FOR THE GIRLS.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 281, 26 November 1932, Page 2 (Supplement)

FOR THE GIRLS.

DREAM DAYS.

THE MAGIC OF CHILDHOOD.

My Dear Girls, — Some little while ago book lovers the world over were saddened by the death of Kepneth Grahame. It came as a surprise to many of his readers to learn that this writer, who could so delightfully weave the happiest romances of childhood, whose style was so quaint and fresh, whose fancies so pretty and poetic, was, at the time of his death, nearing his seventy-fourth year. It has been written, and rightly so, that no writer possessed more of the secret of childhood than Kenneth Grahame. Those of you who have read "The Golden Age" or "Dream Days" will understand and appreciate this. Kenneth Grahame never grew old—a few lines from his pen and he could recapture all the magic of early childhood days. And surely these must have been happy indeed to urge the writing of such a book as "The Golden Age." When reading it, if one is very young, one experiences a feeling of warmest comradeship towards Charlotte and Harold., Edward and the adventurous Selina. There is something so very human, so real about these characters. There is a charm that is refreshing as one follows the stolen holiday and the "white-washed uncle," the Ending of the princess and the sawdust dolls. Something akin to a bond of common sympathy arises between the very young reader and these very small book folk. -So many things perple* and puzzle them. For instance, there is the amazing attitude of "Grown-ups" (the result, as Edward so aptly put» it, of a certain strange stupidity). In the words of the book.v— "They might dabble in the pond all day, hunt chickens, climb trees in the most uncompromising Sunday clothes; they were free to issue forth and buy gunpowder in the full eye of the sun, free to fire cannons and explode mines on the lawn; yet they never did any of these things. No irresistible Energy hailed them to church <&' Sundays, yet they went ' there regularly of their own accord, though they betrayed no greater delight in the experience than ourselves." Added to this, to anything but appearances they were pitifully blind"For them, the orchard (a place elf-haunted, wonderful) simply produced so many apples, and cherries, or it didn't—when the failures of Nature were not infrequently ascribed to us. They never set foot within fir wood or hazel copse, nor dreamt of the marvels hid therein. They were unaware of Indians and pirates, though the whole place swarmed with such portents. They cared not to explore for robbers' caves nor dig for hidden treasure." Magic, indeed! But if the reader be one of these sa.me unhappy then, and recollections—a vague regret that the gate has shut forever, for, saddening thought, there can be no return. You must read "The Golden Age," girls. Read it while you are still you can still appreciate and chuckle over the adventures of Charlotte, the "littlest one," and Selina and ventures the bpys—r-oh, read it, do, before the book is touched with the gate has shut forever.