Judge — May 7, 1932 — page 33: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

BROWN LEDGE CAMP Mallett's Bay, Vt. On beautiful Lake Champlain, a complete camp for girls, enrollment limited to 50 campers, one counselor to every four girls. Exceptio | sports equipment, saddle horses, sail and motor boats, aquaplanes. Golf links, tennis courts, rifle range. and h andcraft work. Wholesome a tiding, so entire cost may be accurately figured at start. Director Winter Address, 634 West 147th Se. HARRY E. J. BROWN, M.A. at Riverside Drive A ty with rigid schedules. All-inclusive fee, including daily horse-back out . New York City JUDGING THE BOOK "Ture is no question that Stewart Edward White is a hot; he can tell a bear an electric light; knows his American history; loves his country mightily: ind holds a definite position in Ameri Letters as ace historical novelist—but we'll be a dirty name if we can get past the title page of his rint. But we a pecu- liar fellow, espe found vut that Rex Beach wasn't a summer esort and that people considered him a writer! And, being a peculiar cllow, we're darned if we don't hink Stewart Edward White a riter for juveniles and “Long lifle,” just from Mr. White’s pen, a luckskin-and-Indian bore. wonderful track from Yu who live in a large city, rise with the first ashcan bounce, truggle thru your morning 0a ‘ht your way thru the family’s \apors into the underground, ride downtown under someone else’s dog. and worry all day if your job isn’t soing to blow up—well, you don’t know nothing. Suppose you were Dr. William Beebe, society’s favorite scientist. | Suppose you had to rise when Nature | nudged you. Suppose you had to look out into a peaceful, lovely Bermudian s , then leisurely don a bathing suit and helmet and go down to the ocean floor to nestle among the sharks and seacows and _ horses, collecting piscatorial rainbow haul Suppose then you pulled these ashore i perfectly fitted sunny labor: and then spent several scientific hours poring over your catch under the mi ope. Suppose after your days work was done you had the for- midable task of wandering out into the lush night and thinking about your work and other wonders. Sup- pose then you had to sit down and write a delightful science-book-for- amateurs about your experiences, calling it “Nonsuch,” after the island you were working on. It'd be awful and you'd hate it, wouldn't you? Well, so’s your Uncle Abner. to the terrific O; pressure and devas brought to bear on him in these col- umns for such jim jam jems as his “Impatient Virgin” et al., Donald Henderson Clark has decided to jetti- son the libido and do something worthwhile. Accordingly he had put intellectual n aside all his little s turned out a book on the Crisis as Engendered b - ism. And, solely so have a catchy title and a good selling point (of course) he has called it “The Chastity of Gloria Boyd.” It’s a deep thing. as to VEN if he is a hagyis-snatcher nd a_ caber-flin by birth, A. J. Cronin can't be a Scotch. It just isn’t Scotch to write books as he does: with both hands, giving you, for the price of one, ple: nty to chew on and more to ¢ Surely you read “Hatte four- square piece of wo mi nd one. Nor in Cronin’s new one, Loves” does the dish diminish and the ingredients grow sparser. A thing of considerable power and heft, it tells of the wages of Virtue It’ 1 moral and mighty and swell, and a good lesson to you ladies who are unwilling to let good enough alone—especially in hus- bands. 1 neo-classic if there ever “Three excessive —TEeED SHANE. ‘comicbooks.co