h's Staff of Learned Clerks._)

I do not think that even the most phlegmatic of Englishmen could
read _Francis and Riversdale Grenfell: a Memoir_ (NELSON) without a
quickening of the pulses. This is not to suggest that Mr. JOHN BUCHAN
has sought to make an emotional appeal--indeed he has told the tale
of these devoted brothers with a simplicity beyond praise--but it is
a tale so fine that it must fill the heart, even of those who were
strangers to them, with joy and pride. I beg you to read the memoir
for yourselves, and see how and why it was that these twin brothers,
from Eton onwards, radiated cheerfulness and a happy keenness wherever
they went. "Neither," Mr. BUCHAN writes, "could be angry for long, and
neither was capable of harshness or rancour. Their endearing grace of
manner made a pleasant warmth in any society which they entered; and
since this gentleness was joined to a perpetual glow of enthusiasm
the effect was triumphant. One's recollection was of something lithe,
alert, eager, like a finely-bred greyhound." Those of us who were not
personally acquainted with FRANCIS and RIVERSDALE GRENFELL will, after
reading this Memoir and the Preface by their uncle, Field-Marshal Lord
GRENFELL, seem to know them intimately. FRANCIS won the first V.C.
gained in the War, but when he read the announcement of it in _The
Gazette_ his brother was already killed and his joy of life was
quenched. "I feel," he wrote to his uncle, "that I know so many who
have done and are doing so much more than I have been able to do
for England. I also feel very strongly that any honour belongs to my
regiment and not to me." In that spirit he met his death a few months
later. In work and sport, in war or peace, the twins were ardent,
generous and brave, and their deaths were as glorious as their lives
were gracious and radiant. The profits of Mr. BUCHAN'S book are to
be devoted to the funds of the Invalid Children's Aid Association, in
which the brothers were deeply interested.

* * * * *

There are certain tasks which, like virtue, carry their reward with
them. No doubt Miss ELEANOUR SINCLAIR ROHDE would be gratified if
her book, _A Garden of Herbs_ (LEE WARNER), were to pass into several
editions--as I trust it will--and receive commendation on every
hand--as it surely must--but such results would be irrelevancies. She
has already, I am convinced, tasted so much delight in the making
of this, the most frag