BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

Evening Star, Issue 17691, 18 June 1921, Page 12

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

VERSES. MOON-MOTH. Beyond the sun, beside a crystal sea She rules her isle of lapis lazuli. Her palaces of marble, agate, jade Hose like a sheaf of savage flowers and laid A splendor on the waves that only night could fade. And for her nameless sins and cruelties, Murders of love-mad men and lusts and lies, Her sentence fell and she was swept away From flaming pomps and crimes and royal sway. Hurled from the joy of life, rapt from the light of day. Yet being fairest and loveliest Of any in a woman’s body drest, Fate banished not her beauty from the earth, Only her evil happiness and mirth And left her living, dead, doomed to eternal dearth. Invisible thus, but when returning night Drowns with a purple torrent all the light, She rises woman high and spreads her wing, A rare, unparagoned, unearthly thing _ Beyoncl the dream of joy, or grief’s imagining. Her body, like the heart of a white rose, Shines in the petals of-her wings and glows, Her pinions—azure, lilac, marigold— Wide on the dark deliciously unfold As any rainbow bright, as any glacier cold. —Edev Phillpotts. A BUSH VISITOR. For the guest the best, For the host no matter— One knife, one fork, One cup, one platter > Damper and mutton— All that you need. “ Cut in and cut on, Have a • good feed! ” No time to wipe Platter and cup—- “ Fill up your pipe'; The dog washes up.” Pipes drawing well, Yarns turn about— Bush-fires and floods Sheep-dogs and drought. The fire burns low, Snakes, how they snore— Guest on the bunk, Host on the floor. —Two Seas. NOTES ON NOVELS. ‘The Purple Heights.’ By Mario Conway Oember. Forwarded by the Otago Bible, Tract, and Book Society, Princes street, Dunedin. This book is by the authoress of ‘The Butterfly Man,’ and from that fact it is bound to bo widely read. But many of those who enjoyed ‘The Butterfly Man’ will no doubt take up ‘The Purple Heights ’ with a certain amount of reserve, for it is by no means uncommon experience to find that a writer who produces a good book at the first serious effort fails badly when an attempt is made to repeat the achievement. The phenomenon of the “one-book writer” has caused disappointment on many occasions. An assurance, however, can be given in this 1 case, for from the point of craftsmanship ‘The Purple Heightsshows a distinct advance on the earlier work of the authoress. There is in this book less about the call of the wild and the “ little people ” who live therein; but the authoress does not by any means repress her ruling passion—her love for the shv, wild things of the forest and certain treeshaded and bird-haunted spots in South Carolina. But the chief interest lies in the development and unfolding of the characters of certain members of the human family to whom we are introduced. The first and the chief is Peter —Peter Devereanx Champneys, the last of a line whose glory had departed. Ho lived with his mother in poverty in a small Carolina town. “Behold small Peter, then, the last of his name. Little, thin, dark Peter, with his knock-knees, his large ears, his shock of black hair, and, fringed by thick lashes, eyes of a hazel so clear and rare that they were golden like topazes, only more beautiful. Leo- 1 nardo would have loved to paint Peter’s quiet face, with its shy, secret smile, and eyes that were the color of genius. Riverton thought him a homely child. He was so quiet and reticent that nearly everybody except his mother and Emma Campbell thought him deficient in promise, and some even considered him wanting.” Peter was not a success in the school nor with his schoolfellows. Ho would so much have liked to play with the familiarly, with the pretty, impertinent, pigtailed little girls, the bright, noisy, cocksure little boys;‘but he didn’t know how to set about it, and they didn’t encourage him to try. Being a loving child, he fell back upon the lessor creatures, and discovered that the Little Brothers do not judge one on hearsay, or clothes, or personal appearance. Theirs _is the infallible test: one must he kind if one wishes to gain and to hold their love. Peter is a steadfast soul. His drawing of a red admiral butterfly attracts the attention of a visiing artist, and she places him at the beginning of the right track. The timely appearance of a rich uncle gives him the opportunity to follow the track, and his artistic abilities are thus afforded scope. The rich uncle, after discovering Peter, goes in search of his dead wife’s niece. He finds her, a Cinderella in a boardinghouse in a Middle Western town. She answers his knock, and ho is greeted thus: “If it’s a Bible, we got one. If it’s sewin’ machines, we ain’t, but don’t. If it’s savin’ our souls, wo belong to church regular, an’ ain’t interested. If it’s explainin’ God, nothin’ doin’! An’ if it is tack-pullers, with nail files an’ corkscrews on 'em, you can save your breath.” She was a very young girl, n very hot, tired, perspiring, and sullen girl fresh from a broiling kitchen ami a red-hot stove. Chadwick Champneys had planned that Peter and she shall marry in order that they may together have the benefit of his millions. The developments are very entertaining, for Peter is shy, aloof, and independent, and this girl, with her rod hair and grey-green eyes, is equally independent. One of the features of the book is the way in which the life of the Southern negro is described—the pathos, the humor, the kindness and loyalty, the savagery and superstition, the brute sloth and ignorance, all curiously mixed, but understood and dealt with tenderly by the authoress. Emma Campbell, who was an occasional help to Peter’s mother, and a negress of the old school, is perhaps the most entertaining character in the book. ‘The Lost Valley.’ By J. M. Walsh. From tho C. J. De Garis Publishing House, Melbourne. Two bushrangers stuck up and robbed a cowardly escort in Northern Victoria, ran into the mountains, planted the gold in a small valley which they found by | accidentally tumbling into it, then quarrelled, and one murdered tho other, tho survivor losing his life by blundering into a police camp. That is the foundation of the story told by Mr Walsh. _ He elaborates it in a style that reminds one ot Wilkie Collins’s methods. _ The murdered man, who by tho way did not die, but made a physical recovery', suffering only from the derangement of memory, joins a party that is organised to search for the stolen gold, and, after this party has failed, another party, accompanied by the bushranger's son, sets out on tho task and discovers tho treasure. Tho development of the plot is peculiarly reminiscent of Collins in more ways than one, peculiarly so in the grouping of incidents so as to preserve sequence, as in ‘The Woman in White’—a method that is of distinct advantage to the reader when myriads of details, all eventually of importance, have to bo kept the run of. The tale, though purely about Australia, is not hi vested with the Australian color. With the necessary word changes it would stand for

A LITERARY CORNER.

a story of California or New Zealand. Australian critics may consider this a weakness on (he part of the author. If they do, let somebody point out that by way of compensation .Mr Walsh can analyse minds and pry into the springs of purpose. Few modern writers of fiction can so well explore motives ns' Mr Walsh does in this hook. This power gives him a great advantage in tho narration of adventure, ‘ Tho Lost Valley ’ is distinctly readable, and if is not astonishing to learn that it is a prize novel. LITERARY GUESSING COMPETITION. Tho following are the answers to tho questions published in this column last week : (1) Sir Bedivere, ‘ Morto d’Arthur ’ (Malory). (2) Mark , Taploy, ‘Martin Chuzzlewit ’ (Dickens). (3) Philip Morvillo, ‘Heir of Redclyffo’ (C. Yonge). (4) Rose. 1 Romeo and Juliet ’ (Shakespeare). (5) Tho While Knight, ‘Through the Looking Glass ’ (Carroll). (6) Ellen, ‘Lady of tho Lake’ (Scott). (7) Walrus and Carpenter, ‘Through the Looking Glass’ (Carroll), (8) Priscilla, ‘ Courtship of Miles Standish’ (Longfellow). (9) Syrens, ‘ Odyssey ’ (Homer). (10) The White Knight, “Through the Looking Glass’ (Carroll). (11) Electra, * Choephorae ’ (iEschylus). (12) Blessed Damozel, ‘ Blessed Damozel ’ (Rossetti). (15) Sir Ralph Rover, ‘ Inchcapo Rock’ (Southey). (14) Tho Rabbit, ‘Alice in Wonderland’ (Carroll). (15) Bctsinda. ‘Rose and the Ring’ (Thackeray). (16) Robinson Crusoe, ‘ Robinson Crusoe ’ (Defoe), (17) Tarzan, ‘ Tarzan of the Apes’ (Rice Burroughs). (18) Cocksmcor, 'Daisy Chain’ (C. Yonge). (19) Elaine, ‘ Idylls of the King ’ (Tennyson). (20) Old Weller. ‘Pickwick’ (Dickens), (21) Romilly, ‘ Boy of Egremont ’ (Wordsworth). (22) Agamemnon, ‘Agamemnon’ (zEschylus). (23) Oliver Twist, ‘Oliver Twist’ (Dickens). (24) Lady Macbeth, * Macbeth ’ (Shakespeare). (25) Scarlet Pimpernel, ‘ Scarlet Pimpernel’ (Baroness Orczy. (26) Angels of Hope, ‘ Purgatorio ’ (Dante). (27) Vicar of Wakefield, ‘Vicar of Wakefield’ (Goldsmith). Friends of the late John Burroughs met at the American Museum of Natural History recently to form the John Burroughs (Memorial Association. The chief object of tho association will be tho acquisition and preservation of Slabsides, Woodchuck Lodge, Memorial Field, and portions of Riverfay, the places most closely associated with the writings of the poet-naturalist. It was agreed that the plan should have national scope. (Mr Philip Guedalla has written a book called ‘ Supers and Supermen ; Studies in Politics, History, and Letters.’ Of Nelson and Lady Hamilton Mr Guedalla says: Tho trouble with Lady Hamilton is that Nelson left her to the nation when ho ought to have left her to Sir William Hamilton. Perhaps it was because the nation, is the normal legatee of pictures; and Emma was in herself the collected works ot Romney. She insisted for recognition, like any trade union, and having learnt heroics’in the kitchen, she saw the dramatic value of her position as Nelson’s quasi-widow, and was indisposed to sit like Patience on the Nelson Monument. Tho results were seen in her ten years’ tragedy between Trafalgar and Waterloo. She learned to spell late in life ; but even as Ambassadress she wrote : “ The King (of Naples) and me sang duetts 5 hours.”

Turning to the life of Lord Kitchener, Mr Guedalla writes: By a queernees of which only Englishmen are capable, Lord Kitchener's war sendee has become a subject of controversy. One of our Ciceros, in his anxiety to exhibit himself as the only authorised saviour of the State, has his doubts. One of our conquerors, whose pen, since ho exchanged G.H.Q. for the Vice-Regal Lodge, is unquestionably mightier than his sword, has his misgivings. And what remains? The record of a man who built broad and deep in tho first month;, and smaller men took tho fame of it in tho last; who "stamped with his foot upon tho ground and men in ranks roso out of it. His achievement is of the order of deeds which men write upon stone. But they do not argue about them. Tho British Museum has just acquired a unique copy ot the poetical works of Andrew Marvel!. It was printed in 1681, and is the only copy containing the five pages of Marvell’s poem on Cromwell’s death. This and another recently discovered are the only copies containing the Horatian Ode on Cromwell’s return from Ireland, with its splendid lines on the execution of Charles I.:

Ho nothing common did or mean Upon the memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try. When those responsible for printing Marvell’s works were engaged in doing so they included among them three pieces on Cromwell, and when they were in the middle of printing the third of these three pieces—the one'on Cromwell’s death—they became frightened of tho censorship, and cancelled the five pages which they had printed of that poem. As the sheets which contained tho other two odes had already been printed they had no alternative but to cut thorn out.

Some famous manuscripts have lately changed hands, according to ‘ Book Brices Current.’ Lamb’s ‘Essay on Roast Pig’ was sold in Philadelphia in January, 1920, for a round £2,500. Shelley’s ‘ Julian and Maddalo,’ written on twenty-seven pages of paper (“the most important manuscript by Shelley over offered”), was sold for 15,250 dollars. For ‘The Spectacles’ in tho autograph of the author, Edgar Allan Poe, a manuscript given by him to Richard Hengist (“Orion”) Horne, over 9,000 dollars was paid. Most people regard “ clout,” meaning put out, or extinguish, as a slang word; but tho ‘Saturday Review’ recently found it in Shakespeare, and mentioned also that it was.in tho Warwickshire dialect to-day. It is found also in several other county dialects. A correspondent of tho ‘Saturday Review’ expresses regret at its disappearance from English speech generally, and there is really something to be said for its restoration. “ Dout,’ to put out, is surely as good a word as “doff,” to put. off. Chari a and Windus’s slang dictionary has this item,: “Dowse, to put out: ‘dowse that glim,’ put out that candle. In Norfolk this expression is ‘dout,’ which is clearly for ‘do out.’” Miss Rosaline Masson, in the ‘Cornhill Magazine,’ describes a visit by Carlyle, in hk old age, to the home of her childhood: There was a letter-box on the front door at Regent terrace, with name and prefix on it. This publicity had its drawbacks, for all tho plausible fraternity in temporary straits, owing to delayed remittances, rang the bell, and asked: “ Is tho professor at home?” One day a new maidservant had been carefully instructed about this, and told that appearances were often deceitful, and that it was her duty to exercise discernment, and not to admit beggars, Next day she came to my mother with an air of indignation: “Please, ma’am, there’s a man in the hall, arid he won’t go away.” My mother went out into the hall, and there she saw a picture she never forgot. Thomas Carlyle, standing leaning on his _ stick, beside’ the pedestal which held his own bust—an uncouth figure that quite exonerated the poor maidservant; shabby and shaggy, in loose clothes and old Panama hat with black ribbon, and shoes with untied laces. “Oh, Mr Carlyle!” my mother cried, going forward with outstretched hands—for nothing could be said. And Carlyle, benign and gentle, as she always remembered

him, looked down at her with ineffable kindness and affection, fully sympathising ■with her distress, fully seeing tho whole situation, and mast carefully enjoying its humor. Emigration, which was Carlyle’s favorite remedy for social distress in. England, has survived, as ho presented it, in tho form of State ohligaton. says an artcle on *Caidean Survivals,’ in the ‘Saturday Review.’ He had a belief in the mission of the British Empire, in colonies administered by competent Governors, with whom Downing street should not be permitted to interfere. “As for the. colonies.’’ he write in 1850, “wo purpose through heaven’s blessing to retain them a while, yell Shame on us for unworthy sons of brave fathers if wo do not.” Again lie appeals to England to consider the potential utility of her colonies: ‘‘llore a.ro lands and seas, spice-lands, coin-lands, overarched with zodiacs and stare, clasped by many sounding seas; wide spaces of the Maker's building, lit for the cradle yet I of mighty nations and their sciences and heroisms.” What docs the plain, everyday person want in his books? asks the ' New York Post.’ Be wants ‘‘good English,’’ not shimmering experiments with rare words; nor daring combinations of da uses that explode into dashes and dots. Not long words solemnly arranged-—ho has long since outgrown respect for that kind of pedantry. Not. by any means, halting, impel'.'ct sentences, with bad grammar in them, nor sloppy writing that means two things at once. These last are piocucly what, he dees not want, lie desires good English, and lie does not have to ho a stylist in cider to know when he gets it. He also wants life as it is, or life as he would like to have it. For the proposed purchase of the Brent Valley Bird Sand nary as a memorial to Gilbert White, author of ‘The Natural History of Selborne,’ £7,752 has been raked. Charles Haddon Spurgeon, according to his latest biographer, the Rev. W. Y. Fullerton, courted his wife with the aid of Tapper's ‘Proverbial .Philosophy. ’ Ho. marked some Hues upon a good wife, and handed the book to his future, wife as she sat beside him on the platfoim when the Crystal Palace was opened. So began their wooing. Mr Fullerton's sense of humor deserts him when ho writes that “on August 2, 1854, in her grandfather’s garden, they gave themselves to each other, she with her adoring heart and sweet face framed in the curls that fell on each side of it ; ho with his clear eye, swift brain, high collar, while tie, and protruding tooth.” One imagines that tho adoring heart accepted the young 1 Spurgeon in spite of the dental recommendation. ) “Byron’s grandson,.Wentworth, put mo! up for a fortnight at his house on tho . Chelsea Embankment,” writes Mr W. 11. Mallock in ‘ Harper’s Magazine.’ and dur- ; ing the visit an incident took place that, i if merely judged bv tho names of the few I persons concerned in it. might be thought ‘ picturesquely memorable. “Students of ; Robert Browning may recollect a short I poem of his that begins with tho follow- j ing lines: — j Ah. did yon once sec Shelley plain, j And did he stop and speak to yon, And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems and new! ! “ My own answer would bo I did not i : 'c Shelley plain, but I did the next thing to it. Sir Percy and Lady She'ky—the poet’s son and his daughter-in-law—were Wentworth’s neighbors, though Wentworth had never met either of them. Lady Shelley had been an old friend of my mother’s, and I took Wentworth one day to tea with her. To the wife of Shelley's son I introduced Byron's grandson. Lady Shelley said some pleasant things to me about my mother; wo all then lamented the prevalence of the east wind. Having recommended her crumpets. Lady Shelley discussed with Wentworth some houses that were being built in tho neighborhood. At this point tho drawing room door opened, and the son of the author of ‘Prometheus Unbound’ entered. He was a fresh-looking country gentleman, whose passion was private theatricals. Close to Ids own house he had built a little private theatre, and the conversation turned on whether a license would be necessary if the public were admitted by payment to witness the performance of a farce in the interest of some deserving charity.” One of the most popular songs in the world is ‘The Old Folks at Home.’ Its author is Stephen Collins Foster. In all, says the ‘ Mentor,’ of New York, he wrote some 170 songs, including ‘ Old Kentucky Home, ' Old Black Joe,’ and ‘ Old Uncle Ned.’ Morrison Foster, Stephen’s brother, says that Stephen, when' ho had written out the song, was displeased with tho name of the river given in tho second verse. In the original tho verse runs: Way down upon, do Pcdee Biver, Far, far away;

Dcrc’s wha my heart is turning ebber, Derc’s wha my brudders play. He consulted his brother as to a better name for the river. “Well, lot’s consult an atlas,” said Morrison. On a map of Florida, down at the tip, they found a little river enlied “Swance.” “That's it, that’s it exactly,” cried Stephen. Within a few years of the publication of the song over half a million copies were sold. Travellers in remote parts of Asia and Africa report having heard native tribesmen singing their own words to Foster’s emotional melody. Christy, the famous minstrel, was the first to sing tho ballad, and willingly paid £IOO for the privilege. Stephen Foster’s life was tragic. His first two songs ho gave away to a friend, who made 10,000dol out of them. Marrying in 1850, his life was extremely unhappy. Ho eventually went to New York, and became a vagabond, friendless and drunken. He died in a public ward at the Bellevue Hospital, New York, and is entered on the records as a “laborer.” Eleven years before the death nf John Payne, poet, the John Payne Society was formed, and it flourishes to-day. Mr Thomas Wright was tho close friend of Payne. Ho wrote a biography of Payne last year, and now he has piloted through the Press a volume of Payne’s posthumous poems called ‘ Tho Way of the Winepress,’ which is issued by the John Payne Society. Although Payne is known chiefly as the translator of Persian and Arabic literature and ot the work of Aillnn, he had an individual genius of his own. lie wrote passionately of love, and never, it seems, did he forgot his affection for Mrs Smee, who is described as a very beautiful woman, when he was a young man. Sire died, aged thirty-four, in 1879, and his loss appears to have inspired some of his finest poems. Wo quote from ‘Love ami Love’ in ‘The Way of tho Winepress’: We were lovers; indeed, in our day wo loved because we must, Because of tho heat in our hearts that soared to the skies like a spire And lifted our lives from the swamp, our souls from the mist and the mire. For love and the world well lost we lived. You may style it lust;, But the lusts of the soul and the sense combine in a birth august, To gender a joy divine, a flame like a flower of fire, That dries up the dross of the flesh with the blaze of its bright desire. . . . Whilst youth in our hearts was hot we poured out our lives like wine At the altars of Love and Spring; and now that the fiery flood No longer beats in our brain, no longer boils in our blood, The love that wo lit with sense burns bright at the spirit’s shrine. “ I was in my state room,” says Mr Chesterton, “outside New York Harbor, when I heard a gentle knock at tho door. I opened, to find a pleasant young lady with a business-like notebook and pencil in-her hand. ‘Mr Chesterton,’ she said abruptly, ‘what do you think of New York’s crime wave?’ That was the first I’d heard of it. ‘ Have they a crime wave?’ said I. ‘Ah, yes,’ said she. ‘l’m from tho New York “ and I must have your opinion on our crime wave for tho afternoon edition of my paper. There has been the steadiest influx of strange criminals into New York.’ ‘Ah,’ said I. ‘ I understand now. It’s undoubtedly clue to tho increase in visiting English men of letters.’ Whereupon she vanished, making hasty notes. I fancy she must have been an excellent swimmer.” —New York ‘ Bookman,,’