"'You'll see how the little dears will sing out when they ketches hold of me and my bob-tail'--here the Bosun paused to turn his quid and hitch his trousers up. Then he dexterously tied another knot on his Comet's tail lest it should sweep the pens off the table, or upset the ink-pot."--_The Daily News._ "The title is sufficient to indicate the nature of the little book in which Mr. Yeats displays all the humour which has so characterised the series of picture books, and his facile pen has lost none of its old-time cunning."--_Dublin Express._ _One of Jack B. Yeats's Plays for the Miniature Stage_ JAMES FLAUNTY: OR, THE TERROR OF THE WESTERN SEAS. 1s. net; or, Coloured by the Author, 5s. net. "A 'memory' of R. L. Stevenson comes seldom amiss, and now especially, when the romancer's name and fame are as a shuttlecock between wholly adoring and still discriminating friends, may be considered apt and seasonable. So it won't hurt to read this: "There stands, I fancy, to this day (but now how fallen!) a certain stationer's shop at a corner of the wide thoroughfare that joins the city of my childhood with the sea. When upon any Saturday we made a party to behold the ships, we passed that corner; and since in those days I loved a ship as a man loves Burgundy or daybreak, this of itself had been enough to hallow it. But there was more than that. In that window, all the year round, there stood displayed a theatre in working order, with a 'forest set,' 'a combat,' and a few 'robbers carousing' in the slides; and below and about--dearer tenfold to me!--the plays themselves, those budgets of romance, lay tumbled, one upon another."--_A Penny Plain and Twopence Coloured._ "Here, palpably, was a hint for somebody, who has turned out to be Mr. Jack B. Yeats. The first of his 'plays in the old manner'--'_James Flaunty; or, The Terror of the Western Seas_'--lies before me, and it is a study in grotesque. The most notable point in this production is the fact that the interest thereof attaches not only to the dialogue--you will, however, relish that--but to the setting, the close reproduction of old-world lettering and art, which is a vast deal more than an ordinary publisher's advertisement, and cunning enough to deceive the very elect. The ferocious woodcuts, the jaunty humour of the speeches, the fore-and-aft and down-the-hatchway plot, the bizarre characters, harmonize perfectly, and well they may; for Mr. Yeats, all by himself, has invented those same characters, contrived the plot, fashioned the speeches, and designed the illustrations.