perfect sympathy, and has produced a book that does honour to himself and to the beloved friend whom it is his privilege to commemorate. * * * * * The many readers of _Punch_ who took a close interest in ALEC JOHNSTON'S letters written "At the Back of the Front" and "At the Front" will be glad to have them in collected form. The memory of his gallant end--he was killed in action after the brilliant capture of a salient near Ypres, at the head of his company of Shropshires--is fresh in all our hearts. A preface to _At the Front_ (CONSTABLE) contains an appreciation of his high character and soldierly qualities by his friend and fellow-officer, Captain INGRAM, R.A.M.C., D.S.O., M.C., who a few weeks later was himself killed. It is a fine tribute paid by one true soldier to another. These letters of ALEC JOHNSTON, as their editor reminds us, "were composed in the brief interludes snatched from hard fighting and hard fatigues. They never pretended to be more than the gay and cynical banter of one who brought to the perils of life at the Front an incurable habit of humour. They are typical of that brave spirit, essentially English, that makes light of the worst that fate can send." * * * * * It must, I should think, be exceedingly difficult to find a new title in these days for a volume of reminiscences. Mr. RAYMOND BLATHWAYT seems to have solved the problem happily enough by calling his contribution to the rapidly-increasing library of recollections, _Through Life and Round the World_ (ALLEN). One way and another, first as a curate (rightly termed by the publishers "rather unconventional"), later as journalist, Mr. BLATHWAYT has contrived to use a pair of remarkably open eyes with excellent effect. The result is this fat volume, whose contents, if honesty constrains me to call the most of them gossip, are at least generally entertaining and never ill-natured. Needless to say, Mr. BLATHWAYT, like the elder _Capulet_, can "tell a tale such as will please." For myself, out of a goodly store, I should select for first honours a repartee, new to me, of Sir HERBERT TREE (forgive this dropping into rhyme!). It tells of a boastful old-time actor, vaunting his triumphs as _Hamlet_, when "the audience took fifteen minutes leaving the theatre." "_Was ha lame?_" If our only HERBERT did not in fact make this reply, I can only hope that he will at once hasten home and do so. But while we are upon Mr. BLATHWAYT'S dramatic recollections, I must respectfully traverse his dictum that some of the acting at the local pageants of a few years back "surpassed the very best I have seen upon the stage." As one who took a personal part in many of those well-meant revivals, and dates a relaxed throat from the effort of vociferating history, up-wind, towards a stand full of ear-straining auditors, I bow but remain unconvinced. * * * * *