The Bookfellow.

Auckland Star, Volume XLII, Issue 191, 12 August 1911, Page 13

The Bookfellow.

Copyright. Ail Rights Reserved.

By A. a. Stephen*. OLD NELL DICKERSON. The young folk hoard the old folk eay Twas long ago she came; Some said it was bcr own, and some It was another's shame; And pleasantly the seasons passed In gray and gold and green. But the heart of old Nell Dickerson No one had ever seen. They said that when a baby crowed She turned her head away, And when delightful lovers kissed Her sallow face went grey; Some said she laughed at love and death And every man-made law; But the heart of old Nell Dickerson No babbler ever saw. October with ■warm greenery Made all tbe town a dream; The poorest soul had time to laugh, The gravel streets were cream; A hundred anthems rose to Qod Through the uproarious blue. But the heart of old Nell Dickerson No singer ever knew.

The snmmer sauntered In with wheat, And forest fire and haze. And the white frocks of white girls. And lads with love ablaze; Sweet sighs were In the high heavens And upon the warm ground. But tb? heart of old Nell Dickerson It never yet was found.

The winter came with wistful talk of water-birds In tune. And while their snowy treasures slept Did mother ewes commune; In every wind and every rain Some daring joys would climb. But the heart of old Nefl Dickerson Was prisoner all the time.

The streamers stood across the skyOne <*renlnp clear and warm; The old folk said the streamers come Foretelling strife and storm: When old Nell laughed her hollow laugh The neighbours looked In awe. But the heart of old Nell Dlckerson No neighbour ever saw.

And with the night came thundering Uke evil wandering near, And the tender little children wept And women shook with fear; Out on the night went one stern soul— Along the wind It blew; O, the heart of old Nell Dlckerson No babbler ever knew.

Softly they sought her little room And she was blue and cold; And on the walls some straggling words Her last poor wishes told; Nothing she gave, and little begged— They read there mournfully: "Bitter and black was all my life, But wear no black for me."

•Twas a green day and a mad day And lovers walked -along. And the old men, the grey men. The ruddy men and strong. And the tenderest of pale girls Tn pink and green and blue Walked mournfully behind the heart That no one ever knew. And there were many dropping tears On sashes red and wide, And more hot prayers were said that day Than if a king had died; And some wore white and yellow frocks And some wore blue and green. But the heart of old Nell Dlckerson No one had ever seen. Vic SHAW NEILSON. I GIVE AHD BEQUEATH. In "Ancient, Curious and Famous Wills" (Boston; Little, Brown and Co., 4 dollars net.) Virgil M. Harris gives examples of the wills of all ages—as the publisher says: "From the dawn of creation to Mary Baker G. Eddy." The testaments dating frow the dawn of creation, we regret to say, are mythical, and concern only legends attached to the names of Adam, Noah, and other patriarchs. More modern wills of all kinds arc better validated and fully reported. There are many wills in verse which have stood the test of probate. That written by Will Jackett was proved at Doctors Commons, in London, July 17, 1789, and reads: "I will and bequeath When I'm laid underneath. To my two loving sisters most dear, The whole of my store. Were it twice as much more. Which God's goodness has given me here. And that none may prevent This mv will and Intent, Or occasion the least of law-rackett, With a solemn apneal I confirm, sign and seal This the true act and will of Will Jackett." An old English farmer, in giving instructions for his will, directed that a legacy of £IOO be given to his widow. Being informed that some distinction is usually made in case the widow marries, he doubled the sum: and when told that this was contrary to custom, he said with deep felling: "Aye, but him that gets her will deserve it." Sometimes the wills contain beautiful sentiments towards wives. Mr Harris says more than 50 per cent of the wills on record bequeath the bulk of the estate, absolutely or for life, to the surviving husband or widow. Mr Harris' book has a serious legal side, and he has made a valuable co'lection. '

LITERATURE AND DISEASE. Is there any relation between disease and literature? (asks the "British Medical Journal) and answers, Yes, without disease, or physical disability of some kind, there would be very little literature. "It is easy to see how genius may act as a stimulus to the working of genius. Scott has told us how the paralysis which crippled him in infancy led to the storing up in his mind of impressions which gave him the material on which his imagination was afterwards to work. His lameness made him listen to legends and stories instead of birdnesting or playing football. In the good old days it was mainly the men who had not strength to cleave other men's heads to the chin, or the weaklings unfitted for the rough mediaeval life, who became monks. It is to the monks that we owe the preservation of most of ancient literature and the history of the middle ages. . . "In our own day, how many could say, with Alfred de Vigny, that sickness i 3 the lamp which illuminates the head? Besides the disorders which are the penalty of a sedentary life, there are certain diseases which seem to find an easy prey in persons of literary genius. Among these consumption. Among the many victims of that disease, the names of Stsrne, John Keats, and John Addington Symonds, will occur to everyone. Consumptives often display a feverish excitability and a certain mental exaltation, and it might be possible to trace the influence of these psychological peculiarities on their intellectual output. "But the literary disease par excellence is gout. The frequency of its occurrence in men 'of exceptional ability is so great that it is impossible to look upon it as accidental. Does this gout help to produce the genius, the uric acid in the blood acting as an irritant to the higher nervous centres? Or is it the genius, or at any rate the coit'ditions of its manifestation, that engender the gout? It is conceivable that gout may sometimes be a cause, sometimes an effect. When the poison is diffused through the body in the blood stream, the brain suffers, and mental gloom is produced. When it concentrates its assault on the joints, the mird seems to undergo a kind of purgation, and the result is shown in increased clearness and vigour. Arthritic gout, indeed, has something of the effect which Falstaff attributes to sack—it dries all the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ the brain, and "makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and' delectable shapes."

I QUEENSLAND TARNS. Queensland, as a visiting clerical dignitary remarked the other day, is "the coming State" —he should have said "one of the coming States"—as rich in climates, as in other natural resources. On Herberton plateau, for example, they grow English roses in the children's faces, and south and west, round about Roma, you see youngsters with the hot vitality of Arabs or goats. Ashton; Murphy's unpublished yarns come from i that direction. For example: j (a.) The police had eyed that family] for a long time, and when "from information received" they rode to the hut, 1 both beef and hide were inside. But the family "barneyed" till the old grand-1 mother came out wiping her mouth. When the police pushed past and entered the hut they found the beef and they' found the hide, but there was no brand on the hide. As soon as the old grandmother saw them coming, she had cut' off the brand, cut out the brand, popped i the pieces into her mouth, and swallowed j them! !N T o conviction that time. | (b.) The only fish-shop in the town is l kept by an Italian, and a very good fish-shop it is. The citizen-proprietor has been a long time hero, and, having studied with pains, he speaks our language remarkably well. To him entc- the ordinary bush bloke: 'Hello, Loogy, wotcher-got- Steakanoyst? Fry-de-feesh? Stewa-de-oyst?" Lugi (enunciating every syllable as an elocutionist) : "See here, young fellow. If you can't speak decent English, I will put you outside." (And the bloke was too astonished to say "Blime!") OLD IRISH POETRY. Kuno Meyer's "Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry" (Constable; 3/6 net) is a beautiful book. Professor Meyer is a living link in the old bond between! Liverpool and Dublin, teaching Celtic} literature and Irish learning on both! sides of the Channel. The study of; the lore and letters of the Celts proeeeds in France and Germany rather than in Britain; and Meyer comes from Hamburg and Leipzig to revive for the Irish the old glories of their tongue. From Meyer and Douglas Hyde, a Roscommon , man, and from other Irish Celtic scholars such as Strachan, Sweet, Bergm, and Dinnccn, we are gradually gaming an idea of the wealth of Irish MSS (in their origins dating back perhaps as far as the sixth century). There is an.

immense territory unexplored: at the Irish Academy at Dublin are 1500 MSS. awniting publication. Tn the third and fourth U cenxuries, ■ays Meyer, Ireland had become the heiress 01 the classical and theological learning of the Western Empire, and this period' of humanism reached its culmination during the sixth and following centuries, (lie Golden Aje of Irish civilisation. Ireland was then the great seminary of learning, the one haven of rest in a turbulent world overrun bjr barbarians. During this period tht oral literature of many generations of bards and storytellers began to be written down in the monasteries. Unfortunately nearly all old MSS. were destroyed during the Viking terror which burst upon the island at the end of the eighth century. But from the eleventh century onwards there is an almost unbroken series of hundreds of MSS. in which all that had escaped destruction was collected and arranged. From some of these manuscripts Prof. Meyer has chosen and translated the versions of old Irish poetry which make his little book. He says he has not attempted rhythm or rhyme; nevertheless his work has a rythmical structure ! and his style succeeds in transmitting emotion as well as meaning. The work is full of beautiful pictures, vivid epithets, admirable similes. And its contents of accumulated wisdom is remarkable.

OLD IRISH WISDOM. King Cormac, for example, seems to have been an Irish King Solomon. Theso "instructions" are preserved in a MS. of the early ninth century that has been translated by Prof. Meyer:— "O, Cornice, grandson of Conn," said Carbery, "what are the dues of a chjpj and of an ale-house?" "Xot hard to tell, said Cormac. "Good behaviour around a good chief, Lights to laui;in, Exerting oneself for the company, A proper settlement of seats, Liberality of dispensers, A nimble hand at distributing, ,- Attentive service. Music in moderation, Short story-telling, A joyous countenance, ■Welcome to guests. Silence during recitals. Harmonious choruses." "0 Cormac, grandson of Conn," said Carbery, "I desire 'to know how to behave among the wise and the foolish, among friends and strangers, among the old and the young, among the innocent and the wicked." "Mot hard to tell," said Cormac "Be not too wise, nor too foolish. Be not conceited nor too diffident, Be not too haughty, nor too humble. Be not too talkative, nor too silent. Be not too hard, nor too feeble. If you be too wise, one will expect too much of you; If you be too foolish, you will be deceived; If you be too conceited, you will be thought vexatious; If yon be too humble, you will be without

honour; If you be too talkative, you will not be heeded; If >ou be too silent, yon will not be regarded: If you be too hard you will be broken: If you be too feeble, you will be crusted." "POETS OF THE EMPIRE. 1 * London "Times" celebrates King <Jeorge's coronation with an- anonymous article on "Poets of the Empire," which (according to the English mode) is eonv pounded in equal parts of patronage, ig. norance, and an honest endeavour to do appreciative justice. The writer begins by saying that: As everybody knows who has lived with them, there is often a treasure of true poetry in those who are busy with the spade work and axe work of Empire making. "Bitter as a dying man's sweat Is the water of that* lake" (Western Canada); "Three dead fellows went by sitting on' a. wave and warming themselves in the moonlight" (Newfoundland); "Belonging to himself, but not meddlesome, like an old man Kangaroo'* (Australia); "Can't see" through, her any more'n through' a diamond, but you can trust her" (South Africa) —here are some specimens of the poetic Bnylngs that can be picked np on the frontiers of imperial civilisation. A bouquet is handed to "The Bulletin" —part earned, part absurd: • The powerful and wholesome effect of the "Sydney Bulletin," which is read from cover to cover by working men on every ! shore of the Pacinc (It has been seen us far inland as the lumber camps of Northern, Ontario}, Is a case in point. It ts a newspaper and must live like other newspapers, that is to say, it must purvey the matter which the vast majority of its readers, toilei s In the bush and by the seashore, and tu. the porphyry depths(!) are willing to take in exchange for their hard-earned cash. Yet it can afford to print and pay for all manner of home-made verses ranging from the grim gaunt stuff of the latter-day Realist* to the latest Idealist, some of whose melodies, such as— What needs It then we stand so long agaztng, And do not our lips mingle, Since our hearts, so long single, Have married as if iu a dream auuuing.

might save been transcribed o«t of a newlydiscovered Klizabethan song book full of paraphrases of Italian madrigals. This unblinking Journal (!) has bled In the native* boru mind a healthy distate for the sentimcntallty and jangling rhetoric (Swinburne's music rendered on cow-bells) of Adam Lindsay Gordon, no longer regarded in Australia as the first and last of Australian poets. No such journal exists In Canada, or could exist In South Africa yet awhile. The writer's fallacy is to' read "The Bulletin's" past into its present, and thence infer an Australian literary future. 'The Bulletin" has never recovered the ideals it lost when Editor Archibald retired. It is no longer a force; lit is a formula. Thanks to Archi■bald's plan, and a quarter-century's accumulated force of contributors, it ia still the most interesting Australian newspaper; but its spark of essential fire has been smothered. As for Gordon, his work holds a great deal more than memories of Swfinburnc; arid though he is not (and when was he?) regarded as first and last of Australian poets, his manhood still moves men through his verses, and his reputation, if clarifying, 6s not lessening as the years pass. The "Times" writer goes on to quote verse by Dale v. Lawson, and A. tt. Adams. As usual, U is the most disma and depressing passagesi that •»£"£ -passages that depict thisUndcfsunshine and easy Hvlflg " » e ?*f* ° f grief and desolation We Of.told that the Australian poet "loves and W»J Nature"; and that "from New Zealand Arthur Adams-a Rodmiste la blank vVrse when he writes it-imagmes and Imcks out of fire-rock the essential Australian " Follow Adams' thin and artificial Hies alleging that the Australian s heart is '"a sudden tropic flower, j and that he "slouches down the centuries"— verse whlich sweats desperately to bo ?mart, and succeeds tolerably, but which no one with any knowledge of Australia, would over dream of regarding as typically representative of the reality. The "Times" writer's last word is that 'there 6s nothing finer in the poetry of the Dominions, the greater and the leas, than the "Passing of the Forest,'' iby yf, V- Beeves. «•'