Although, in order to help the overworked critics, Mr. Connell very thoughtfully included a review with his volume, which might have seemed to him to cover all possible contingencies; it is unhappily, true that there are still a few things to say which either his modesty or his egotism prevented him from mentioning. "Apes and Angels" is a collection of eleven short stories, which more often concern the former than the latter. They are told with an entertaining sense of the ridiculous and no little skill; while on occasion, the author rises to near greatness. The first story, "A Friend of Napoleon", which received the second O. Henry prize for 1923, is probably the best of the lot, and it compares favorably with any short story which we have seen of late. There is real humor, underlying but not overworked pathos, and a satisfactory flow of language. Some of the others are funnier; some have more emotional appeal, but this one combines the two elements in perfect proportion.

Throughout the volume, however, one finds the same kind of intermingling. If one really reflected about what was going on, one might be exceedingly depressed. But the stories, which stripped to their elementary meanings, would be sad, even tragic, are dressed in a disguise of comedy which almost leads one to believe that the whole thing is a great joke. Of course, not all of them have any substratum. For example, "The Wronging of Edwin Dell", ostensibly one of the most serious, is perfectly delightful and leaves not the slightest trace of anxiety in the reader's mind.

A Suggestion of the Improper

"Do you think four will be enough, Edwin?"

"Four what, Aunt Charity?" asked Edwin Dell, looking up from his book; it was Jeremy Taylor's "Holy Living and Holy Dying."

"These," she said, pointing a long, pale forefinger. She never mentioned the word egg. To her there was a suggestion of the improper about the egg.

Edwin Dell looked at them, blushed, turned his head away.

"I think so, Aunt Charity," he murmured.

And later, "Don't forget what I said about women".

"Indeed I shan't, aunt," he said earnestly. "I shall eschew them. Indeed I shall eschew them, Aunt Charity."

"You'd better", said his aunt, grimly.

This sort of thing appeals to us. And the story in which the name of the sloganeer's son and the name of a new cleaning powder are interchanged warms the cockles of our heart. In fact, one can laugh heartily over any one of the stories,; and a few really make an impression. There are few volumes issuing forth from the burning typewriters of modern authors of which one can say more.