BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

Evening Star, Issue 19352, 11 September 1926, Page 14

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

VERSES HILLS OF EDINBURGH. 0, I would lift mine eyes unto the hills, Dunedin’s hills, When lavish spring lias starred the glistening earth with daffodils, When shrill birds, wheeling, pipe and call, And celandines are twinkling to the lilting of tho rills, And the kindly sun is laughing over all. 0, I would breast green Blackford then and rove the Braid'Hills free, And feel tho winds drive out dull care from the laggard heart of me, And lift my face to the blowy sky, And see our far-llung ramparts dipping steeply to the sea, Where faint and far the phantom ■ ships slip by. And, in tho hollows of the hills encased, see below Dunedin lie, a burning jewel, mist enshrined, aglow, Her peaks and pinnacles afire, Whore shafts of scintillating light, darting from Phoebus’ bow, Stab fiery gold this city of desire. There shines she on her hills, serene, a sovereign on her throne, Rearing her pride; the Castlo Rock, unconquerable stone, Frowns in a lordly grandeur down ; Tho Crags uplilt their rugged height; the lion broods alone. Impassive guardian ot the old, grey town. Dunedin’s hills are calling mo; I must arise and go. Hills of dear freedom, scourged by cleansing rain and whirling snow, Hi"s where tho valiant dead have trod, Hills where the birds are calling, hills of clamoring winds ablow. —Margaret J. R. Lawrence, in tho ‘George Square Chronicle.’ UNIVERSITY TOWER, BRISTOL. Beauty with strength, grandeur with loveliness, Towering immense, ercara-hued against tho sky; Tho delicate, tender blue that turns to gold— Light catching light—tho mass that should do gray, Making tho lustrous morning beautiful. Then at oyo, Etched dark against the ridgo of flaming west, Majestic on the orange, lemon, green Of windy sunsets, Cabot-lights behind. The lacy trees that rim the Clifton woods Beckon with beauty to the western sea. There the first planet through the singing sky Sets her sure lamp upon the edge of night, And swinging constellations overhead Mark the pure rhythm of the universe. —Rose E. Sharland, in ‘ Christian Science Monitor.’ HEW BOOKS & MAORI LEGEHDS ‘Legends of the Maori and Personal Reminiscences of tho East Coast of New Zealand.’ By the late Colonel Porter, C.B. L. M. Isitt, Ltd., Christchurch. In less than ninety broad-margined pages are included nine prose sketches, two poems, and three full-page line drawings. There are, besides, a number of tail-pieces from tho pen and brush of Major-general G. Rob Soy, and three full-page plates from half-tone blocks printed on glossy paper. This little book introduces to the reading public the literary work of one whose name as a soldier has long been familiar to students of the Hau Hau wars. It shows him to have been master not only of Maori mentality and language, but also of a clear and dramatic English style, perfectly adapted to the telling of Maori history and legend. Much has been written in this field, and some of it is very good. Wo believe that selected passages from. Sir George Grey, Maning, and Elsdon Best would stand among the best of this kind in any language, and we think that the best of Colonel Porter’s sketches might bo placed beside these. Such are ‘ Peha and the Wood Sprites ’ and tho terrible ‘Story of a Cannon.’ Whether Porter’s powers as a writer extended beyond the narrow bounds of historical or legendary incident the small work under review does not enable us to judge. But on the evidence of the sketches mentioned we think a strong case has been made out for the republication in an available form of tho life of Major Ropata Wahawaha, N.Z.C., published by Colonel Porter in tho ‘ Poverty Bay Herald ’in 1898. We suggest that the best of the present sketches might be republished, together with the life of Ropata and a sketch of Colonel Porter’s own life. Such a book would, we think, establish tho writer permanently in tho front rank of those who have written about the Maori. In closing, something must he said about tho publisher’s share in the present book. The type is satisfactory and the paper is good, hut from no other feature can the publisher derive any credit. Tho two poems should never have been allowed,a place; they show Porter to have been as weak in verse as ho was strong in prose. Typographical errors are frequent; footnotes migrate up into the middle of the page; and notes are included which, though in themselves interesting, bear no reference to the text. The artist responsible for the lino drawings is technically competent, but why draw a Maori heroine with a face fully tattooed like a man? And what point can be raised in defence of the extraordinary drawing entitled ‘ln the Ghostly Forest’? Of the tone blocks, one by Robley, ‘ Tomika te Mutu,’ is excellent._ But why leprint Hawkesworth’s picture of a Maori canoe—a good picture in itself, but one that has appeared a dozen times already in recent works? And, if bound to reprint it, why not acknowledge the source from which it is drawn? Finally, the carving described as ‘ A Unique Maori Carving, Maui Hauling Up His Great Fish,’ is, unfortunately, incorrectly described as “ unique.” It is a modern production carved at Rotorua for sale to guileless tourists, and is the negation of all that was sound and good in old Maori woodcarving. New Zealand publishers are not doing their share if this is the style they adopt in introducing New Zealand literary work to the world.—H.D.S.

‘The Blue Castle,’ by'L. M. Montgomery (Angus and Robertson, Ltd.), tells the story of Yalancy Stirling, who, at the age or twenty-nine, realises that up to that time slie has been a mere automaton, and decides to express her own individuality. She has been overawed by a selfish and exacting mother and dull, conventional, and narrowminded uncles and aunts of the Victorian type. Yalancy selects as the day on which to raise the standard of revolt her twenty-ninth birthday, and the time chosen is at a dinner given by an uncle and aunt on their marriage anniversary* (The incidents that occur

A LITERARY CORNER

at this dinner and the subsequent happenings are related with much humor. There is no reaction with Valancy. She does not weaken, but follows her search for the “ Bluo Castlo ” with much spirit.

The newest novel bv Dornthv Walworth Carman, entitled ‘Faith of Our Fathers,’ published by Methuen and Co., is sure to he talked about, Methodists who read it will find much to interest them in the intimate acquaintance with Methodist family and church' life that tho authoress displays. The routine is superficially pictured truly. They will be annoyed hy the persistence with which Methodist peculiarities are ridiculed because the spiritual significance is ignored. Moreover, the occasional touches of stark irreverence are to a just mind purely gratuitous. “Jesus swept” is a cheap kind of smartness, and it is not a real laugh that is raised by tho remark of a child that “ Wo can’t expect to keep nil God’s relatives straight at our age.’’ The flippancy hero and on other pages is theatrical and needlessly offensive. The authoress seems to know the body of Methodism, but not its soul, anil oven tho body has a foreign east. It may bo Americanised Methodism that is depicted—one hopes that tho picturing is -not true, but American m(iuence is distinctly suggested in the constant dominance of ways and means in policy and doings,_ and there is a wide and essential difference between such a corrupting alloy and tho simple watering down of ignorance that characterised Methodism in John Wesley’s days and onward. The representation is unfair to Methodism generally. We are all familiar with the misunderstandings of Methodist rustics. A newly-converted woman who applied for membership was asked by tho class leader if she had counted the cost, and replied: “Yes, I can manage it with a screw—a penny a week and a shilling a quarter.” That old joke is the true picture. The picture that the authoress supplies is that of a money-wor-shipping church with hardly the form of godliness, governed by malignant place seekers. It is a libellous accusation. Excepting the minister, Daniel Bloom, there is hardly a spiritual Methodist in tho whole range of characters. Hugh Bloom, who follows his father’s profession, does so not because of his faith m God. hut out of love for his father: and Stella, Hugh’s wife, becomes a Methodist only out of her love for her husband. The false note is insistent throughout, spoiling an otherwise goad book. Some of the readers will join with us in lipping that Dorothy Carman will one day use her undoubted literary ability in producing a story_ worthy of her wit and knowledge, judicial in its treatment of the groat spiritualising movement that regenerated England.

There is a wonderful fascination and glamor about the Venice of to-day, the city of canals and gondolas, famed for her carnivals and rapturous honeymoons, but comparatively few know much of her old-time record of power and glory, and, in her declining years, of the crime, corruption, and immorality which infested the State. _ Most cities famed for research possibilities have provided a fertile field for historians, philosophers, and divines, but few have unearthed the vast reservoirs of tho Venetian archives. ‘Mysteries of Venice ’ (gleaned from the diary of a Doge) has been published by Messrs Herbert Jenkins, Ltd., as the result of the labors of Mr Herbert Vivian, M.A.. a Knight Commander of the Royal Montenegrin Order of Danilo, and an officer of the Royal Serbian Order of Takovo, who, in his introduction, states that lie spent months impregnating himself in tho atmosphere of romantic' ages in an endeavor to afford glimpses of the last years of the vpublic culled from tho diary of a Du go, illustrating the decadence of a mighty State, the spread of corruption and crime, and the base intrigues of France, then tottering towards the brink or revolution. There is no doubt that Mr Vivian must have made a close study of the records of the city. He tolls of frightful mysteries and monstrous murders in the underworld of the city, a contrast with the present picture of Venice and her revelries and serenadfamid tho silvery stillness of moonlit lagoons. Ho records instances of licentiousness that are revolting, the spying upon the privacy of every citizen by the Inquisitors, in whoso hands the Doge had become a mere honored puppet, tho plunging of every suspect in nopeless dungeon, and the opportunity accorded the perfidious French of fomenting _ trouble and discontent. Apart from its historical value, Mr Vivian’s narrative is well written and of absorbing interest from cover to cover.

‘ First Love, Last Love ’ is Mr C. G. L. Du Gann’s first novel, and it is to be hoped that he soon writes another as good as this. The author is no amateur when it comes te plot construction and theme development. His characters are real and he pictures life as it is, not as it should he. First Love, Last Love ’ is the story of tho development of a convent girl into a successful woman. Her early struggles are graphically told, and there are intimate pictures of life in an Anglican High Church convent and of women’s journalism in Fleet street. Easter Prozart is a very modern girl and very human, . with her failings and unsuspected strength of character. She loves once, and in her fiercest struggles and_ temptations retains both her feminine nature and her purity. It is a good story and cleverly told. If the author maintains his present standard he should go far in tho realms of novel-writing. Messrs Duckworth, Ltd. (London) are tho publishers.

‘Loaded Dice.’ by Marten Cumberland and B. V. Shannon (Methuen and Co.), is a first-rate mystery story. I; is a type of book that has become familiar since the war. In it will ho found malignant criminals from the Continent bent on the destruction ol England; a strong young man pos sessed of great courage and resource; a beautiful and distressed damsel; am the chief of a Government secret service department. The scene is laid in London. A tenso struggle is narrated fen the possession of an invention which would throw great power into the hands of any nation which could use it exclusively. The plot is well coastructed and developed, and the incidents arc told iu a graphic manner.

‘Dangerous Bonds,’ by Lady Troubridge, is quite an entertaining novel, but not outstanding as regards literary merit. The characters are well drawn, but the names—Robin and Dennis—of the two principal men seem a misfit. Ursula, _ the girl, is an ultra-modern production, who, however, proves that underneath her artificiality and live-for-the-rnoraent style she is* sincere and thoughtful. - Lady Troubridgo handles her dramatic situations well, and keeps the reader interested as the plot develops. The story chiefly concerns Ursula’s love affairs, her marriage ( her disillusion, and finally her happiness. It is a post-war story, with post-war characters, and is quite up to the standard of the author’s previous works. Messrs Mothven and Co. (London) are the publishers, and our copy is from

‘ Tails and Tarradiddlcs ’ (Angus and Robertson, Limited) is described as an Australian book of birds and beasts. It is for'children, whom it will entertain and instruct. It will also amuse the adult, for it is a remarkably clever piece of work. The authors are “ The Perfesser and Alter Ego, Esquire.” The Perfesser, who wears carpet slippers and a long dressing gown, is very wise. He writes things about the bunyip, the kangaroo, the possum, the kookaburra, and other beasts and birds that are in accord with scientific knowledge. Alter Ego, Esquire, who is not so wise as the Perfesser, does not write so seriously. As an example, ho says;— For the bunyip loves a bit of fun, And he hasn’t an ounce of vice; He is quite well bred, and is always fed On porridge, and sago, and rice. This book is a clever blend of fact, humor, and imagination, and it is well illustrated. An excellent book for children at a small price. TENNYSON'S EAELY HOME THE FAMOUS BlfoOK Somersby House, Lincolnshire, birthplace and early home of the poet Tennyson, has been sold for £17,500 with IJB3 acres, through which flows for two miles the famous brook of which Teuuyson- wrote; I murmur under moon and stars, In brarably wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses; And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. I The bouse is of whitewashed brick, with red tile roof, and includes a wonderful old dining hall of Gothic design with two stone mullioned and stained glass windows which Tennyson may have had in mind when ho wrote: Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ore I went to rest. Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the west. Many a night I saw the Pleiades, rising through the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fircllics tangled in a silver braid When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed; Whoa I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed. Love took up the glass of time, and \turned it in his glowing hands; Every moment lightly shaken ran itself 1 in golden sands. Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of self that trembling passed in music out of sight. Tennyson’s father, a country parson, lived for thirty years in this county of quiet villages, largo Golds, grey hillsides, rolling wolds and marshes extending to the sea, which is only some twenty miles distant. It was hero that Tennyson himself, fourth child of a family of twelve, was brought up, and that he developed that love of the land which shows itself so prominently in his writings. ESAGAZIHES ' The 1 Argosy,’ a new British short story monthly, issued by Cassell’s, contains stories by such well-known authors as H. G. Wells, H. de Vere Stacpoole, A. E. W. Mason, Jack London, Robert Hichens “ Bartimeus,” Arthur Morrison, and many others. The ‘ Argosy’s ’ aim, as stated by the publishers, is to print the greatest stories ever written,_ and, judging by the July number, their intention is being well kept, as every story is outstanding. Besides short stories, there are poems and several interesting articles. There are no illustrations, but the magazine is attractively got up. The August number of ‘ The Strand ’ >s once again an attractive issue, being full of good reading matter and interesting topical articles. The short stories are well balanced as to class and stylo, and provide a wide variety. Among the authors contributing are P. G. Wodehouso, Arnold Bennett, -tncy Aumonier, and Denis Mackail. The seventh instalment of ‘ Days of My Life,’ by the late Sjr Rider Hagafa rd, deals with the writing of ‘ Eric Brighteyes,’ Beatrice,’ and ‘ Nada the Lily.’ The illustrations are of a high standard, and, altogether, the issue is a fine one.

‘ Physical Culture ’ is an American monthly magazine devoted to the promotion of outdoor sports and muscular development. It is not a scientific magazine, but is written for people who take an interest in their bodies and a delight in keeping fit. There ire several short stories and numerous descriptive articles, such as Lady ''fisher’s own story of her forty-two-day fast, 'Tell Me What to Eat,’ ‘Bathe tour Baby in the Sun,’ etc. The illustrations are a feature, and there is anch to interest the reader.

There are many talented writers of ■ -hurt stories .in England to-day. This 'net is made clear by the magazine ‘ Short Stories,’ published by the World's Work, Limited. The names of j rlus authors in the bill of contents are iot_ those familiar to the readei of the ordinary magazine, but thov are writers of first-rate ability, fn this particular publication there are twelve really good stories, in which love and adventure seasoned with dramatic and ixciting incidents prevail. The ‘ 20-story Magazine ’ can also be recommended, for in presenting the twenty stories in the July numlier the editor has been fortunate in securing :be services of a number of writers who have mastered the short story art. Generally speaking, the theme is* that ’.he course of true love does not run smoothly. and the perils and difficulties which face the heroes and heroines are vividly described. The plots of Vilnius are defeated by strong men upheld by the thought of lovely woman in danger. It is an old theme { yet one that never palls when it is in the hands of the right man. The reputation of the ‘ Wide World Magazine ’ puts it on a secure footing. A glance at the August number shows that it is up to standard. This publication has demonstrated the accuracy of the oft-repeated saying that truth is stranger than fiction. The first story : n this number relates the amazing life history of one of the most notorious outlaws who over troubled Canada and the Western States. Ho robbed his first stage coach when he was seventeen, and held up his last express train when he was seventy. A more exciting and amazing story it would bo difficult to imanrine. This is only one of a number of remarkable tales.. An article of special interest is ‘ A New Chum ip Now Zealand,’ being a breezy record of a young farmer who recently emigrated to the dominion.

NOTES Mrs W. L. George, the widow of the famous novelist, has taken to writing fiction. Her first novel will he ontitled ‘Purity.’ Miss Era Gore-Booth, the poet, who died recently, was a sister of Countess Markievicz, the Irish Republican leader. On several occa.sions she championed the London flower-girls when they were in danger of losing their pitches at the haads of the Home Office.

Officials at Federal Parliament, House, Melbourne, are engaged in packing, ready for removal to Canberra, the National Library of the Commonwealth. Tho actual work of removal will be begun this month, and it is expected that it will occupy fifteen weeks, at tho rate of 6,000 volumes a week.

An interesting relic of tho second marriage of tho author of " The Compleat Angler ’ was offered for sale at Hurcomb’s, London, on July It s the dower chest of Anne Ken. The box is carved with flowers and foliage, and on tho centre panel is inscribed “ Anne Ken was joyned together in Hob© Wedlock on the eve of St. Gregory, Anno Domino 1647.” Izaak Walton, who was born 1593, married in 1647. as his second wife, Anne Ken, half-sister of the bishop, who was a famous hymn writer.

The late W. E. Henley was perhaps at his greatest as an editor (states ‘John o’ London’s Weekly’). There are many now living who remember the gallant days when he edited from Edinburgh the ‘Scots Observer.’ That venture. though marvellously brilliant, did not prosper, and the ‘ Scots Observer ’ wan removed to London to be published under tho title of the ‘ National Observer.’ Both titles are derelict, but the first is to be revived as that of a weekly newspaper, which will be published in Glasgow. The Scottish churches are responsible for the venture. but the new periodical will deal with general, Scottish, and world interests. wdth large liberty of comment on every subject. Tho directors are fortunate in.having obtained the services ns editor of Mr William Power, for many years with the ‘ Glasgow Herald ’ as literary editor, and latterly leader writer. Mr Power is a charming essayist, and he will certainly give his new charge a very distinct individuality. I understand that the money for tho new venture is being raised among members of the Scottish . churches by means of shares of five skillings each. I “ The gold medal of the Royal Society of Literature received recently is but one of numerous honors bestowed upon Mr Rudyard Kipling,” writes a conl tributor to the London ‘ Sunday Times,’ j “ Probably a compliment which pleased him as much as any was the naming after him of two American railway stations. They are on the Shoo line, and one is called Rudyard, the other Kipling. In a poem which he sent to the manager of the railway he referred to ‘ my sons in Michigan, who deal in I wheat and iron ore.’ Canada also has ' paid him geographical honors, there being a Kipling town not far from Regina.” There is a Kipling street in each of four suburbs of Melbourne— St. Kilda, Moo nee Ponds, North Melbourne, and Richmond.

A book is always a good friend. It carries with it something personal. When presented as a gift it contains more than the intent of the giver. It is an expression of taste and a recognition of personal appreciation, it reflects the giver; it evaluates the recipient. Therefore, give a book with thought, with deliberation. When you are thinking of your friends (says a writer in ‘ Great Thoughts ’• think of them in the light of their personal tastes, of their intellectual bent, of their spiritual associations. To give a highly-selected book means to display intellectual culture ou the part of the giver.

Few modern writers have had such a varied career as “ P. C. Wren,” the author of ‘ Beau Gesto ’ and ‘ Beau Sabreur.’ An Oxford scholar, ho has been sailor, professor of psychology, navvy, tramp, J.P., schoolmaster, journalist, explorer, boxer, costermonger, and has seen service in three armies. Liko some of his characters, he has served as legionary in the French Foreign Legion.

Admirers of the late S. R. Crockett will be delighted to hear that a hitherto unpublished MS. of his has just been unearthed, and will be given to the public shortly. In the meantime Messrs Collins are publishing a new novel by Miss Rutherford Crockett, S. R. Crockett’s daughter, the author of ‘ A GayLover.’ It is to be entitled ‘ SafetyLast.’

The Poetry Society has formed a novel plan which should not only prove of very great financial assistance to the leconstruction fund of the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre at Stratford-upon-Avon, but should help to make the poet's works known to a much wider circle than at present. The society- intends to offer lor competitions gold and silver medals and certificates for (1) reading or speaking of speeches from the plays_ of Shakespeare, and (2) the presentation of single scenes from the plays. These competitions will be organised by a Shakespeare Guild in each district. They will culminate in a final contest in London on Shakespeare Day next year, and the proceeds are to be handed over to the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre Fund.

Dr J. A. Erskine Sluart, in an article in the Halifax ‘ Courier,’ tells of the acquaintances be made while practising his profession in the Bronte country ot West Yorkshire: “During my rambles I made tho acquaintance of Miss Ellen Nussey, from whom Mrs Gaskoll received most of her information. Miss Nussey had hundreds of letters from Charlotte in her possession, and on these Mrs Gaskcll was able to write the greater part of her book. What she derived from other sources led her astray, and was very nearly the cause of actions for libel. A discarded nurse, with spiteful malice, gave the biographer a most distorted account of the character of the Rov. Patrick Bronte, and of his son Branwell, all of which information was deleted from the third edition of tho ‘ Life,’ and can only bo read in tho rare first and second editions. Miss Nussey was a charming Indy of the Early Victorian period, and she always told mo that tho Gaskell book was too gloomy, the environment being made black to show up the grandeur of Charlotte’s character.

The birthplace of Robert Louis Stevenson, at 8 Howard place, Edinburgh, was officially opened to the public on June 9 by Sir Alfred Ewing, K.C.8., principal of the University of EdinThe birthplace has become a memorial and a museum. It has been redecorated and adapted so as to house portraits, manuscripts, publications, and personal relics of Stevenson. In a great measure the house is also a memorial of Stevenson’s nurse, “ Gummy,” as it contains a “ Gummy ” room, with her portrait by Mr Piddes Watt, and a portrait in oils of the writer himself by Fieri Nerli. Among the treasured book possessions are copies of ‘ Hie Hanging Judge’ (1887) and of ‘The Charity Bazaar,’ Stevenson’s ‘.First English” prize—his second and last prize at school. There is in the museum a fine example of Deacon Brodie’s dexterous handiwork—aa inlaid cupboard made by Brodio in 1780, eight years before he was hanged, which Stevenson presented to Henley. Stevenson’s holograph may also be seen, and many photographs vividly illustrating the life in fhe South Seas. The play ‘Deacon Brodie, or the Double Life,’ was written by Stevenson and Henley. William i Brodio was hanged in 1788 for having I broken and entered the general Excise office for Scotland and stolen monos thwefcora,,