BOOKS AND BOOKMEN.

Evening Star, Issue 13002, 22 December 1906, Page 4

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN.

•The Ring of Day.’ By Mary Butler. London : Hutchinson and Co. Dunodin : Whltcombe and Tombs. A publisher’s note—and wo may remark fa passing that it is out of publishers notes that many literary columns are built up and many literary reputations created—to tho above advises that “this book constitutes the first attempt to treat the Gaelic Revival (in Ireland) from an inside point of view. . • ‘ Miss Butler is intimately connected with tho movement, and is well known as a writer on Irish questions in Ireland and America.” Tho intimation has the advantage over similar forewords in being commendably brief. No one bat an Irishwoman with a passion for her country could have written ‘The Ring of Day.’, From the first page to the last there are a fervor, an intensity, and an enthusiasm that easily differentiate themselves from these of a man by virtue of their sympathetic tenderness, their vagueness, and their disregard for the strictly utilitarian. We are asked to regard the gifted Eoin O’Garo as the soul of Ireland personified, as the martyr to her cause, as one who literally kills himself in her sendee, whose work for her is so exhausting that body and brain give way, that no victim of Penal Laws was a more poignant sufferer than this twentieth century journalist, and that bv his life and work and death at the ago of three or four and twenty all Ireland is glorified, and the dawn of the better,' newer day brought perceptibly nearer. This is Miss Butler s constantly implied or iterated faith; it permeates each page, and is expressed eloquently. sincerely, and unfalteringly. And yet a calm examination of the foundation on which this pageant of concentrated patriotism is displayed reveals no thing more than a lawyer’s clerk who lives hi an attic in a back street, and in addition to writing letters and articles to the Uot-leading dailies founds classes for and teaches Gaelic. O'Gara, in short, may be all Miss Butler says he is. and he may have worked hirasolf to death for the cause of nationhood, but we cannot detect the evidence on which these claims rest. O'Gara is not a politician, nor a Home Euler in active harness, nor a stump orator, nor a fighter in secret caucus and at open elections—Homo Rule and politics are barely more than hinted at—but according to his creator he is tho power in the land, the leader in tho great battle, the man of the future, the maker of a nation. Tho Parnells and Redmonds and Davitts and O'Briens and Butts and Sextons—the workers and fighters—arc seemingly of no account compared with the young man who reads essays on and gives lessons in a dead tongue to a few score clerks, artisans, and tradesfolk. We think the attempt to ’build so stately an

.• lii;- ' on s‘i frail a pediment is unconvincing. whilst it detracts somewhat from an i thorwiso admirable and finely-drawn presentation of the cause of Ireland. We cannot believe that a return to Gaelic, or the writing of Gaelic poetry, or the .acting of Gaelic plays, will either regenerate cr recreate the Irish nation any more than wc can believe that a return to Anglo. saacn and Gammer-Gnrton’s Needle and Ralph Roister-Doister would ’•deem the myriads of England’s slnms. The need of our day is not so much a return to. old barriers of speech as a revivi 1 of the old spirit that inspired the users of that speech. Tha trend of the ego is towards universal!!v in language, (he removal of racial restrictions, and the evolution of the soul of a world-at-one. nut a world-in-elans. However, .while we question the wisdom of unduly emphasising the benefits which it is assumed must follcw the spread of the Gaelic movement, there will net perhaps be two opinions on the moral beauty, the spirituaA tone, ti*e rev«rent love- iHat ciaarocterise. the writer’s elaboration of ber theme. If we can forget that Eoin O’Cara is a plain young fellow, dressed in ill-fitting clothes, who sits hunched up in a hidy’s drawing-room with two days' mud on his boots, and if we can believe that Beatrice Burke, the pure, the clever, the fashionable, the richly-dressed, the beautiful, can love with an intense physical as well as spiritual love such a one, then wc got over all initial difficulties. We then see without dubiety that it was inevitable that high and lowly, rich and poor, beautiful arid homely, should unite in the common cause of Ireland. Though two in body, Beatrice and Is in are one in sou!; theirs is the far-seeing mind that leans across the barriers of convention to coalesce on the other side and command the advance guard of the nation that is to be. Of necessity the religious element enters largely into the lives of people so constituted, and we have rarely met a book in which the spiritual phase of oar common faith is so persistent in its presence. yet so unobtrusive in its effect. Catholicism as it is. not as satirists and lampoonists and bigots depict it, pervades every scene, every character,, and ?verv detail. Religion is the essence of all bring: il broods like mother's lovo over all her children from the dawn to the (lese of life. What Ireland is—loyal, simple, patient, loving—she is by virtue of her faith—a faith that trusts and hones pad believes, and is steadfast. And in ■ The Ring of Day’ we are in communion with this abiding undercurrent of Irish life and thought. We perceive the unassailable natnre of the rock on which all patriotism and aspirations and ideals are based, and possibly we wonder why men should wish or how they cap hope to still the cry of this people to be a nation within a nation. “ Whoever asks what is the secret of Ireland’s heart, which hones when all seems hopeless, which believes when all seems doubtful, which loves and remembers when all others would have grown cold and forgetful, should come and kneel beside those kneeling figures, should listen to the whisper of the invisible angel who is there, remembering, too. that the name of the angel of Ireland is Victory.” From tho standpoint of a story, ‘ The Ring of Day’ has merits of its own. Interest is maintained without effort, and the many excellent characters, molo and female, lav and clerical, are delicately and appreciatively sketched, whilst the fnll-length portraits of Beatrice. Eoin. and George. Eyre will command many admirers, alike for their artistic and human merits.

'Out of the Running.’ By Alice and Claude Askr.ir. Txin'lnn: CeoTge Bell and Sons- Dunedin: Wbitcombc and Tombs.

A racing novel of average merit, introducing the time-lionorcd characters, will stiff:CO as a rough-and-rendv but approximately just estimate of ‘Out of tbo Running.’* We have the wealthy sportsman who is bard pressed for money, the handsome villain, the clever jockov, the honest trainer, the beautiful and bad woman, the lovely and good woman, and the usual episodes of “ doped ” horses, “ sold ” races, burning stables, heroic rescues, faithful but pert low-class maidens, and so on. These blended agreeably enough, and to any who can truthfully say they nave nothing better to do with their time the book may prove cot altogether unprofitable.

Trank Brown: Sea Apprentice.’ Bv Frank BuDen. London: George Bell and Sons. Dunedin: Whit-combo and Tombs.

Mr Bnllen needs no introduction to a Dunedin audience. His picturesque, dramatic, and entertaining lectures are fresh In memoir, and his books are familiar to a fairlv large circle. We are apt, perhaps, to scan the quality of his work more critically than we did in an earlier day, as concurrently with an increase in the quantity there have been premonitions of de lerioration in manner and style. Mr Bullen has told ns franldy that he writes for a living; that the basis of his inspiration is the desire to make money. Nor is there anything ignoble in his confession; hi* object S as laudable as it is legitimate; but it explains possibly the bounty of his output, the apparent carelessness of his composition, and the frequency of his repetitions. W© are certain Mr Bullen has told the storv of the San Francisco ruffians *ho, at the pistol’s month, forced a. whole trew to abandon their ship, at least three times in three different books. It is capital story, and it happens to be true in every particular; still, the general reader drmt want it served up more than once.

Also, liad Mr Bullen read over his proof sheets he would, (we think, havo rewritten several of his sentences. The clauses hang loosely together, being strung on to each other like sausages, without .regard to beginning or end.. The explanation is that Mr Bullen is trying to do too much. He was correspondent for a London newspaper, ‘delivering' popular lectures, and writing a book at ono and tho same time, and the hook had to suffer. As a tale ‘ Fraiijc Brown’ will pass muster. It is really a series of actual happenings disguised under fictitious names,, held together by the. introduction of a young lad_ whose parents have granted his urgent wish and let him go to sea. Frank's life aboard ship, particularly his first day or two, is plainly but hrieflv described. Mr Bullen knows whereof he speaks, and he portrays the disgusting and repellent as well ns the exhilarating and attractive aspects of life in the merchant service. Why captains and officers and men should ocas© to have clean mouths and humane feelings as soon as tbeir ship is free of the land we do ret know,.but seemingly foul talk and brutish ways and a form of eating little removed from animalism arc inevitable at sea. That, there arc compensations in tho seafaring life, that fine qualities of heart and mind are brought out, that, tho service as a whole is a credit to the nation, wc do not doubt, and wo are fain to hope that the callous indifference to the finer instincts to ■n hich writers on the sea and ships so often refer is largelv true only of tho past. Strictness, order, and discipline arc not necessarily dependent on filth, cruelty, and savagery. However, to those who have a longing for the sea Mr Bullen presents a plain, unvarnished, and far from wholly unattractive tale.

Ladv Betty Balfour, in her “Personal and Literary Letters of Robert, First Earl of Lytton,”' gives her father’s opinion of Alexander Dumas fils as follows:—“ Witty, talkative, and full of repartee, but he too ostentatiously treats literature as a trade, and art as a trick. In his hands it is no doubt a trick of which he has made himself master, but that is why his art, in spite of his cleverness, is not only repulsive from its utter lack of elevation, but also, mo judice. essentially second-rate hi an sesthetie point of view. I lie man is interesting to study, however, as a representative tvpe of the literary tendencies and tastes of the age, not- only in France, but generally elsewhere. I he cultivation of realism, based on the fallacy that real ism .is truth; the practical subordination M every literary effort and purpose to ine satisfaction rather of the public taste and humor than of the internal necessities of one’s own genius (a point of view imposed on successful authors by tho inevitable, character of their relations with tho modern public, and which was, I think, so far as thev felt its influence, injurious both to mv'father and-Dickens) and therewithal a certain coarseness of intellectual fibre which accompanies an authors conviction that literary effect is the result of a mechanical trick which he has thoroughly mastered: all these ‘elements of success in literature’ Dumas represents in tho highest degree, just as Bismarck represents^the elements of success in modern politics. ’ 'that Shakespeare’s classical knowledge was not that of a first-rate scholar like Ron Jonson or Francis Bacon, any one fsavs a writer in the ‘ CornhiH’) may too for himself who will take np the Roman plays. Tho marvellous success of those plays in reproducing the ancient Roman spirit- is duo entirely to tho vigor of the poet’s imagination, working upon the material supplied in ‘ Plutarch's Lives,’ which he read in Sir Thomas North’s translation. Rut where North blunders Shakespeare blunders: bo made no attempt to go behind his crib, and ho blunders whore North docs not blunder, through ignorance of Roman constitutional history, confusing the functions of tribune and printer. If auvono us tempted to think that it is class,rai knowledge, and not in-iagin-at 1011. that is responsible for tho success ot - hahespeare’s Roman plays, let him (urn io Ren Jonson’s ‘ Sojanus ’ and Catiline. e\or\ line, almost, of which is supported by references to authorities, tvnd then consult the verdict of tlio playgoers of the period. Hero is ono by an Oxford scholar, Leonard Digges ; So have I scene w-hen Ctesar would appeared— And on the stage at half-sword parley were Brutus and Cassius—oh, bow the audience IVcrc ravish'd ! with what wonder they went thence: When some new day they would not brooxc a line , Of tedious (though well labor’d) Catiline ; Sojanns. too, was irksome. John Ruskin is the subject of an article catled ‘Ruskin and Girlhood.’ by L. .-Vilen Harkcr, one of Buskin’s child friends, in the November ‘Scribner.’ "Days at Brantwood,” she says, “ went by on winged feet, for the host "could never do enough to promote the happiness of his guests, and was practically at their service all day long. He rose at six, and had got through most of tho business of tho day bv the time ho.met his guests at breakfast at ten o’clock. With breakfast came the post-bag, most weighty proof of tho penalties of greatness. The number of parcels, to say nothing of letters, from all sorts of people was truly fatiguing to contemplate. Sketches) whole galleries of them: poems—how we groaned under the poems! Manuscripts awaiting criticism (our host might have been the editor of a popular magazine), and letters, some admirative, some remonstrating, not to sayimpertinent (I remember one beginning : ‘ Dear but- Peppery Mr Ruskin,’ from some familiar unknown)’, upon every conceivable and inconceivable topic. T lie known handwritings were speedily sorted out, and a certain pretty ritual was gone . through every morning. One letter was always cagerlv sought for and read first, that from the * j’oanic ’ of * Prmtcrita.’ lam quitesure that ho could not havo got through Ids dav had that loved letter gone amissing. From the time that sho came to his mother in their home at- Denmark Hill, a girl of seventeen, her tenderness and devotion never failed him. All such as were admitted to intimate intercourse with Mr Ruskin could not fail to know how his ‘more than daughter’ stood between him and everv preventable distress with teuderost and most discriminating affection. It is quite impossible to over-estimate the value to him of this beautiful, unchanging, filial love.” The London County Conncil have this vear marked the undermentioned. houses "where famous men and women were born, died, or resided ;—lO Upper Cheync row, Chelsea, Leigh Hunt; 14 Doughty street, Sydney Smith ; 76 Charlotte street, Fitzroy square, John Constable ; 1 ft Young street, Kensington, William Mtftopcace Thackeray; 38 Charlotte street (now 110 Hallam street, Portland mace), Dante Gabriel Rossetti : 31 Wimbledon Park road. Wandsworth. George Eliot; 3t Suffolk street. Rail Mall, Richard Cobdea. When the late Cecil Rhodes expected to be imprisoned over the I laid ho said : “ I shall go to the Tower before being arrested, sit calmly down in the cell in which Raleigh spent his long years of imprisonment, think over what that gallant spirit suffered: then, when my own turn comes, go to Holloway Gaol, to enter upon a definite course of reading.” Ho had liis library ready. Rhodes showed it to Lord Ronald Gower, till packed up in boxes at his liotcl. There were eightyone volumes, translations from classic authors, mostly histories. Among them were seven volumes of Galba, Olbo, and Vitellius; seven of Vespasian, three of Titus, six of Domitian, four of Nerva, seven of Trajan, ten of Hadrian, seven of Antoninus, seven of Marcus Aurelius, two of Commodus, two of ‘ Courtesans of Greece and Rome,’ two of ‘ Rome and the Empire,’ nine of tho ‘Private Life of the Romans,’ four of Cagnot’s ‘Roman Army in Africa,’ one of Nero, one of the ‘Laws of Lucian,’ and Ogilyy’s ‘Africa. For his library. Lord Ronald Gower tells us, Mr Rhodes pa’d Messrs Hurst and Blackett the sum of £2,000. Mr Frank Orossloy writes to the ‘Daily Nows’ as under: —‘"‘Having read the corresfiondence in your columns as to the origin of the took ‘ John Halifax,’ I thought vour readers might bo interested to know what I believe is The correct version—namely, that the story is founded on the life of John Croesley, of Halifax, in Yorkshire. Having as a boy lived in Halifax, I there learned tho history of tho book, which was that tho authoress, when staying at tho house of John Crosslcy in fais wosnerous days, learned from his own

lips the deeply interesting story of his early life, and was able to see in the town itself the proofs of his generous character. His wife also was reported to have said : ‘ If God should prosper us, tho poor shall taste of it.’ The town of Halifax can testify to tho way in which they and their children carried out this promise. John Crdssley was the father of Sir Frank Crossley, who was M.P. for Halifax up to the time of his death in 1872, and grandfather of the present Sir Savilo. This account of the origin of tho book was further oon,firmed by tho lato Charlotte M. Yongo ‘whom I" knew personally), as when Mrs Craik, the writer of ‘ John Halifax,’ stayed at her house, sho gave Miss Yongo tho same version.”

Mr George. Lawrence, whose name _is mentioned as likely to succeed Mr Justice Parker as Junior Equity Counsel to the Treasury, is the son-in-law of Lord Davev. Mr Lawrence ;is named (says the ‘Daily '■lews ’) after his father, who was the ■ithor of a story, ‘Guy Livingstone,’

■ Inch had considerable popularity more than thirty years ago. Tho late Mr Lawrence was a barrister, who abandoned the I".w for literature. In 1857 he published ‘Guy Livingstone, or Thorough,’ "id two years later ‘ Sword and Gown.’ Mr Lawrence had prepared for the latter book by going to tho United States to join the Confederate troops. But ho. was taken a prisoner, and only released on condition that he returned to England. In his story ‘ Border and Bastile ’ be gave a graphic accxmnt of his adventures.