clergyman of his acquaintance who enlists on his inconsistency, yet he would have our " myriads " of able-bodied country parsons do the same. We note reluctantly what seems to us the only blot on a brave, wholesome, tender, and chivalrous book, since, though it is in part neutralised by the attitude of other characters, Richard Haven's is the predominating personality, and but for this kink a most lovable and engaging one. Indeed, we have seldom come across a modern book in which there were more. eople of all ages whom we should like to meet, or which more often moves the springs of tears and laughter. It is a living chronicle of the varying moods of the last two years, and it shows how the ordeal and discipline of war may prove a liberal education for happy warriors and heroic) women.
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