Mr. Norman Douglas, fresh from perusing a copy of Mother
India which some (un)kind friend thrust upon him for a railway journey, is moved to put the question How About Europe ? (Chatto and Windus. 7s. 6d.). Alas ! the author's Capri-ces have now become somewhat fly-blown under the enervating breezes of the sirocco. Yet perhaps when British-Indian relations are in the melting-pot "a few asides that touch the fringe of a great problem" may be useful in pricking the bubble of European superiority. Mr. Douglas is not the only person who, in his heart of hearts, prefers the curry of India, "a gentleman's country," to the flurry of Europe, or who envies Oriental life its capacity for engendering self-respect and peace of soul. Pointless pre-occupation, with feverish streaks in between, over- government, and "the fidgets "—these are charges that may fairly be levelled against the Western world to-day, but they are growing pains and nothing more. It is not Mr. Norman Douglas's fault, we suppose, that he has been born out of time, and, moreover, has deliberately chosen the lot of the rootless wight, that most unsatisfactory of all exist-
ences. These notes were previously issued in a small limited edition in Florence, where, probably, such pungent observations so cleverly expressed provided congenial fare.
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