LADY POORE'S _Recollections of an Admiral's Wife_ (SMITH, ELDER) is as excellent a book of its kind as readers of _Punch_ are likely to find reviewed in a month of Wednesdays. Scrapbooks of reminiscences are so often dumped upon a surfeited world that it is at once a pleasure and a duty to draw attention to a volume of real worth and significance. Wherever LADY POORE was living--whether in Australia before the War or in Chatham after August, 1915--her main object was to arrive at a sympathetic understanding of the people with whom she had to deal, and, without a hint of patronage, to be of service to them. It is impossible to read of the work she did and helped to do during the last dozen years or so without recognising how possible it is to be official and still remain very human. In spite of little outbursts of opinion which refuse to be suppressed, Lady POORE is as discreet as the most censorious of censors could desire. One of her anecdotes--for the most part well told and fresh--is as funny a tale as I have I ever encountered; but I will leave you to find it for yourself. Altogether a book to thank the gods for. * * * * * "On the way to Berea, Mr. Lloyd George met the Rector of the parish, and both cordially shook hands."--_Scotsman._ Are we to infer that as a rule, when these two gentlemen meet, only one of them shakes hands?