NEW BOOKS.

Dominion, Volume 1, Issue 199, 16 May 1908, Page 12

NEW BOOKS.

"The Prima-donna." A sequel to "Soprano." / By .P; Marion Crawford. ; Macmillan's .'. Colonial Library.. . This is a > capital book to road on a railway journey, and loavo in the train. One does not willingly put it down before the last page is reached, and yot ono docs not place it with the books that are to bo read again. It is just tho kind of novel,that the public has learnt to oxpect from Mr. Marion Crawford—a well-told story, in good English, . with bright, ' natural dialogue, enough of sensation and surprise in the plot, and a certain freshnoss in the characters and situations. It is, perhaps, rather less carefully constructed than somo of his ear-

lier stories, but taken altogether it will not perceptibly alter the position which its 30 or ,40 predecessors have already won for their' author in popular favour, and critical .estimation.. He .docs not expect too much of his readers, and they, by this time, surely do; hot expect too much of him. In '.-'The Prima-donna," the writer presents a study 'of the contrast between tne private and - public characters of his horoine—a a typically modest, refined English girl, and a stage heroine, loud, much-painted, and inordinately fond of admiration. Essentially this is the old thomo which Shakespearo touched in a few poignant lines in the Sonnets:—.

'■ Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and /there And made myself a motley to tho view." A closer parallel and a moro suggestive contrast may bo found in Mr. George Moore's "Evelyn Inues," and it 3 sequel "Sister Teresa." There, as inSoprano " and "Tho Prima-donua," tbo horoino is a girl who becomes a singer, but where 'Mr. George Moore gave us a subtle analysis .of a Woman's soul, Mr. Marion Crawford offers little more than a picturesque view of a young lady who kept different manners for different surroundings. But " Tho Primadonna" is certainly the book to read ill a train. . \

"Ihc Lord of Latimer Street." By . Jano Wardlo. Alston Rivers, London. .Price 6s. . : , ' . This story of modern Socialism by a now author .makes us hope that Jane Wardle will write more. Lord Latimer is a wealthy young man, whqse inheritance includes some of the worst sliiins of London, from which he draws his rents. His cousin Cynthia, with whom lie is niore or less in love, has thrown herself into schemes of social reform, which includes a philanthropic Sottlement in tho midst of theso slums, andaCirclo City, inhabited by crank 3 of all descriptions, each with some pet project for tho rapid amelioration of mankind. The doscription of this Circle City and its curious population makes highly entertaining' reading. It existed largely iii the future, being intended some day to hotiso a population 'of thirty thousand, while its actual inhabitants were under , five hundred, most of whom lived in an adjoining village. Its future greatness mif»bt bo''learned from a largo coloured plan which was displayed in the Coiincil Hall. "Tho Council Hall was in actual fact a small building of corrugated iron, but in tho eyes of the Circle Citizens it stood for a noble pile, ..which was sorno day to express tho ultimate -ideal of neo-reform architecture, and to include a Council Chamber, a Hall of Peaco 0110 hundred feet long, and a Campanile, similar to that at Florence, three hundred feet high." Tho city was tho local headquarters of no less than 72 societies of various kinds, each and all of

thorn being in tho very van of progress, Mr. Penbcrthy-Blogg, a truly humorous character, was president of eight, his wifo of eleven, while both were 011 the committees of all tho 72, it being tho paternal custom of tho community that all tlip, citizens should belong to all the committees of all the societies id common.

In defence to his oousin'a views of capiresponsibilities, Lord Latimer visits the Circle City, and is not much impressed by tho practicability of its strange inhabitants, who aro always wrangling amongst themselves. Ho next visits in disguise his shun tenements in London, and lodges for some weeks as an out-of-work clerk /with a worthy Cqckney family named Reevos. He learns a good deal about tho slums, especially when lie tries to set right local injustices, and is abused or kicked for his pains. He learns also what tho slums think of social reforms. "Tcll-you-whnt-it-is, mate," as Mr. .Reeves puts it, "There's those that grumbles at these rich blokes for/ not doin' what they ought. I say it's a blooming good tiling when they don't. I don't go round a-worryin' them about vfhero the.v ougliter live, an 'ow thoy oughtor bring up their children, do I? An' I don' want them to come intorforin' With me." tragedy begins when 'Tilda Reeves, the pretty, plucky girl who tries hard to correct • her aitches for Philip's ear, falls hopelessly in love with the supposed clerk, and construes his careless statements into a desire to marry her. We shall not tell the sequel, which is doubtfully satisfactory, nor of what befel the Circle City, and of Lord Latimer's social schemes. "The Lord of Latimer Street" has more ' humour, pathos, and human , interest than one. new book in a score.

"My Life in the Open." By Will H. Ogilvie. Unwin's Colonial Library. Tho author of this book is well known to New Zealand readers by his verses dealing with the Australian bush i and Australian station life, published in "Fair Girls and Grey Horses" and "Hearts of Gold." Some of the verses have a charming grace and music, arid thoy display the closest intimacv on the author's part with the lifo which 'he describes.. In his latest, volume, Mr. Ogilvie treats of similar subjects in a succession of proso essays, taking his material from America, South Africa, and the Scottish Border, as well as from Australia. In oil these places 5J>. Ogilvio baa lived the outdoor lifo, and whether' he tolls of sheep shearing in New South Wales, tho mountain farms of Colorado, or a border "roun," he is a, Dart of all that he has met. He is morn anxious to be literarv and interesting than informative, and his proso moves with the same auiet grace as his verse, pleasintr, but hardly over surprising or arresting tho attention. Seeing that he has lived for year's the rouch life which he often describes, it is strange that lie is not more virile.

Mr. Ogilvio has a poet's eye for colour, as is shown'by-'this extract; takon from "Tho Sheen Dot? m a Comrade": —"Australia is th« land ..of infinite distances; of dusty erev miles of plain, strotchine away into'dark brown milos of scrub, the ]<ind of long. red. sand-blown ranges arid "taring snn-bnrnt riypr Hern all day, with feet hlistored with tho burning <rrourd and torn with seed and burr, t'-o rtailnnt lift,ln sheepdogs, with lollinc?■red tongues but keen f.o-1. over forward tn their master's voice, fo'le-w the canter'iir horsemen, timing and indefatigable." This ik Mr. style at his best. hut whe r e''n I'es tho difference tirMess and. indefntignhlo?

It is fasting 110 slur on Mr. Of'Mc's p-oso to.say that we pref"r.'ju's verso. The ynrietv and raneo of bis If tost book will make it welyime V) thousands in many parts of the world, and if he does not get'"t such remorseless grins with' things ns Hr'iry Law«in i" his Wfc work, nt least ho knows his subjects, and he is always an artist.

"Shingle-Short and other; Verses," by B. E. Baughan. Whitoombo aind Tombs. Why, do our poetesses dp theso things? Miss Jessio Mackay once issued a book of dainty verso, hearing tho titlo "Tho Sitter on tho Rail." Arid now we havo Miss Baughan going one better, and issuing a book of good poetry, in tho simplo belief that a horrific title upon the covor docs not jiiattor. It requires courago to buy any book called "Shinglo-Short," and we are afraid that this titlo will loso Miss Baughan a great many readers who would bo charmed with her work. It becomes ,the reviewer's duty, therefore, to repair the damage that may be done. Miss Baughan. is roally. a poetess—unconventional, even, if tho word may bo used of a woman, a little rugged, but she has strength, emotion, and a depth and breadth of thought that is bracing and refreshing in a day when tho. "Bulletin poots, with a few honourable exceptions, are still overlaying the old insinccro fancies with tho sticky'lacquer of flashy artifice. Tho name-poem, "Shingle-Short," covers 30 pages! Thirty pago 3of rugged dialect in jerky sing-song, tho soliloquy of a shabby, muddy rouseabout in a wharo, on a winter's evening! Yet out of this hopokas material, and in" this hopeless manner, Miss Baughan has produced a poem that ono remembers with delight,' and thinks about for days. There; is passion in it, and poetry, and sudden blazes of high vision.' It is the soliloquy of tho "defective" Barney upon his condition, an examination of his relations with the universe, as ho fashions a boat, tingling'to triumph,' but sinking again as ho more and more keenly realises his weakness and his uselessncss. . Suddenly:

"Dash'd if I ain't forgot somehow— I have!—l been an' clean forgot (He an' the wood in such a plight), . Him as was third in the invite, Him as is back of all tho lotGod. Hip! Hip! There's knots you can't untie— Grab 'em tho right end, an' they'll fly! Hip—Hallelujah! I've a-got i The loosenor to my blessed knot. We're the' tangle, but You're the Clue. . , Ail' what's our tonnage, alongside You? Slops, or shortages, snams or what, "fain't what we ain't, or don't, or do, • Really matters—No fear! It's You! An'—You' ain't ruined 'cause wo fail. God! if we're shingle-short—You're not! Why, save us! Now I've slowed my eye, ■ An' found You standiu' steady by, Holdin' Your Finger in the pie, .Things is a-turiiin a traverse! 'Tain't Curses, grinnin's back o' Good, That's now a bossin' o' tho showToo Boeable to stay unseen— - It's goodness, back-of overy Curse, A-sipilin' sunny an' serene. And in this glow he ends: Ain't that fine, 'Twist that wattle an' old black pine? Deops o' tho Bush- all dark below, Points o' the mountain bright aloft, Sharp an' solemn with sun, an' snow; An', 'U'ixt an' 'tween of 'em curly-curl'd, Mists o' tho movnin', rose-soft. ■ —Ain't it the beautifullest world?

It is not over-praising this brilliant piece to say that in its and emotion, dramatic intensity and deep insight, it is one of the noblest poems ever written in this country. In "Maui's Fish,'' Miss . Bauglmn has given, in irregular} unrhymod rhythms, aai uncommonly spirited rendering of the old myth. Our poetess is . an- optimist, and yet quiet with resignation, and'her themes are selected fpr the double expression, of sereno hope and quiet sorovr. Her images are always large and noblo—like Arnold Wall, she is only driven to expression by large aJid luminous ideas. She has an oxquisite taste for the lit. phrase. We have only spaco to notice the tenderness and eloquence of "A Bush Section." It is good to como upon lines like these: Wilt thou wield the axo of the Fire? Wilt thou harness tho horse of the Wind? Shall not the Sun with his strong hands servo thee, aid the tender hands of tho Rain. Tho book abounds in oxquisite little lyric bursts of song, and beautiful passages of in-tensely-felt description of tho beauties of oarth. Thoso who lovo tho gold of pure poetry and desire the healing waters of deep thought must make this volume their next purchase.