BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

Evening Star, Issue 17697, 25 June 1921, Page 10

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

VERSES. SHAMROCKS. I wear a shamrock in my heart; Three in one, one in three— Truth and love and faith, , Tears and pain and death; 0 sweet my shamrock is to me 1 Lay mo in my hollow bed, Grow the shamrocks over me, Three in one, one in three— Faith and hope and charity, Peace and rest and silence be With mo where you lay my head; 0 dear the shamrocks are to me 1 —Rosa Mulholland. THE WINDS THAT WALK. The winds that walk among the trees Come lonely from the hill; They bear the breathings of the leaves. They gather odors into sheaves And leave them at my sill Whore, in the pale green light of dawn, 1 stand to watch the stars Go behind the arching day, And the High Moud-wara That crowd and ■rush in wrath of gray Or whits, like an old man wom, Under the hard moon’s wrinkled face, Pale with an »ociont acorn. —Anthony Praya, in the ‘New Witness,’ London. 8 THE ROYAL TOUR; -‘The Prince of Wales’s Book.’ Published by Messrs Hodder and Stoughton, London, for St. Dunstan’s. Photogravures by the Sun Engraving Company, London. That its sale is for the benefit of the soldiers and sailors of .the Empire who lost their sight in the Great War should bo a suffisient recommendation for the purchase of a book published for this worthy purpose. Often books published for similar purposes have not’ much to recommend them in their own merits, but in the case of the ‘ Prince of Wales's Book ’ the publication in itself la well worth buying. Besides giving a brief and entertaining account of both the Canadian and the Australasian tours, the book has several hundred photographs of the varied experiences of the Prince, who is seen in all sorts of dress and surroundings. The title page of the book states that it is “ a pictorial record of the voyage of H.M.S. Renown.” But it is far more than this. Splendid photographs of receptions in many lands give as fine a. connected account of the tours of the Prince as any word picture could do. The wonderful ovations which the Prince received, not only in British countries, but also in the United States, axe a splendid testimony to his popularity. The book itself being possessed of much merit, a few remarks on the object for which it is being sold should not be out of place. The establishment of St. Dnnstan’s hostel, towards which the proceeds of the sale of the book are to be devoted, was due in the first instance to Sir Arthur Pearson, with whom a large staff has worked with untiring devotion since 1915. The house and grounds in which the work of St. Dunstan’s has been done it_ owes to the generosity of an American citizen, Mr Otto Kohn, Twelve thousand men have passed through St. Dunstan’s during the last five years. Five hundred are there now or about to go there very soon. These include 88 Canadians, 81 Australians, 23 New Zealanders, and 13 South Africans. St. Dunstan’s has therefore served the Dominions no less than the Old Country, and it has received most splendid tributes from all those whom it has trained. On the first page of the hook is a facsimile of an autograph message by the Prince, who states; “I hope all who can will buy this book of photographs, and will thus help mo to secure the largest possible assistance for our soldiers and sailors who were blinded in the Great War.” NOTES ON NOVELS. 1 •‘The Past Waters of Mara.’ By S. E. M. Black®. This is a simple tale of a Cornish fishing village, the authoress wrote it on the spot some years agOj but the war intervened and delayed its publication. In Cornwall in the" past the inhabitants of the towns and villages along the const always lived on the borders of tragedy. The'fishing fleet at .sea, a stormy _ night, and a-hopeless dawn have been pictured many times, with the accompaniment first of hope by the womenfolk, •which turned to despair, then resignation and patient endurance, followed by courageous endeavor by the wives ana mothers who had to carry on with the breadwinners taken from them. ‘The Past Waters of Mara’ opens with such a tragedy, and the story is built on the consequences which ensue. It is a simple tale, depicting the sorrows and the joys and the loves and bates in West Cotonby. This kind of book has many readers, so that ‘ The Past Waters of Mara ’ will probably command a ready sale. * Moon o! Israel,’ by H Rider Haggard. Forwarded by Whitcombe and Tombs. Ltd. This book will probably take a place among the list of the most popular historical romances in our language. It was first published in 1318. So keen was’ the demand that it was reprinted the same year,, and again in 1919, and now it has come out in the form of a cheap edition. ‘ Moon of Israel ’ deals with the period when the Children of Israel dwelt m the land of Egypt after the new king arose which knew not Joseph, and when the exactions and oppression by the Egyptians became well-nigh insupportable. Tne tale takes us right up to the exodus and the great drama by which it was accompanied. The book suggests that the real Pharaoh of the Exodus was not Mcneptah cx Merenplah, son of Harasses the Great, but the mysterious usurper, ilmenmescs, who for a year or two occupied the throne between the death of Mcneptah and the accession of his son, the Heir-Apparent, the gentle-natured Seti 11. This may well be, for the records of events of this period, though extensive, are very incomplete. However, Sir Rider Haggard's work is not to be considered as "merely imaginative, for the author received much help and encouragement from the director of the Cairo Museum, the late Sir Gaston Masporo; and suoh an authority would not lightly give his approval to such a venture. A PEASANT POET, Meesrs Edmund Blunden and Alan Porter have edited an edition of the poems of John Clare, a Northamptonshire peasant, whose work was popular in the twenties of last century The poems are chiefly from manuscript copies, and the editors have rescued * Song’s Eternity,’ which wa believe has not been previously published Mighty songs that miss decay; What are they? Crowds and cities pass away Lika a day. Books axe out and books are read; What are they? Team that lay them with the dead— Sigh, sigh; Trifles unto nothing wed, They die. Creamers, mark the honey bee, Mark the tree When the bluecap tootle-tee Sings a glee Song to Adam and to Eve— Here they be. When floods covered every bough Noah’s ark Heard that ballad singing now; Hark, hark, Tootle, tootle, tootle tee, Can it be, Pride and fame must shadows be? Coma and see— Every eeason own her own; Bird and bee. Sing creation’s music on; Nature’s glee Is in every mood and tone Eternity. Glare died in a lunatic asylum in 1§64,

A LITERARY CORNER.

AN " 8.L.5.” DISCO VERY,

What appears to be an authentic peem by R. L. Stevenson has tun ed up, of all places, in South Africa. The 1 Presbyterian Messenger’ there prints it as never before published, and says that it obtained it in circumstances which seem to establish a convincing pedigree. During ■the war the Rev. M. Paterson, of King William's Town, was serving as a captain in a Highland regiment, and was shown these verses in manuscript bv a comrade, who said ho had obtained them from an uncle, a solicitor, in the north of Scotland. The latter, it. appears, had been a college companion of Stevenson, and when a common friend of theirs passed away tlio novelist sent him these lines,which the recipient had never published or seen in' print. The conjecture is that Stevenson kept no copy, or else that hie copy has perished, for the pccra does not appear in the Edinburgh or the Pentlandedition of the collected works, and it will bo well to set enthusiasts searching for it. The ‘Capo Times’ adds its opinion that the- last verso especially is either good Stevenson or an excellent imitation, and it will certainly bo interesting to hear what the expert judges have to say. Though he that, ever kind and true, Kept stoutly step bv step wi;h you, Your whole long gustv lifetime through, Bo gone a while before; Yet, doubt not, soon the season shall restore Your friend to you. He has but turned a corner; still fie pushes on with right good will, Thro’ mire and marsh, by heugh and hill. Tho selfsame arduous way That von and lie through many a doubtful day Attempted still. Ha is not dead, this friend; not dead, But on some road, by mortals tread, Got some few trifling steps ahead, And nearer to the end ; So that von, too, once past the bend. Shall meet again, as face to face, this friend You fancy dead. Push gaily on, brave heart, the while Yon travel forward mile bv nilc. He loiters, with a backward smile, Till you can ovo’toko; And strains his eyes to search his wake. Or, whistling as ho sees yon through the brake, Waits on a stile. In the volume entitled ‘The Stevenson Oriaringjs,’ by Mr Blanlyrc Simpson, in a reference to Stevenson’s con red ion with tho Speculative Club, the wr ier gives a number of lines almost corresponding to the above last two verses, and to that extent the poem is not a new discovery. ROSA MULHOLLAND. DEATH OF AN IRISH NOVELIST. The death occurred recentlv in Dublin, after a long illness, of Lady Gilbert, better known as Rosa Mulholland, under which, her maiden name, she published her novels and poems. Ladv Gilbert was the second clawrhter of Joseph Mulholland,' a Belfast doctor, all of whose children had a loaning towards literature. Through the marriage of her eldest sister to Charles Russell—who was to 1)0 Attornov-Geueral and Lord Chief Justice of England, and successively Sir Charles Russell and Lord Russell of Killowen —she was brought into close tench with another family of literary tastes. Lord Russell’s brother, Father Matthew Russell, S.J., fostered a deal of the voungling poetry and prose of modem Ireland °in his magazine, the ‘lrish Monthly.’, which not only gave the young write w" publication, but in the case of many of the poets helped them to_ publish in volume form. For none: of his poets had Father Russell a move fostering care than for his connection by marriage, Rosa Mulholland. She had begun writing early. Starting with 1 Cornhill’ and. ‘All the Year Round,’ in their great days, she was exceptionally fortunate. Charles Dickens had given her warm encouragement. She was an art student at South Kensington in those earlv writing days, and her accident of having used The pseudonym of “Ruth Millais” attracted the notice of Sir John Millais, who offered to take her as one of his pupils. However, she chose literature as a profession, and she did well. She was a charming poet, and the ease, the simplicity, tho color, and grace of her poetry were in her delicate and idea! stories. Sho was one of tho band of women, like Miss Thackeray. Miss Yonge, Mrs Walford, and Mrs Ewing, who could write innocent and delicate romance for young ends and women. The art has all but disappeared. There is nothing between the full-blooded novel and the somewhat twaddling girls’ books, which remain prudish beyond the most Victorian prudery. Rosa Mulholland married in 1891 John (afterwards Sir John Gilbert), tho distinguished historian and antiquary, who died to 1898. The marriage was an ideally happv one. Since her husband’s death Ladv Gilbert had lived a secluded life at her home, Villa Nova, Blackcock Co. Dublin, and of late years ehe had been more or less of an invalid.

Thackeray letters of hick interest wore sold at the American Art Galleries, New York, last month. limy comprised _ all the letters written by Thackeray to various members of the Baxter family while on bis first 11852) and his second (1856) tours in America, and all the others written to the family except seven. Among them was one dated March 11, 1853, containing an interesting reference to Charlotte Bronte, whose ‘ Tillctt-r' the Baxter family were then reading :—“ It amuses me the author’s naive confession of being in love with two men at the same time, and her readiness to fall in lovo at any time. Tire poor little woman of genius! Teh fiery little eager, brave, tremulous, homelyfaced creature! I can read a great deal of her life a-s I fancy in her book, and see that, rather than have fame, rather than any other earthly good, or mayhap heavenly one, she wants soma Tomkins or another to lovo her and be in love with. But you seo she is a little bit of a creature Without a pennyworth of good looks, thirty years old, I should think, buried in the country, and eating up her own heart there, and no Tomkins will come.’’ A letter from Romo, December 17, 1853, in part dealt witu Thackeray's misunderstood sentence regarding Washington, which appeared in the first number of ' The Newcomes 1 : “ When Mr Washington was heading the American rebels with a courage, it must bo confessed, worthy of a better cause.” This passage caused resentment .among Americans, and Thackeray wrote, to ’ The Times ’ explaining to the best of his ability his reasons for wording the sentence as he did. In this letter from Roma Thackeray refers to “ this confounded line,” and exclaims: “Ah me! the other 10,000dol I counted upon are, I fear, knocked into nothing by that unlucky blunder,” Dr Raymond Crawfurd has written an account of the last days of Charles the Second. There is no doubt, says Dr Crawford, that ho died of Bright’s disease with convulsions, but not one of the seventeen eminent physicians of that day who attended him diagnosed his complaint. Lord Knutsford, in a review of the book in the ‘ London Hospital Gazette,’ says that sk doctors who attended him drew off l6oz of blood, and then gave him an emetic pf half an ounce of “ orange infusion of the metals,” but as ho could not swallow this they added one clraohm of white vitriol dissolved in compound peony water. They failed to get the result they wanted, ami so .administered two more emetics, and “so as to leave no stone unturned,” as they quaintly report, they called in three more doctors (nine now) and blistered his head. Towards evening, the account continues, to give strength to his loaded brain, having called in yet two more' doctors, they give the King some sacred bitter powder, peony water, and bryony compound, and to make him sneeze a drachm of white hellebore roots. Then, again, “ to strengthen his brain,” later they gave

him some cowslip flowers—four ounces. Then camo tho night. But he, was not to rest. . . . Cephalic plasters _ combined with spurge ana Burgundy pitch ivp applied to the soles of his feet. On February 4 the number of physicians was increased tc the unlucky number of thirteen, and these all agreed that the time had come —after they had given other decoctions, emulsions and juleps—to give' him forty drops of “ spirit of human skull.” "On February 5 fourteen physicians met and settled, unanimously, that the King had “ intermittent fever,” so they prescribed Peruvian bark, antidotal milk water, and syrup of cloves mixed together, to be given at 6 a.m. and 9 a.in. and noon, and to “ introduce at the intermediate hours still more, spirit of human skulk” On February 6 the illness was becoming more grave, as the chief physician, Scarburgh, reports, so they were compelled to have recourse to (lie “ more active cardiac tonics,” and this they found in one scruple of goa stone, which is found in tho stomach of an Eastern goat. The treatment was changed again, and the physicians lost all hope, hut they gave hm some more physic. Then ho died! An English literary critic has fycen taking a course of the American fiction with which our bookshops are stocked nowadays, and his experience suggests tho necessity for a glossary. What, he asks, arc the meanings n? “ a rangy person.” “a rube town,” ‘‘a four-flash drummer,” “a rooter,” “a joaher,” and “tho yellow rattlers ” ?

Vincente Blasco Ibanez, the Spanish novelist, writes interestingly on ‘ Novelists 1 as Business Men ’ in the New York ‘ Times ’: “In Europe—and I imagine the situation is not far different in other countries—it Ls safe and aano to assume that the man of letters must be a beggar; while the business man, in regard to everything artistic, must bo a dolt. Balzac, I suppose, is the most perfect typo of the literary man in business, and for the very reason that ho was one of tho most imaginative of novelists. Mo was a man who understood life in all its aspects, and one aspect that he knew most thoroughly was tho world of finance. He was, if I am not mistaken, tho first to make modern money a character in a novel.” “Jackdaw,” in ‘John o’ London’s Weekly,’ writes: I note with interest that a correspondent of the ‘ Sunday Times ’ inquires the authorship of a famous quo- | tation with which I dealt in those columns | many months ago. I refer to tho words: | “ 1 expect to pass through this life but once. If, therefore, there is any good thing which I can do or any kindness which I can show my fellow-man, let me do it now. Let mo not defer it nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.” I showed, I think; that these ( words have not been traced to any writer, I and I hope that no one wifi now write and j tell me that ho has traced them unless ho I can give the original chapter and verso. Nothing else is of any use. It is one of tho finest utterances that has ever gone abogging for an author, and 1 mention the matter again because it is the subject of queries that reach me periodically.

“If I wore an advertisement clerk in the office of a London publisher I should study some of the ‘ book announcements ’ that appear in tho American papers,” writes a London literary critic. “ Consider the originality of one picked out almost at a hazard, ‘ A man,’ it opens, 1 can do without books, as lie can without sunshine or music or beauty; but is he tho man ha might be?’ There is a thought there, and when it has arrested you you find yourself confronted with a cry of a different sort, ‘ If,’ it goes, ‘ the lady in the lavender limousine caught in the traffic jam at Fifth avenue and 45th street at 12.01 of Tast Thursday—the one in the sables witli tho toy pom at her breast will send us her address wo will mail her particulars ’ —of a certain novel. How would that do here?” Thackeray’s ideal was the gentleman, writes Sydney Dark, in ‘John o’ London,’ in a clover character sketch of Becky Sharp. Thackeray invites our sympathy and affection for Colonel Ncwcomo, not because he was wise, or clever, or witty, but just because ho was an upright and kindly gentleman. lie is scornful of Becky because she was an adventuress, a woman to whom no gentleman would lose his heart. It was characteristic of him to make Amelia Sedlcy, one of the dullest bores in fiction, full of kind-heartedness and capable of self-sacrifice; while Becky, who is amusing, clever, fascinating, is described as utterly heartless, caving nothing either for her husband or her child. This 3 is, of course, the genteel point of view. It is also quite untrue to life.