The title “Fear,” the fear of men who fly, declares companionship with “He Man.” “Fear,” second on Dr. Scarborough’s list, has the distinction of being the one war story chosen from scores that have done their bit to memorialize the tenth decade after America’s entry into the conflict. “Fear” may be, as Mr. Ramsay says, sloppily executed; but, as he also states, it is intensely realized. Mr. Bellah’s way with planes is the way of one who has fought in them; his analysis of Paterson’s fear is the analysis of a warrior who knows the effect of war on men’s minds. Paterson weakened twice, but he recouped in the climax of his berserker rage what he had lost through previous faltering. To read “Fear” is to live again the days of ’17 and ’18. The story establishes the same point “He Man” establishes: faced by demand for courage, fear flees. “Jukes,” the story of a sailor by sailor Bill Adams, is the survival of many cullings from _Adventure_. No other magazine represented in this book has shown so remarkable a gain in quality. The chairman, who read every number, marvelled at its rapid rise and trusts the ascent is more than temporary. Mr. Ramsay also comments that _Adventure_ has had an unusually good year. Mr. Adams, who spent eight weeks in writing “Jukes”, surely had no prime intention of producing an argument for prohibition; he was concerned to show the weakness of Jukes, that weakness by which tottered Jukes’s good resolutions, weakness abetted by crimp and board master. “You an’ me is dogs,” says one of the sailors; and “Jukes, was you ever beat at anything?” draws no answer. Jukes knows that he has never been other than beaten; his repeated impressment will be repeated--until the end. To read “Jukes” is to taste the ocean’s bitterest salt. Mr. Adams need not tell us that he has sailed with many a Jukes. “All these nowadays books about the clipper ships and the beauty of the sea rather weary me at times. The beauty and the grandeur were there. But what a horror was there too. Crews carted around like dogs.” Mr. Adams, like Mr. Wetjen, relates stories of the sea with breadth of knowledge and accuracy of detail possible only to a seaman. Of the four remaining stories two are of the folk. Ada Jack Carver’s “Singing Woman,” second on Mr. Ramsay’s list, celebrates a custom of the French mulattoes on Isle Brevelle of the Joyous Coast. A gruesome and pathetic contest this between Henriette and Josephine, their ninety-nine and ninety-eight funerals proclaiming them last survivors of wailing women, rivals to the death. By easy management, the author permits them to emerge with drawn honours in “my friend, you and me ull quit even”; and, by her usual sympathy in characterizing the lowly, provokes for the old brown women admiration tempered with pity. A near relative of these wailing ones is George Allan England’s “Johnny Moaner” (see page xxiv), whose calling led him to kill that he might be supplied with a necessary funeral.