BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

Evening Star, Issue 19640, 20 August 1927, Page 16

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

VERSES THE KERRY COW. It’s in Connacht in Munster that yourself might travel wide, And bo asking all the herds you’d • meet along the country side, But you’d never meet a ono could show the likes of her till now, Where’s she’s grazing in a Leinster field—my little Kerry cow. If herself went to the cattle fairs sho'd put all cows to shame, For the finest poets of tho land would meet to sing her fame; And the young girls would bo asking leave to stroke her satin coat, They’d bo praising and caressing her, and calling her a dote. •' If the King of Spain gets news of her, he’ll fill his purse with gold,_ And set sail to ask the English King whore she is to ho sold. But tho King of Spain may come to me, a crown upon his brow, It is lie may keep bis golden purse—and Imy Kerry cow. . . . In the histories they’ll be making they’ve a right to put her mime With the horse of Troy and Oisin’s hounds and other beasts of fame. And the painters will ho painting her beneath the hawthorn bough, 'Where she’s grazing on the good green grass—my little Kerry cow. —W. M. Lotts, in ‘Songs From Leinster.’ FLEUR DE LIS. I stroll forth this flowery day Of “ print frocks' 1 and buds of May, , ~ And speedwells of tender blue Whom no sky can match lor hue. I love well my English home; Yet far thoughts do stealing come To throng me like honey bees, Till far flowers my fancy sees. ’Tis almond against the snows, And gentian and mountain rose, And iris in purple bright— The France flower, the flower or light. John ' Galsworthy, In ‘Verses New and Old.’ WILLIAM BLAKE MEMORIAL IH ST. PAUL'S On Wednesday next, at 5 p.ui.. the Earl of Crawford and Bnlcarres is lo unveil in St. Paul’s a memorial to William Blake, whoso centenary year this is (said tho ‘ Observer of July J). Nowhere could Blake ho honored more fitlv, for he was a Londoner of the Londoners. In Piccadilly ho was to “meet the Apostle Paul”; in Fountain Court lie proclaimed his vision of toe rising sun. “What, it will he questioned, when tho sun rises, do you not see a round disc of fire somewhat like _ a n-uinea? Oh, no! No! I sec an innumerable company of the heavenlj host crying ‘ Holy, holy, holy,_ is the Lord God Almighty!’ 1 question not my corporeal eye any more than I would question a window concerning a signt. ]. look through it, and not with it. At seven years old ho saw a tree lull of angels at Beckham Rye; m Inland street” Soho, and in Hercules Buildings, Lambeth, Blake did a vast deal of work. In London he was horn; m Fountain Court he died. Where better Hi an in London’s cathedral church should his memorial he placed? t William Blake, mystic, was horn November 28, 1757, at Broad street, Golden square, son of a hosier, whose name is said to have been originally O’Neill. The boy began very early to sco visions, for the angelic tree or Beckham Rye was'by no means his first experience, and at the ago of four ho “ saw God put his forehead to the window.” At the ago of ten he began to attend Bar’s drawing school in the Strand, and at fourteen lie was apprenticed to Basiro the engraver, continuing in this work till ho. came of ago, making drawings in the Abbey and other churches. He enrolled himself an a student at the Royal Academy, nut got little from the academic teaching, complaining that “ natural objects weakened his imagination.” THE PROLIFIC PERIOD. Already he was “seeing through rather than seeing with his eyes.” At the age of twenty-five, in 38/2, Blake married Catherine Boucher, a. poor and illiterate girl, whom ho taught to road and write, and trained to bo his capable assistant in bis artistic work. Never, perhaps, has an experiment with so little of worldly prospect to coinmend it turned out so well, for Catherine proved a devoted helpmeet. For some time ho kept a paint shop, and, while living in Poland street, made a first bid for immortality through his ‘ Songs of Innocence ’ and his ‘ Visionary Portraits.’ The Poland street period was prolific. Blake, hating the drudgery of business, bitterly poor, passing periodically into moods of exaltation. labored incessantly,, pouring out poems and allegories, paintings, and drawings, and evolving a philosophy against disappointment worthy of remembrance by all who, conscious of the power within them, arp domed recognition. “ All, well, my dear, he would say to his wife when publishers proved more than usually stupid: “ They are printed Elsewhere —ami beautifully bound!” On© of the very few who early recognised his genius was Thomas Griffiths Wain wright, painter, cssavist, critic, forger, poisoner—and Iriend ot Elia, for which and for his appreciation of Blake’s genius much may bo forgiven to him. Blake’s ‘ Song of Liberty’ belongs to 1790, tho period when his Republican ardor flamed high, and he was the associate of Priestley, Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft, and so forth, going,, says a censorious biographer, “ further than they did in practical defiance of the usages ot society.” For the religious views of Thomas Paine he had nothing but detestation, but it was he who, at the meeting of tho Friends of Liberty, warned Paine against going home, and so saved him from Pitt’s officers. But the September massacres worked in Blake much the same revolution as in go many experimental Radicals of the time. In 1793 ho went to Hercules Buildings, whore he remained till 1800, doing engravings for the publishers, giving full rein to his extraordinary gift for visionary design and writing poetry, publishing tho ‘ Songs of Experience ’ in 1794. It was of his sojourn there that the story is told of Blake and his Catherine reciting passages from ‘ Paradise Lost ’ and enacting Adam and Eve iu character. In or about 1800 Blake was persuaded by the poet Hayley to go down with him to Fepham, in Sussex, where he lived for three years, doing work for Haylqy and pining no doubt, for ‘London, whither he returned at the end of the period. A LETTER FROM LAMB.

There seemed to he some dawn of appreciation in this last period, though he waa cheated by at least ono publisher. But Thomas Butts, of Fitzroy

A LITERARY CORNER

square, was a real, if not precisely discerning, friend, and in the last few years of his life John Linnell secured from him tho marvellous designs for the Book of Job. It was in May, 1824, when Blake was working-on these designs in Fountain court, that Charles Lamb wrote to Barton:—“Blake is a real name, I assure you, and a most extraordinary man, if ho bo still living. Ho is tho Blako whose wild designs accompany a splendid folio edition of the ‘Night Thoughts’ which you may have seen, iu one of which ho pictures tho parting of soul and body by a solid mass of human form floating off—from the lumpish mass —left behind on the dying bed. Ho paints in wafer colors marvellous strange pictures, visions of his brain, which he asserts that ho has seen. They have great merit. He has seen the old Welsh bards on Snowdon—he has scon tho beautifullcst, the strongest, and the ugliest man, left alone from tho massacre of tho Britons by tho Romans, and has painted tfiem from memory, and asserts them to lie as good as the figures of Raphael and Angelo, but not hotter, as they had precisely tho same rctrovisions and prophetic visions with himself. The painters in oil (which ho will have it that neither of them practised) he affirms to have been the ruin of art, and affirms that all the while ho was engaged in his water paintings Titian was disturbing him. Titian the 111 Genius of Oil Painting. His pictures have great merit, but hard dry, yet with grace. His poems have been sold hitherto only in manuscript. I have never read them, but a friend, at my desire, procured the ‘Sweep Song.’ There is ono to a tiger, which I have hero recited:— Tiger, tiger, burning bright Thro’ tho deserts of tho Night which is glorious—l must look on him as ono of the most extraordinary persons of the age.” But to most of his contemporaries Blako was a crazy fellow, and it was not until tho time of the Rossettis and Swinburne that ho began to bo included in his proper place among the great artists, of whom li© said himself. “There is no competition among them. None is first in the kingdom of heaven.” It would bo well if that fine saying closed the door against attempts this year to range Blake among tho great ones. That ho is great no competent critic doubts in this age. Lot that suffice. THE HAWTHORHBEN PRIZE HONOR FOR MISS V. SACKVILLE-WEST The Hawthorndcn Prize for a liook published in 1920 has been awarded to ‘The Land,’ a poem by Miss V. Sackvillc-West, already known by ‘The Dragon in Shallow Waters,’ ‘ Grey Wethers,’ ‘ Orchard and Vineyard,’ and other works in prose and verse. The announcement was made at a meeting iu the iEolian Hall, eulogies of tho book being delivered by Colonel John Buchan and Mr John Drinkwater. Tho prize, £IOO annually, was founded in 1919 by Miss Alice Warrender. It is awarded to a work of imaginative literature by an author: under forty-one years of age' at the! date of publication of tho book. The judges are the generous donor herself, Mr Laurence Binyon, Air Robert Lynd, Mr Edward Marsh, and Mr J. 0. Squire; and previous recipients have been Miss Homer Wilson, and Messrs Edward Shanks, John Freeman, Edmund Blunden, David Garnett, R. H. Mottram, and Sean O’Casey. Tho prize, up to the present, has gone four times to verse and four times to prose. Miss Sackville-Wcst’s book, says the ‘Observer,’ is that rare thing in onr time, a good long poem. It has, as Colonel Bnchau remarked, an epic sweep, recording the scones and sounds of an English countryside through what our ancestors called “ the revolving year.” The woodcutter, the thatcher, the wheelwright, beekeeping, and eider-making are- all described with a Virgilian affection, bill, the central figure is lie whom the American poet called “Tho Man with the Hoe,” ploughman and ircapcr destined in whatever clime or century to wrest man’s subsistence from a, stubborn earth ; Classic monotony, That modes and wars Leave undisturbed, nnbeltcrcd, s . ■ Tlio verse has the (.nidition.il flavor, t.lio slow dignity of movement, which is suitable to the theme and the general form: but its sonority is not due In conventional rhetorie, and tlio rich earthy level of it is scattered with lovolv blooms of imaginative speech. Tlio last tragedy of the bees is an example The Syrian queens mate in tlio high hot day; Rapt visionaries of creative iray, Soaring from fecund ecstasy alone While ° through the blazing ether drops Like a small thunderbolt the vindicated drone. ■Did each section is adorned with lyrics which, though linked with their contexts arc beautiful and entire in themselves. HEW BOOKS ‘The Mocking Chevalier,’ by A. G. Hales (Hodder and Stoughton). Tins is a rousing story of the Spanish foreign legion. The scene is North Africa during the recent war against the Riffs. Mr Halos lias excelled himself in' this tale, and it is quite the equal of the books written _ of late round the French foreign legion which have achieved so much popularity. This talented writer first came into prominence as a war correspondent in the South African campaign. He did similar work later in the Balkans, and since then his love of sport and adventure has carried him into_ many lands. In ‘ Tho Mocking Chevalier ’ we have a red-blooded narrative of the most absorbing kind. Under tlio genius of Colonel Valentino the legion of adventurous and desperate men, recruited from many nations, becomes a formidable fighting force. The narrative never halts, and the reader is taken into fight after tight with the fanatical tribesmen. The leader, Valentino, in-appearance a figure of fun, is a. man of heroic qualifies and indomitable will power, with a genius for wav. In the legion are three outstanding men—the Mocking Chevalier (an American), Snowy Anzac. (an Australian), and Old Gervaux (a Frenchman, the inaitre d’a vines of the legion). When Terry Heathereat (an English soldier who has hurriedly left his country to escape the consequences of a duel) joins the legion lie is admitted to the fellowship, and these four perform great deeds. Picturesque figures are a friendly Arab chief and his lovely, high-spirited daughter. As a tale of high adventure, blended with tragedy, pathos, and humor, this story would be hard to beat.

‘ How to Enjoy Wild Flowers,’ by Marcus Woodward (Hodder and Stoughton). “Wild flowers aro my music,” said Dr Arnold, of Rugby. 'Buskin wrote some notable passages on them. They do not mean very muck to the stately homes of England, but they are the treasure of the cottager and of the people iu the crowded alleys in the towns. England is a garden, and this is reflected in its literature down the ages. In New Zealand wo have beautiful native wild flowers, but they do not crowd our hedgerows, lanes, and meadows as they do in the Home Country. Our flowers arc of a different typo. They lack the sweet simplicity _of the violet, the primrose, the cowslip, and the bluebell. Who would like to road of the flowers of the Homeland, with many of the historical and literary allusions to them, should obtain ‘How to Enjoy Wild Flowers.’ This hook, small in size, is rich in knowledge of the subject with which it deals. How many people, for instance, know that the ornamental garden scabious evolved from the wild variety, is named widow-flower, and expresses the sentiment “ I have lost all”? Or, again, “ Observe: the blood-red spots which mark the leaves of St. John’s wort always appear on August 20, the day when St. John was beheaded.” Intimate knowledge of the flowers of the wayside in many parts of tho Mother Country is revealed in this book, the value of which is _ enhanced by some illustrations, which have been reproduced with exquisite grace.

11l the realm of fiction mystery stories now hold a prominent place and are eagerly sought by readers. A most enthralling story of this kind has been written by Mr Kenneth Laing, whoso plot is an original and exciting one. The central figure is a young naval officer on leave, who unravels the mystery surrounding the “llmne •>1 Darkness,” which is the t.tla of the story. A gang of desperate characters has been carrying on extensive smuggling in drugs, and tho poii-o finds itself balHcd. Osborne, who aevdenti->.• becomes concerned in tho matter, finds that an ippirontiv (Userted vimmcr betel is tho landing place of tho illicit cargo, and that the drugs aro brought ashore by the use of a suhmanno The story progresses rapidly, and :s fraught w’th exciting situations an well ns a charming romance. It is puh’ishcd by the Diamond Dross, Ltd., Lcmlmi,

Action is the keynote of Clarence bk Mulford’s new Western story, ‘ Corson of the J.O.’ There is also plenty of humor, hut no love romance. Perhaps the latter will come with Boh Corson as the hero in a later novel. 'Flic author has shown that a first-class story can be written and enjoyed without "a heroine. ‘Corson of the J.C.’ is purely a romance of the West, where firearms aro carried as naturally as handkerchiefs, and poker and faro are taught to children instead of French and Latin. A country whore men aro men and only the lit survive. The story itself is excellent, and the characters true to type. The action centres around Bob Corson, who sots out to discover the murderer of his father and to regain the J.C. ranch, which has been obtained from his father by underhand dealing. Once Bob gets on the track and secures a few clues things begin to move, and with the help of two hard-case punchers— Shorty and Nueces—the murderer is brought to book and his villainy exposed. Our copy is from the publishers. Messrs Hodder and Stoughton (London).

1 The Man Behind the Curtain,’ written by J. M. Walsh and published by the Cornstalk Publishing Company, Sydney, reminds one very much of the story and the play called ‘ The Bat,’ in which the perpetrator of a series of desperate crimes is not brought to book till the very end, and in which, in the moantime, other persons are suspected. ‘The Man Behind the Curtain’ is a story of blackmail and crime, exciting from start to finish. The criminal is as elusive as an eel, and for many months ho completely bailies the police. A clever young detective, however, who, strangely enough, is in some cju aiders suspected of being tho actual criminal because of a marked similarity in stature and appearance, at last brings his man to book. One unusual feature of the story is that a scientist who lias been subject to blackmail is forced to use small glass bulbs containing a deadly gas to assist in the criminal undertakings. NOTES Maj or James Barnes, a nephew ol Mr Lytlou Strachey, and formerly Chamberlain to tho Pope, has written a book on the aims of Fascism, which is to have a preface by the authors old friend, Signor Mussolini. Major Barnes, who is to head the. universal Fascist movement at Lausanne, was once offered the throno of Albania, but declined it. Ho is one of tho most romantic personages of modern times. Mr Upton Sinclair’s new novel, ‘ Oil,’ has been banned by tho censorship in Massachusetts. There seems to be some mystery as to the reason for (his action, but it is broadly asserted that passages in the novel infringe the State law. Mr Sinclair, on hearing of the ban, declared his intention of moving the courts to ascertain tho reason. According to 1 Passing Show,’ Lady Cynthia Asquith has on hand a biography of tho Duchess of York. She is the wife of Mr Herbert Asquith, son of Lord Oxford. For a lime she acted as private secretary to Sir James Barrio. Mr H. C. Witwer is reported to have received from a magazine £730 for a ■I,OOO-word travesty on ‘ Ivanhoo,’ in a modern vein. Sir Walter Scott, who wrote the original novel ‘lvanhoc’ in something like lu0 ? 000 words, is reputed to have received only £J2j for it. Mr Witwer’s travesty is one of a scries called ‘Classics in Slang,’ announced by G. P. Putnam’s Sons. I hoar that wo arc shortly to see the memoirs of the late Lord Ribblcsdale, the popular and handsome sporting peer who made such a picturesque figure in society (says ‘John o’ London’s Weekly’). He was one of the country’s greatest land owners, a Master of Buekhounds in the ’nineties, and he published a volume of hunting reminiscences entitled ‘The Queen's Hounds and Stag-limiting Recollections,’ He was a lord-in-waiting to Queen Victoria, and, it is said, knew everybody and went everywhere. He undoubtedly had a gift for writing, although ho had little spare time to devote to it, so tbat_ we may expect some very good reading and further light on the Victorian age, which is now so much tho vogue. “Literature not only gilded the dull realities of life with sweet illusion, but taught us to love no darkness, sophisticate no truth, nurse no delusions, allow no fear. Happy were those who had learned to love this_ art. There were few griefs in life which could not he cased by-an hour’s reading of a good book.”—Sir St. Clair Thomson.

In tlie Strand, London, the saddler’s shop in which Burns’s younger brother William worked, as an apprentice, has been identified. It is now a hat shop. William Burns went to London an inexperienced Ayrshire youth, and letters to him from tho poet are in 'existence. They earnestly cautioned him against the dangers of tho capital, where Robert Burns had never been. Tho poet warned his brother particularly against tho wiles of London sirens.

In spite of the rise of many popular writers since she first made her name, Miss Ethel M. Dell remains the princess of “best sellers.” Curiously enough, she does not seek publicity, but avoids it, refusing interviewers and photographers alike. She has just finished a new story which Messrs Bonn aro to publish. It is entitled ) By request,’ and we are to meet in it some old friends from ‘The Keeper of the Door.’ Fow writers about sheikhs and the desert have had such experience of them as Major R. V. C. Bodley, the author of ‘ Algeria from Within,’ who has just finished a novel entitled ‘ Yasminc.’ Major Bod ley’s grandfather was the first Englishman to settle in Algiers, in 1868, and he himself lives in a Moorish .camp, engaged in sheepbreeding. His recent wedding to Miss Beatrice Lamhe, of Sydney, was attended by all tho great sheikhs and chiefs from the surrounding districts. Mr Hilaire Bel 100 has been closely engaged upon a history of England. Another volume of it, tho third, will come through Methuen’s shortly. Mr Belloc’s main object is to emphasise what he regards as an historical truth, that the chief social and political phenomena of national history are religious, not matters of race, and still less matters of history. Ho has, in two volumes already published, brought the chronicle up to the fourteenth century, and he will pass in review all the critical epochs which lie between then and now, closing with tho South African War.

The trustees of the Public Library of Victoria have purchased in London, for £4OO. an exceedingly rare set of the Mercurins Politicos, a weekly paper published during the Commonwealth, and for some years edited by Milton. In making this announcement lately the chief librarian, Mr D. R. Boys, said chat this set was one of tho most important source books for 'the political history of the Commonwealth from the Government point of view. It was bitterly assailed by tho Royalists as “ the weekly champion of tho Commonwealth.’ The Mercurins Politicns was ’published during the whole of the Commonwealth under tho auspices of tho Council of State. It was, according to Masson’s ‘Life of Milton.’ “a very creditable paper, and indubitably the most effective organ of the Commonwealth.” For most of tho time Milton was in close touch with its editor. For at least two years he was supervising editor and censor. The set is guaranteed perfect, with thg exception of two numbers—the last and No. 12, which is in MSS. The set will roach Melbourne shortly.

Tho ‘Strand ’ magazine for July contains a splendid selection of short stories ■and interesting articles. The short stories cover a wide variety of subjects —comedy, detective, and pure romance. The illustrations are again a feature, and Henry Ik Dudeuey continues his perplexing “perplexities.” P. G. Wodehoiiso is now a regular contributor to tho ‘ Strand,’ and this month his offering is ‘ Came tho Dawn.’ Other authors whoso names appear in this issue are E. Phillips Oppenheim, H. A. Vachcll, and 'William Freeman. The popularity of books about the sea lias increased almost 200 per cent., a well-known publisher declared the other day (says ‘ John o’ London’s Weekly’). Of all the writers about ships and the sea none, speaks with such authoritj' as Captain Basil Lubbock, who is about to give us ‘ Tho Last of the Windjammers.’ This is to be an account of every sailing ship of note during the past sixty years. Although the admirers of Walt Whitman have been steadily increasing since his death, few have realised that Whitman, besides being an essayist and a poet of great force and influence, was also a master of the short story. An American critic, Mr T. 0. Mabbott, lias brought together a collection of bis stories, and they will soon be published for the first time. ‘SALT SEA TANG ’ (By Angus Cameron Robertson. Extra Master Mariner and Hon. Bard of Gaelic Society of New Zealand, 1 Lonsdale terrace, Mornington, Dunedin.) —An Appreciation, hy D. M'Noil, 8.A., Invercargill.— ‘ Sail. Sea Tang ’ is a unique compilation offering an astonishing variety of literary fare, prose and verse, selected from the prolific output of one versatile pen. Of tho author’s gift of poetic expression there is cumulative evidence in tlio hook. The chosen hard of the Gaelic Socicly of New Zealand reveals tho bardic temperament in his sensitive 'response to the appeals of Nature and of humanity. From both these realms his themes are drawn and his inspiration kindled. With wealth of rhyme, double rhyme and assonance, he weaves festal and funeral wreaths; depicts notable events in tho passing pageant of history; pays homage to worthy souls of high rank or low rank; and for once, changing his key, gives blis,taring castigation to an unworthy typo of critic. Hounded fullness of treatment is tho rule, but more wafts of sentiment, glimpses of thought, take form in scattered couplets or four-line fragments, as though the minstrel improvised a stray chord while feeling his way to a sustained theme. Not least fervid are the strains which give utterance to tho Highlander’s love for his racial heritages, for the kilt, the tartan, the national dances, and especially the bagpipes. Often, as the bard turns from praise of New Zealand scenes to recall the glens ami bens that were the ancient home of expatriated Gaols, one is reminded of the passionate outcry of tho exiled Jew :

If thee, JenisMoin, I forget, Skill part from my right hand. My longue to my mouth’s roof let (.•leave

If 1 do tlioc forget. Not ono whit less loved than Zion are Lochabcr and the sea-smitten Hebrides. As for the mother tongue of the Scottish Celt, it may bo slowly dying, but with out author it lives, and its pulses throb-again in the few Gaelic poems included in the collection. For the diverse prose pieces interspersed throughout the volume, material and atmosphere are largely derived from the author’s seafaring, from his experiences in different quarters of the globe, and from his many-sided activities. There is, however, a good deal that lies beyond these limits: not only the- scenes of the visible world, hut also the fruits of reflection and speculative thought take shape—sometimes untrammelled aud unexpected shape—in these writings. Behind all that the book contains there rises to mind the figure of the author as one conceives it from the few glimpses and incidental suggestions which the text affords; an unyielding battler with adversity from childhood, and always a learner in its uncompromising school; a rover who by sea and land has observed and mingled with cosmopolitan life; a hungry seeker after knowledge and enlightenment; an aspirant to whom self-expression in some form is a perpetual urge. And. as a reflex from a life thus conditioned and shaped, ‘ Salt Sea Tang ’ takes on a new interest. [20,827]