"The matrimonial career of suburban lovers," says Miss JESSIE POPE in a prologue to _The Tracy Tubbses_ (MILLS AND BOON), "is seldom variegated by so many curious happenings as fell to the lot of Mr. and Mrs. _Tracy Tubbs_;" and to this statement I can give my unqualified assent. No sooner were the _T. T.'s_ married than they were beset by such wonderful and various misfortunes that I should like to try and "place" them. The Lion, I think, won in a canter, _Aunt Julia_ was a bad second, and The Chafing-dish was third, while among the "also ran" were several Policemen, The Balloon, _Cross-eyed Cranstone_ and The Motor-Bicycle. But whether the _T. T.'s_ were nearly devoured by wild beasts or merely annoyed by aunts and chafing-dishes, they continued to embrace each other with magnificent heartiness whenever they had a moment to spare. In short, Miss POPE'S high spirits never flag; and, even if you fail to be amused by all the incidents in the _T. T.'s_ career, you will be glad to make the acquaintance--under a new aspect, for Miss POPE'S talent as a maker of light verse is established--of a writer so unaffectedly cheerful and exhilarating. * * * * * "I cannot marry you or any man; _I am not free_," said _Polly Adair_ to _Hemingway_, and the italics were her own. For my part, having been rather pointedly informed earlier in the story that the lady was understood in Zanzibar to be a widow, I began at this stage to suspect that there was something lacking in the lateness of _Mr. Adair_. This was a great pity, because _Polly_ and _Hemingway_ were obviously meant for each other, as she and he and I and Mr. RICHARD HARDING DAVIS were unanimously agreed. But there the fatal obstacle was, whatever it might be. "I am not free," she repeated, and again the italics were her very own. After much to-do, it came out that what she meant was that she had a brother who oughtn't to be free; ought, if justice were done, to be picking oakum or whatever else they pick in their leisure hours way back in U.S.A. And this was the whole and the sole fatal obstacle! _Hemingway_ took it as it came; Mr. DAVIS seemed quite pleased about it; but I felt that I had been wantonly deceived. Baffle me by all means, said I, but do not lie to me. Maybe I was not in a good temper at the time, for the three preceding stories were not calculated to stir the gentlest reader's sympathies. Possibly I am not in a good temper now, for the three later stories (though "_The God of Coincidence_" only just missed fire) were not distracting enough to deaden my sense of injury. A pity, for _The Lost Road_ (DUCKWORTH) has such a good cover and the name of such a good author on the back of it. * * * * * [Illustration: As dress parades have become quite a feature of modern life, surely the restaurant offers a rich field of advertisement for the enterprising outfitter through the medium of waiters.]