NEW PUBLICATIONS.

Evening Post, Volume LXXXIV, Issue 72, 21 September 1912, Page 13

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

"Dr. Tuppy," by Stephen Townesend, author of "A Thoroughbred Mon- I grel." London : Hodder and Stoughton. (Messrs. Whitcombe and Tombs.) This is a most affecting plea foe the man (of woman, for that matter) of mental and physical limitations. After all, there is BOrne recompense in being so much of a fool ftg to be incapable of being a knave; and it is much to be doubted whether Solomon, in all his | glory, could throw a single stone at one of these. Yet "Dr." Tuppy, "dresser" and "perpetual student" at a London hospital simple, unworldly, gullible, chivalrous, walks through this volume smitten by stone after stone hurled by the brutal coterie of "dressers" and incipient medicos among whom fate naa cast his lot. His stammering and the set smile on his poor weak face excite laughter which fortunately his astigmatic sight cannot detect. Sneering or satirical praise he innocently accepts as genuine, and responds by loving his enemy, whoso wrath is thereby seven times heated. In the transparent sincerity of his soul his tormentors see their own mental blackness reflected as in a mirror ; and it is they, and not he, who occupy the dirty side of the picture. By and by, under the hard experience of a series of outrages, mental and physical, a glimmering of the truth reaches the in* genuous mind, and a tardy realisation of man's inhumahity to man wrings from "Dr." Tuppy the cry : "What have I done that men should hato me so? 1 run straight; I play the game; I try to be just and considerate. I don't spend my time in trying to injure others ; why should others conspire, and plot, and plan to injure me?" In a case like this the remedy is to find the woman ; and there are two of them, both hospital hurses, one of whom marries him. At first he fears such presumption. "To ask you to tie yourself to a f'fool, a fool who cannot even speak plainly, a fool at whom the world laughs!" Jsut she replies :' "My only doubt is that I am worthy of you; I would not have you altered in one single thing." Throughout the book the hos* pital atmosphere prevails, and there are many interesting little side-lights. Apart from the brutes of "dressergj there are a particular obnoxious medico, an uncharitable cleric, and Tuppy's benevolent aunt who has a fixed idea— anti* vivisectionism. Mr. Stephen Townesend has produced a really good novel, apart from its moral, which speaks for itself. One of the prefatory verses (by Gertrude Hall) is worth quoting : The old Sphynx smiles so subtly : "I give no golden rule— Yefc would t bid theej World, treat well Whom thou call'st fool." "The Chatelaine," and other Kime«. By Walter Clifford Meller, author of "A Eoyalist Raid." London: Q. Bell and Sons, Ltd. This volume of lyrical verse might be improved by weeding out a great deal that is trite and obvious. For the rest there is no great novelty or richness of idea, but some of the verse is well turned, and has the merit of simple directness. It is not a white-hot muse that sings, but a sane and healthy one. The beauties of Nature are carolled with love and fidelity— in which respect are noticeable the influences of Burns— but when an attempt ia made to vivify them with human colouring the effort generally falls short. Yet the singer loyally proclaims that he finda in his "dear love" the interpreter of "this deep sweet beauty of the earth" and of "the secret message of all things"; — You are the wise interpreter In this House Beautiful of ours, That in its beauty holds the dawn, Whose carpet is a thousand flowers. Where once I passed through silent halls A voice of ' living passion calls. Love is here the golden key to "the scarlet flame of western clouds " and other similar realms. In other glimpses she becomes shadowy, as, for instance : — And dreams are lovely, but waking up Oft shatters love's golden cup. And better a dream face if 'tis sweet, Than the real one in the street. Perhaps it is irrelevant to conjecture whether this love-passion is the key to "the scarlet flame," or whether the flame inspired the passion. Prima facie, these verses enunciate the former, but suggest the latter. Still, even wheiw the, " dream love " is lost, it remains something of a reality. For ever and a day Beflowered her white hands, Between desire and me My dream love stands. There is a fresh spring-like note in some of the stanzas, which is, no doubt, the expected fruit of verse of this calibre, but still perhaps the • best. Walter Clifford Meller is best when he ia in the fields. Sometiiries he gives his fancy a little play, as in the following:—Of herbs that, gathered 'neath the moon, Might work a lover's will, Of dark dank leaves at midnight reaped To work for ruth and ill, Of trees that spoke, and glades that knew An elf-folk's dancing crew. In "An Old Legend" honour is paid to the dog, the unwearying friend " even to outcast man." So, too, in Maeterlinck ("The Blue Bird") the dog is idealised, while the reverse process happens to the cat. This verdict, if submitted to a dozen men, would no doubt be endorsed, but if the jury were composed of the softer sex, it might be classified as a mere man-made heresy. "Mightier Than the Sword." By Alphonse Courlander. London s 1. Fisher Unwin, 1912. If you support the proposition that the pen is mightiet than the Bword, you will find a greater or less interest in this "press" story submitted by Alphonse Courlander, who, it is undeniable, writes with a first-hand knowledge. It is not so long since Philip Gibbs gave us his "Street of Adventure," another romance, with a lot of stern reality— of that Mecca of Continental journalists, Fleet-street. Mr. Gibbs's performance was a quite successful one, as is Mr. Courlander's. "Mightier Than the Sword" should make a strong appeal to all journalists, and all their near and dear relations. By these it will be welcomed if for no other reason that even here in New Zealand we are even-— on a less pretentious scale — as those greater journalists who forge the bolts for the English "Thunderers." To-day, here in Wellington, pressmen aro living in a minor degree the lives portrayed by the author under notice, whose touches of the people and the processes that produce a great daily carry conviction and sincerity. The leading fig- j tire in the story is one. Humphrey Quain, j a "general" on a country news-sheet, who achieves, for the purposes of the story, a footing on "The Day," an insistent and powerful London daily. "Tommy" Pride, middle-aged and knowing, hae a fine •philosophy, come 'of years and experience. One oi' his titbits for the "subs" :—"I: — "I like iho 'subs,' they've saved my life over and over i again. . . The moment a man really doesn't care whether hie etory is printed or cut to shreds he's no good in a, newspaper office." Then take the poliehed, urbano Wratten, a big-salaried "epecial," unemotional in his office, but true under the surface (he is about to I^s married) :—"I: — "I tnink marriage is the beet, thing for v«. We want something ♦r> liiimeni** our lives. 4 , By Ood"' Q.j*iu, *hj ism'.&ftllfiL* 1 Klvtt if* j&*

most beautiful snd loyal women in the world. '' Wratten and Quain are on their way to "do M a mining disaster, black, tragic, and murderous. The young journalist, who considers sentiment would assist to better work, is corrected thus : "It makes you maudlin. Remember, you're no one. You don't exist. You're just a reporter, who's got to hustle^ round. 'The Day' ain't interested in your sensations, it want* the etory." Ferrol, the newspaper director, has his own ideas of marriage. Quain (arguing for his own marriage) hazards that the ,wife of a. reporter would keep the husband straight. Ferrol's comment ; "Y<>«, I know. I've heard it all before. The man who needs a woman to keep him straight is only half a man." Who are right— the Wrattenfi or the Ferrols ? Quain, under Mr. Courlander's hand, rises to the position of Paris correspondent of his paper. The author sketches picturesquely and vividly his scenery, if he paints shadows more effectively than sunehine. His story of the mining disaster is Artistically done, and glimpses of newspaper life in London and Paris are made to live. Some of the types are conventionally idealistic— Pride, Wratten, anfl Ferrol, for inetance^and the women are not very consistent, but Mr. Courlander in this work has touched high-Water mark. Its philosophy will be greeted by many pressmen as an old friend.