THEODORE Francis Powys is a highly skilled master of the craft of writing English prose. He inspires even a reviewer to aspire to the gentle knack of turning words askew so that their edges sparkle. In the tradition of the English men-of-letters who find a delicate amusement in the sophisticated subletry of perverse ideas, the author of these fables plays a part, but not without just rooting himself securely in the healthy soil of life. Thus he effects a nice refinement of words and ideas with all the vigor of the primitive. This makes him very chic indeed.

Neither Mr. Powys nor his "Fables" are for the poor mortal who likes a good story, but who can not abide "literature." Like a medium, this clever writer makes such homely objects as a bucket and a rope scamper and talk worldly wisdom in a naive accent. And if you would find the love affairs of "The Seaweed and the Cuckoo-Clock" amusing and enlightening you will proclaim "Fables" an important piece of workmanship. There is no doubt that this little book is very much the thing for the right people.

Themes such as death and the beginning of life give Mr. Powys occasion for no mean bit of modern metaphysics. A few of the titles. "The Withered Leaf and the Green" and "The Corpse and the Flea" suggest very much John Donne. At the same time this present-day Aesop keeps his faith with Donne in little thrusts of realism that actually make the reader shudder. All this, as said before, is quite smart: and yet almost as everyday as the "Farmer's Almanac."