ich cannot lead
anywhere, longs to give them the chances of the big spaces in South
Africa (where, of course, there are no Labour troubles and a man's a man
for a' that!). He ventures his capital in _The Dictator_, a Fleet Street
derelict, in order to promote his emigration scheme, and his capital
departs before either his public or the big-wigs are convinced. I can't
think that _Bernard_ had really thought out his scheme. And I wonder
what he would have done if the little band of square pegs he got
together in desperation hadn't had the sense to refuse his offer to ship
them over to South Africa with his few remaining sovereigns. They would
certainly have been in a fine round hole at the other side. But
_Bernard_ did a better thing. The only emigrant in his party was
_Leonora_, and I like to think they lived happily ever after on his
little orange-farm. I can only hope that his rival, _Pike-Sarpe_, a
horrible little unctuous cad of a solicitor, will shortly do something
to attract the official attention of the Law Society.

* * * * *

There will, I have no doubt, be joy in many a gentle heart over the glad
news that Mrs. GEORGE WEMYSS, whose _Professional Aunt_ made for her so
many friends, has created yet another charming relation. _Grannie for
Granted_ (CONSTABLE) is the story of a delightful old lady who from her
country home takes a placid and grandmaternal interest in the affairs of
her descendants--their love affairs mostly, of course, or the engaging
chatter of the smaller third generation. Some of the sayings of the
latter are worthy examples of the "good enough for _Punch_" variety,
which, as most persons with married friends know too well, is a phrase
covering a wide range of quality. Most of them, however, are excellent
and ring true. Of the love-affairs I feel myself a less competent judge,
but I should fancy their appeal will be compelling to the expert. It is
perhaps impossible for a book of this type wholly to avoid the charge of
being sugary or pretty-pretty, but with my hand on my heart I can
declare that Mrs. WEMYSS has done less to deserve it than most other
writers would. I shudder, for example, to imagine what certain
Transatlantic novelists would have done with the same material. In fine,
here is as pleasant and likeable a treatise on _l'art d'etre
Grand'-mere_ as anyone need wish to read. I am uncertain as to the
precise significance of the title, which may refer t