NEW PUBLICATIONS.

Evening Post, Volume LXXIV, Issue 144, 14 December 1907, Page 17

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

'"Neptune's Toll, and Other Verses.'' By J. Maclcnnun. Wellington : Whitcombe and Tombs. There arc about fifty short poetical effusions in this little book, nearly all of which have already appeared in newspapers and periodicals. The author is a. native of the South Island, "a 'Highlander born on the tussocky plains'' ; ho is one of those whoso impulse to sing is as irresistible as that of the bird in springtime — one who atones for lack of "distinction" and occasional imperfections in craftsmanship by genuine poetic feeling, and the absolute sincerity of his work. Ho deals for the most part with his surroundings — tho mining camp, the stream, 'tho hillside, tho seashoro, and tho forest, and with the lives about him — in fact, the personal note is dominant. As he says : — The echoes that I chauced to hear, Dy giillj", mount, and town, Su filled my breast with lunginc That I strove to write them duwn. 'He gives striking expression to tho love which New Zealand-born Britons cherish for tho Homeland — a patiiotic feeling ■which makes more for true nationhood than all tho "tall talk" of Imperialists and Dominionists, for whom the Premier Colony of the British Empire was not sufficiently pretentious. He is if'postiophisimj the Scotland he has never seen. Between his native land and the land of his fathers, "an irrelevant ocean." — a. phrase as curious as it is original — "in obscurity reigns,' 1 but his thoughts turn to the Rosshire village of his mother's childhood : — Hy mother remembers thy fields and thy wildwoods, The banka and tho braes that are ever tho same ; Oh, fair as the flowers aro the friends of her childhood — I know all tho friends of her childhood by jitmc, H'» aye about "Home" ttaat she speaks, and while listening, I think there is never a country so fair ; She touches the heart, and my eyelids are glistening— It's "Home" to mo too, though I never waa there. There Ls a decidedly old-fashioned ring about some of the songs. They have just tho note of the ballads written' by authors like Swain, Mackay, and Eliza Cook, more than half a century ago for that marvellous entertainer, Henry Russell. In the title-poem, "A T cptunc's Toil," we havo tho very note of such ditties aa "Tubal-Cain" and "King Death was a Earo Old. Fellow," which audiences of tho present genoration would not take seriously. There are ten stanzas ; we quote two : — There are tiny' bonU, with a simple chait, In the lee of a friendly co.iat ; A trivial toll for a king: to claim, A kinjjr that can justly honst The homage mid Ireastues of empires v»et, And the skill uf a. master-mind, But he claims them nil, mid the ocean shoie WiUi a tiny fleet is lined. He piles his treasure on reefs and rooks, On coral mid stiimtnei ing ennds, And high on rugßeil chlTc, where lono The wave-lashed lighthouse rtunde. No tiensure-houso ever he plans to hold The wealth of hia wide domain, Such hoarding and keeping as men devise lie holds in a King's disd.iin. In "The Anvil Song" and the "Song of the Linotype," the author shows that kind of delight in the romance of modern machinery with which readers of Kipling arc familiar, but he lacks the technical knowledge of the ciaftsvnan. Tho operations and apparatus respectively of tho composing-room and press-room arc confounded, and the compositor of the oid days is icpresented as, ''singing 'mid ink and pic" (misspelt "pye"). ink is tho pressman's concern, and pie is the compositor's Tepioach and an object of his strong aversion. And the lino, operator would smile to be told that his ' intricate keys" "tip up the type with infallible ease." Mr. lluclennan is more at home in his patriotic verse and in his utterances in his mother-tongue, the Scottish speech. Only one touch of aitificiality do we find in the book, and that is his misuse of the word "Maori." Literally, the word means indigenous ; as used uniioiinly by both laces, it is strictly a, racial term. Therefore, to call the homo of* a &ettler a ''Maori cottage," and his little girls "Maori maidens," is misleading and beyond the boundary even of poetic license. The intimate personal note to which wo have referred is very noticeable in tho three "Nanette" poems, and the author treats nith sympathetic feeling the touching incident of a, little one whose dying eyes beheld a vision of her departed father : "1 can see d-idcly !" she isaid. "We," ho says, "wcic blind." Wa have transferred one of Mr. Muclennan's most characteristic pieces, "For Th-ed Polk," to x>ur, column of verso, and the following little poem will give a good example of Uis lyric quality: — When night comes o'er the eilent sea. Or nioiuing hrcuks m ecstasy, What can I do but think of thee? You made my life a thinp replete With dowel's and suns and starlight sweet ; Then let me lay it at thy feet. I'or daisies grow when sunbeams press Upon their buds : so Hum canst bless My spirit with thy loveliness. Nothing could be more simple or diiect, but this little gem is suffused with "the light that never was on sea, or land," and the touch reminds us of that of the late Gerald Masfa cy. The book, which is well printed on good paper, has an appreciaI tive introduction by Miss Jessie "Mackay, j who writes that ''the author has but put his heart on paper, translating into tuneful rime a helpful, faithful, loyal life, not bowed, though stoun-beaten. by care and oicknet-s." It must be a unique experience to an author when his iir.it book makes its first appearance in print ; wo hnpo that Mr. Maclennan will yet have the plaa&tuo ot seeing his little volume in a second edition. "The Canker." By James Blyth, author of "Celibate Sarah," "Lawful Issue," etc. London : Digby, Long and Company. (Gordon and Gotch.) In many respects a. .strong book, ,we do not think that "The Canker" is equal to Mr. Blyth's "Lawful Issue." It has this much in common wilh the earlier story, that it is a novel with a purpose, though what that purpose is does not appear till the plot is pretty fully developed, and the application of the title is niado manifest. The subject is far from pleasant, and in his relentless analysis of "Dancshirc" village lil'o and olliii'S, the author is nearly as plainspoken as the rustics whose eonverso he reiords with Mich minuteness. Clearly, lie writes from personal knowledge, and many of hiis charai lers arc eneefullyslmlipd types; but wo confess that we find it diJioult to believe that liis picture ir, not exaggerated. It seems scarcely credible that there aro whole communities in Britain where ordinary morality is neither valued nor cxpoutcd, its absence in both sexes being taken as a. matter of course. Strange to say, the author lakes little exception, if any, to this standard of ethics, f>o long as tho population is reasonably sound in intellect and body. Hut tins "canker" which alarms him "is tho appalling prevalence of what the country people call "innocence" — in plain English, complete or partial imbecility. The defectives — a privileged dues — aic cunning enough to trado on their idiocy, spending their time in idleness and poaching. With enormous appetites and no rpcngni&ed responsibilities, Hickp. (..real hits become the. progenitors of a numerous rain of degenerates. We ran :cmely rrcclil. hawnvfiiv 1-bal a malkuant idiot like the

author's "Soft Sammy," would havo .the features and face of a ".Murillo Christus," wilh "lovely soft mouth, and appealing manner," and no visible defect save a weakness in the knees and a shambling walk. IF it be really truo that "there aro hundreds of these semiimbcciles living in Daneshire villages, whose delicacy of feature and kindliness of eyes have a fatal attraction for women," and whose misconduct is not "controlled even by the reprobation of public opinion," the natural inference seems to be that this wide-spread degeneracy is a direct result of the debased standard of morality. The story may appeal to the sociologist; but it only sets forth an evil and offers no suggestion of a remedy, unless it is to be sought in some of the coarse talk of the tap-room. As a story "The Canker" is painful and sordid, with somewhat grim humour to relieve the gloom. "The World Peril of 1910." By George Griffith, author of "The Angel of the Revolution," etc. London : George Bell and Sons. Mr. Griffiths' latest story lias a plot so wildly extravagant and other faults so fundamental that in most hands the construction, of a readable book from such material would have been an impossible task. He makes much too free with living personages, such as tho German Emperor and Mr. Joseph Chamberlain (who, by the way, is to be Premier in 1909) ; ho gives prominence to certain parly prejudices, in large part the result of want of knowledge ; and he makes enormous drafts on the imagination. Yet, withal, ho is so possessed with his theme that he has given to his story an air, of realism that is almost convincing, and thoro is such ingenuity in his incredible prodigies that the fascinated reader is almost certain to follow tho narrative to the end. The "peril" is twofold — first, a league of all the great Powers of Europe against Britain. They havo a number of terrific warships, equally at home in the air or beneath tho ocean surface ; Britain on her part has one marvellous submarine, which destroys whole fleets, but it is no match for the aerial monsters ; and England is invaded, with much carnage. The other peril is a comet, 1 which aa amateur astronomer discovers is about to annihilate the earth. An American millionaire buys an aerial machine that surpasses the foreign craft in swiftness and efficiency, and constructs a cannon after the Jules Verne pattern, wilh which he blows the comet's nucleus to pieces, even after its hot breath has begun lo scorch tho earth. So the doublo peril is .•irerted, and lhc era of universal peace begins. "A Black Silk Stocking," by Broda Reynolds. With six full-page illustrations. Sydney: Henry Edgar Reynolds. This is probably a first attempt — it is crude enough. It is one more of thoso books in which a certain unpatriotic typn of Austialian writers apparently lay themselves out to give the world the worst possible idea of the conditions of life and «>Uile of morals in the Commonwealth. It is a vulgar story devoid of literary quality and unrelieved by imagination Olivia, the heroine — of noble birth, though sho does not know it — is in poverty in Sydney, and in her attempt to find employment, hecs a good deal of tho seamy side of lifo and the vileness of mankind. She ia hard, cold, selfish, aud spiteful. The hero, in like strails, and al«o of good birth and education, is the only decent character in the hook. Olivia marries a coarse and wealthy tradesman, originally fascinated by a sight of her "black silk stocking" as > she stepped from ast reet-car. She leaves ■him after a fpw months, he is run over by a tram, and 6he weds her true affinity, and goes Home to as&umo her true rank in society. We havo passed over tho uglier features of a mo3t unreal stoi}-. The half-dozen drawings aie'in keeping with tli6 litciary quality, if not poorer. Here are &ome oJ their s'ubsciiptiom : "Olive ilung the lot full in his* face," "By heaven, I'll help her!" "MaxWell laid him full length," "His right foot shot out." Broda Reynolds'** vocation is ceitainly not literature. "Happy Heaits." A Picture-book for Boys and Girls, including "Tho Raft > in the Bush" and "Chionicles of the Coint." By Ethel Turner. London : Ward, Lock and Co., Limited. (S. and W. Mackay.) Here is a Christmas gilt book that would not easily bs sirrpastsed for a family of youngsters. Lar^e qiuuto size — a good deal bigger than it, "Chatterbox" volume, with picture cover, strongly bound, profusely illustrated — one 'ooka for these things from a great publishing house. But tho text is by Ethel Turner, most delightful of story-writers for children, and best appreciated by those under Southern skies; and tho pictures, in colours and black and white — well, they aio by D. S. Souter afc his best (his immortal cat, whose smilo surpasses that of the proverbial Cheshire specimen), Ida. Kentoul, another Australian artistic genius ; Hilda Cowhatn, Louis Wain (of course, more cats, including a "cafsmeatiug"), Gladys Hall, and others. Really, il)Ls should be the children's book of tho season ! "The Happy Annual," by Cecil Aldin and John Hassall (London : William Heinematin) is an attractive picture-book, the size of (he "Illustrated News." annuals — a capital Christmas box for youngsteis in the infant claesw. It contains vigorous sketches illustrating old nursery rhymes, old-fashioned children's games,* and the joys and tribulations of dogs and kittens. "Amateur Sporfc Illustrated." a new weekly candidate for public favour, of which the first number has reached us, is a magazine of considerable promise. Messrs Goulon and Gotch are the local agents.' Incidentally (says the Westminster Gazette) the publication of the late Queen's letteis enabled The Times to give a. splendid example of detachment. Almost alone among English daily papers it ignored Ihe books on lhc day upon which they wero issued. The reader searched the columns in vain ; the books v.ero to bo bought in the open market, but The Times remained splendidly unmoved. Perhaps that was not what a bustling world regards as smartness, but there is a certain grandeur in such indifference to tho measured rolling of tho spheres. There are several theories concerning the origin of tiie slang phrase, "Face Iho music." It is said to have come fiom the army. ,One of the diilieuHies in training horses for the military service "was that of getting them to faeo tho regimental band without getting excited. Another authority says also that it is of vice was that of getting them to face the to soldiers when they were drummed oat to tiie tune of the lxoguc's March. Still another vcisiou is that it is used by actors behind the hocnes when preparing to go on. tho stage to face the music literally. An English newspaper, translating from a French contemporary, said "the Goolds had an accomplice, a woman whoso name the journal ignores." What should have been written was, "a woman Of Whose name the Journal i& ignorant," but tli6 translator was misled by the seeming familiarity of the French word "ignore." Similarly the French transaction" is generally rendered by the bame word in English instead of by "compionVisc." On tho other hand, Hie French have their rcveuge, ah, lor e\(amplr!, by translating Crockett's "Stickit Minister" ao "Un. Mimetic Assaacinoi"