BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

Dominion, Volume 18, Issue 193, 10 May 1924, Page 21

BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

By

LIBER.

Give a man a pipe he can smoke, Give a man a book he can read: .And his home is bright with a calm delight Though the room be poor indeed. * —JAMBS THOMBOX

BOOKS OF THE DAY.

An Amusing pastiche. “The Du Poissey Anecdotes,” edited by Hugh McCrae (“Art in Australia,” Limited, Sydney), is essentially a bookman’s book, refreshingly unfamiliar in the world of Australian best-sellers —that world .which, to most of its denizens, consists solely of novels of a more or less banal and purely temporary interest, Du Poissey, of course, is Mr. McCrae himself. It is true his creator makes a fine pretence of Du Poissey and. the actuality of his acquaintance with Johnson and Boswell, with Gibbon and Reynolds, with handsome Harry Feilding, and unhappy Dr. Dcdds. It is true, also, that tne anecdotes in which figure the usually most urbanely witty Du Poissey, and his conscientious chronicler Mr. Benjamin Harcourt, owe their origin to a most ingenious combination of realism, plus imagination, and, too, aided not a little by a delightfully “extensive and peculiar”—as Mr. Weller would have said —acquaintance with the literary, theatrical, and social world of the day. But the chief wire-puller, the. inventor of these clever conversations and droll incidents—Du Poissey’s manner of expending poor Doctor Dodd’s last guinea is a marvel of impudence—the spinner of so many good, mostly new, but some may be just a wee hit refurbished yarns, is just as clearly Mr. McCrae himself as he is the acknowledged author of the clever black and white woodcuts, with which the text is so plentifully bestudded. This is, I say, par excellence, a bookman’s book and one which its lucky possessor should cherish permanently and preserve most jealously. Hunt about in Birkbeck Hill’s notes to his worldfamous edition of Johnson, ransack your Aubrey’s “Brief Lives,” and “Anecdotes,” grab, porker like, for literary truffles in a thousand and one odd and dusty channels of Grub Street anecdote, let your imagination people an old inn chamber with the fine fleur of upper literary Bohemia of Johnson’s day. and above all, fit on to those people the most riotously funny, if, in places, just a little coarse and sometimes a trifle risques of bonnes histoires, and you can have some idea of the generous, appetising literary menu Mr. McCrae here sets forth. The author has, I am afraid, too poor an idea of both Johnson and Boswell, but as an ardent Johnsonian, I must confess to having enjoyed full many a laugh over Du Poissey’s ingenious manglings of Johnson’s pompous monologues. Whilst not prepared to accept the origin of Thralo’s. the brewers’ name, as being “three ales, to be as positive as was Du Poissey on the character of Dr. Charles Dibdin—“The Sailors, sir, ping the songs . . . but Dibdin steals ’em, prints ’em, and makes money of ’em”—l can heartily enjoy some jf Du Poissey’s epigrammatic literary criticisms, enthusiasms and admissions. As thus : Dn Poissey: "Sir, there are some books a man would feel ashamed to be seen reading.” I begged him to Instance one. Du Poissey: "Why. Sir, before I begin to look into ‘Booaccio’ I always bloy the candles out for fear that anyone might note the colour of my cheeks."

And then the ingenious commentator who proviclea the (footnotes quotes, per “Samuel Bowker”—see “Jarvey I. Jarvey, his ‘Devil’s Illumination for Devil’s Work,” a “conversation imaginaire” of the Italian Tasso, with an amusing specification of literary “bawdiness,” which I may not, although I would here fain quote. My marked quotations from Du Poissey’s Anecdotes number over sixty, and alas I have set down but one.' But Du Poissey’s is not a work for quotation, but to be read—and reread —with lingering and prolonged enjoyment. The pictures, as a certain “nu’ss lady” in “Martin Chuzzlewit” said of the drinks, “are all good.” The frontispiece, representing Du Poissey, a full blown literary dictator, plus, I should say, an unfailing bon vivant of his day, is by Mr. John Godson, a decided “modern” and taken “after an unknown artist.” I like that adjective “unknown.” The book is printed on a hand-made paper, with coloured initials in an “editorially” signed edition of 600 copies. The New Zealand price is 235. 6d.

“The Fighting Instinct.” An interesting and important contribution to the literature of psychology is embodied in “Tho Fighting Instinct,” by Dr. Pierre Bovet, of tho University of Geneva, translated from the original French by Mr, J. Y. T. Greig (George Allan and Unwin). Professor Boveti’s work has been characteriaed by M. Char Isa Baudoin. in. his “Studies en Psyche-Analysis,” as a model monograph on the special instincts. First published in 191” ; it contains many interesting speculations on tho war then in progress and its probable psyohotogiiecil effects. Hie changed perspective in which the war can now be viewed does not, however, diminish the interest and importance of Bovet’s philosophical and psychological study of the combative instinct. Rather does it show, so it is claimed, how sound were many of Bovet s basic conclusions. The author regards his work as one mainlv of applied sciences specially designed for■ study by educacaiionists. “The full study of the fighting instinct),” he says, in. his ongi-

nal, “can wait.” But it is a matter of urgency that a guiding thread should be provided for those in whose hands lies the heavy task of bringing up the rising generation, and who are perplexed to know what attitude they ought to take up towards the aggressive tendencies which the war has thrown into such vivid relief.' In the final chapter, “Pacifist Education, some interesting remarks are made upon the vexed problem of how best and most practically to bring about a diversion” of that fighting instinct wliich is so largely natural to man. (N.Z. price 135.)

THE SIGN OF THE LYRE “A Pipa of Tobacco.”

Lovers of parody should heartily welcome an admirable reprint of some very clever eighteenth century examples of this particular form of literary art. The title is “A Pipe of Tobacco, in Imitation of Several Authors,” by Isaac Hawkins Brown, newly edited by IT, F. B. Brett-Smith (Oxford, Basil Blackwell, Limited). The six authors whoso poetic style is so cleverly parodied and satirised by Brown' are : Colley Cibber, the actorplay wright-poot; Ambrose Philips, of “Splendid Shilling” fame; James Thomson (Thomson, of “The Seasons”) : Edward Young, the Young of the “Night Thoughts”: Alexander Pope; and Jonathan Swift. Mr. BrettSmith’s introduction gives some interesting particulars of Brown’s life. Ono of (he best things in the book is a reprinted poem by Robert Lloyd, who, in 1755, wrote a very clever and humorous poem, “An Address to one . . . about to publish a volume of Miscellanies.” Lloyd, of whom Cowper was to write:

For thou art born solo heir and (tingle, Of dear Mat Prior’s easy Jingle.

was a special admirer of Browne’s parodies. The concluding lines of his oocm, here reprinted in full, in an appendix, are often quoted, but may be new to some of my readers. They run.

Lons as Tobacco’s mild perfume Shall scent each hapny curate’s room; Oft as in elbow-chair he smokes. And quaffs his ale, and cracks his Jokes, So long, 0 Brown, shall last thv nrajse., Crowned with Tobacco-leaf for bays; And whosoe'er thy verse shall see Shall fill another Pipe to thee.

As Mr. Brett-Smith says, “Parody, after all, is a young man’s art, and Isaac Hawkins Brown, that frivolous Fellow of the Royal Society, has had no apter tribute than these verses written by a boy of twenty-two.” The reissue of Brown’s famous parodies was printed at the Shakespeare Head Press, at Stratford-upon-Avon and is a masterpiece of fine typography, preserving as it does several quaint features of eighteenth century book production. (N.Z. price, 55.).

“All the Year Round.” From Messrs. W. Collins, Sons and Company, comes a tastefully produced little book of verse by Eleanor Farjeon. entitled “All the Year Round.” Soino of Miss Farjeqn’s poems reflect the spirit of those in Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Child’s Garden of Verses.” /‘Advice to a Child,” for instance, is quite in the Stevenson vein. In others there are evidences of the author’s keen sense of the mystery and beauties of nature. All are characterised by good humour and a sense of the wonder and beauty to be found in quite simple subjects when sympathetically treated. “The Chimes of Cattestock.” with its haunting refrain, is a specially happy and harmonious treatment of a simple theme. For any lover of true poetry, this pretty little volume would surely prove a much welcomed gift. (N.Z. price, 65.). Other Verse.

Professor Gilbert Murray’s translations into English rhyming verso of certain masterpieces of Greek drama are well known and widely esteemed. The latest addition to the series, “Athenian Drama for English Readers” (George Allen and Unwin), is “The Chocphotoe (The Libation Bearers) of Aeschylus.” Professor Murray precedes his translations by an admirable little essay on tho play, and contributes also some useful notes. (N.Z. price 35.) “Sheaves and Javelins: Being Songs of a Bini of Passage,” by Frank Hudson (Hutchinson and Co., per Ferguson and Osborne), is a collection of verses, many of which originally appeared in the “Sydney Bulletin” and the “New Zealand Free Lance.” Mr. Hudson’s is a cheerful muse, and most of these verses have a pleasant lilt with them. Some of them, such as “The Song of the Marble Cutter,” have a special interest! for New Zear land readers. Mr. Hudson is occasionally a little careless with his metres, but how well he can write when he does himself full justice may be seen by the really fine poem a poem of stately beauty, entitled ‘ English Woods.” Some of the verses are mere topical jingles. Hudson’s referonce to “little Tommy AVilford is surely a sad slip for a poet who evidently knows his Ljambton Quay. (N.Z. price 6s. 6d.) “The Streets of Nazareth and Other

Poems” (Religion's Tract Society) is the title of a collection of verses', originally printed in “The Treasury” and other religious periodicals. The author, now dead, greatly interested himself in rescue work. The verses reflect a deeply religious spirit, and arc simply but often very gracefully wordod. (N.Z. price 3s. 6d.) lu “The Trumpeter of Dawn and Other Poems" (Selwyn and Blount), Mr. Allred T. Story displays a distinct gift for pleasant versification. Most of tho poems reflect tho workings of a deeply religious mind, and are gracefully harmonious in their wording. The author is specially happy in his shorter poems, such as “The North Coantrie,” and a very graceful poem in simple lyrical form, entitled “The Stream.” (N.Z. price 65.) LIBER’S NOTE BOOK Clever Aldous Huxley, just perhaps a trifle too deliberately and in the choice of certain of his figures, almost repellently clever in his last book, Antic Hay,” is to publish this spring a new volume, “Tho Littlo Mexican, and Other Stories,” with Chatto and Windus. Since Peacock’s day wo have never had anything in the way of social satire so delightful as “Crome Yellow” and “Limbo.” All the Huxley books are books to buy for keeps. To the handy sized St, Martin’s ( library (Chatto, 4s. Cd. N.Z. price) , have been added an old favourite of . mine. Barbellion’s “Diary of a Disappointed Man” —buy it and keep it alongside Gissing’s “Private Papers of Henry Rycroft”—and C. E. Montague’s cleier, if just a trifle morbid, war studies, “Disenchantment. ” Years ago I remember reading with great j pleasure Montague’s clever story of ( Manchester journalism, “A Hind Let . Loose,” and an Alpine story, the title ‘ of which I forget. To-day I have by . mo for review a copy of Montague’s j latest book, “The Right Place.” (Both ( this and his excellent “Fiery Par- ( tides” should be bought by all dis- , cerning bookmen. ( Mr. E. V. Lucas, that most genial j and delightful of essayists, has struck ; out into what is for him an entirely i new line, namely, that of playwright. , He has written’ a comedy which will I probably be staged at a London theatre i very soon. Tne author says of it: i “I have seen several plays which have given me less pleasure.” >

London papers speak well of Morley Roberts’s “Life of the Late IV. H. Hudson,” whoso books, so long neglected, aro now enjoying a considerable vogue. He tells us that Hudson was a great letter writer, and proniises a collection of his lettars next autumn. This is somewhat curious, seeing that Roberts tells us that his friend hated the idea of his correspondence being collected and publisied. Hudson even went so far as to ask his friends to return the letters he wrote them. Before Mb death he burned no fewer than 3000 letters hq had written to and received from his friends. Some curious sidelights on Hudson’s career ato to be found in Mr. Roberts’s book, which appears to bo ns indiscreet in certain of its revelations ns was tho same author’s exceedingly frank book on George Gissing, “The Private History of Henry Maitland,” a book, by the way, which has recently been reprinted, and should be bought by every one who possesses a copy of that pathetically charming book, “The Private Papers of Henry Rycroft.” Hudson, so it appears from Mr. Roberts’s biography, was born in tho Argentine, where be received those keenly penetrating impressions as a young man which hq utilised to such admirable purpose in “The Purple Land,” “Green Mansions,” and “El Ombu,” wliich, with his “Idle Days in Patngonia” and “A Traveller in Little Things,” and the equally charming “Far Away and Long Ago,” I shall always consider his best work. He arrived in England in 1894. Marrying a woman some years his senior, ho settled down to literary work, mainly studios in natural history, his wife keeping a boardinghouse in Westbourne Grove, in the management of which Hudson shared. A curious life, one would think, as compared with that of his younger days in the Argentine. There is, I understand, an ever-in-creasing sale in New Zealand —in Wellington nt least—of plays of all kinds. Those who find pleasure in studying tho modern drama at home —alas we have no repertory theatres here to give us the best work of presentday playwrights on a stage—should note ft few recent and notable productions in this genre of literature. “Beyond the Horizon” and “Gold,” two new plays by the American dramatist Eugene O’Neill, whose “Anna Christie” is still running to good houses in London, aro published by Mr. Jonathan Cape. Messrs. Putnam’s _ Sons announce five new plays (in separate volumes at two shillings, N.Z. price), by Lord Dunsany. Mr. William Heinemann has just published a new comedy of suburban life by that clover lady writer Miss Clemence Dane, and Mr. John Masefield’s poetic dramas—tho latest, I think, is “The King’s Daughter”—and Messrs. W. Collins and Co. publish “The Crossing.” Messrs. Chatto and Windus published the delightful comedies of A. A. Milne, and, of course, all who are lucky enough to possess a set of the thirteen volumes of Tchekov’s wonderful short stories—he is the Russian Guy de Maupassant—will want to have the two volumes of Tchekov’s plays translated by the same lady and issued in the same charming format.by Chattos.

SOME RECENT FICTION “Deep Meadows.”

“Deep Meadows,” Margaret Rivers Larminie’s latest novel (Chatto and Windus) must, to some extent, make stronger appeal to feminine rather than male readers. For if is very largely tho story of a woman’s purgatory a purgatory wliich every reader of the novel nirst rejoice at seeing ended as the giant “Colossus” roaches New York harbour, and the long trustful, much forgiving, but himself none too blameless lover, the elderly writer, Caleb Host, reaps his reward. I have said that “Deep Meadows,” assuredly one of the finest, most poignant studies of a woman’s heart which English fiction has produced of late, is more of a “woman’s book” than a man’s. With one exception, however, the various men who play prominent parts in Mary Hassell’s life exhibit traits which make them akin to tho average man, as the average man knows him,, and speaking as a male reader it is some months since I have read a story so convincing as this of. Mrs. Lorminie’s. Poor Mary Rassell is sorelv tried. She could not love Toni Rassell, who, on liis side, loved no one but himself, and who, indeed, roughly suggested his own betrayal. She would have eloped with her young polo player, Tony Charters, and Tom would have divorced her, and everyone, would have been happy. But Tony died suddenly and tho light went out of Mary’s fife. That she should leave Rassell was inevitable- That she could ever Gave contemplated, a sordid romance —save the mark —with the cheaply Byrqnio young French poet, which at one time threatens, seems incredible. It is a blot unon the book, and the reader must have a feeling of relief over the sudden termination to an incident which, in view of Mary’s nature as here revealed, should never have occurred. Then there is the withdrawal of Mary from the world, the education of her children, and, finally, the break with her old adorer, the lawyer. Maurice Gale, and the suicide of her husband on the verge of Gale’s exposure of Rassell’s rascality. It takes a clever novelist to make-us accept Mary’s rejection of G-ale, but it had to be done, and Mrs.. Larminie nowhere exhibits keener artistry than in the chapters relating to Rassell’s trial. Readers there may bo, perhaps, who may consider that this same subtle artistry suffers not a little, and indeed fades almost completely away in the denouement, but “Liber” for one must range himself on the side of the sentimentalists and thank Mrs. Larminie . for the happy ending which she provides. “Deep Meadows” is a very fine novel. More than this, the story is one I mean to reread. And of how few latter-day novels can this bo said 1 “The Immortals.”

“The Immortals,” by Harold Scarborough (T. Fisher Unwin, Ltd.), is a most amusing novel, the motif of which is tho rejuvenation theory. The leading figure is an old Russian, Dr. Brusilov, who discovers an elixir which provides immortality for those who use it. He succeeds so far in making the world accept his discovery as genuine as to inoculate with his serum a popular actress, a. “Pussyfoot” agent, and a Labour. M.P. The elixir, jt may be mentioned, is exploited by a jointstock company on strictly up-to-date lines, and the author provides some excellent fun as he shows how the nostrum is likely to affect the social and political world. A . pretty love interest adds to the fascination of a story in which pure extravaganza is cleverly tinctured by ingeniously simulated reality. Mr. Scarborough is daring enough to introduce our old friend, the Wandering Jew, as one of the figures in his farcical comedy.

Some Good “Hutchinson’s." Messrs. Hutchinson and Co. continue to publish an astonishing number of very readable novels. A recent batch comes per Messrs. Ferguson and Osborne. That well-practised novelist, Mrs. M. E. Francis, is quite up to her old standard in “The Runaway,” in which a young married man. taunted by his wife upon the benefits ho owes to her wealth, seeks rest in a quiet little Welsh village, and there meets his true soul’s mate- Under the title, “The Last Time,” Mr. Robert Hicheng, of “Garden of Allah” and “Bailor donna” fame, presents four wellwritten novelettes. The title story deals with the tragedy of a woman who makes a confession of the wreck of her life to a man in order that another woman’s life may be made happy. “The Villa by the Sea” is a fascinating study in. psychology; in “The Letter” there is a very charming love interest; and in “The Facade” some very pleasant humour. A very readable quartet. “The Autobiography of a Blackguard,” by Raymond Paton, is the story of a young violinist who commits a theft in order to have money with which to pursue his studies. In the course of. the story the reader is taken to various European capitals and witnesses many romantic incidents. There is a slightly old-fashioned atmosphere about Mrs. Margaret Baillie Saunders’s “John o’ Chimes.” The scene is laid in a picturesque Kentish village by the sea, the heroine, Dame Imogen Giles, tho youthful lady of the Manor House, being a very delightful figure. Her lovo"storv and that of John La Ferronays is told with great charm. “The Le+ters of Jean Armiter,” by Una L. Silbcrrad, and “Broken Couplings,” by Charles Connell,, are both very pleasantly told and interesting stories.