BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

Evening Star, Issue 21216, 24 September 1932, Page 19

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN

A LITERARY CORNER

VIKINGR MIKILL [By P. H. W. Nevili-.] Macmillan Brown Prize, Otago University. The Viking race is dead. And never more Will one lone nation front the world in arms, And bring it to its knees. The land that bore ■ Those mighty warriors on its barren farms Now breeds a race unused to such alarms, Swift forays and the clash of steel on steel, Music whose thrill the brave alone may feel. The Viking race is dead. A softer time Has taught us softer virtues. Now no more Long ships encrusted with the salt sea rime Bear hardy bands to raid a distant shore With burning and with slaying. Now no more The daring rovers tempt the Eastern gate, And snatch from every town a golden freight, A mighty breed. Their valiant. deeds would shine Though twice ten thousand years had passed away Since Sweyn’s and Harald Gormsson’s royal line O’er the wild rovers held its ancient sway. And when the records of this milder day Have faded from the memories of all Their name will still be like a trumpet call. For there’s a magic in the very word. It speaks of old times past when men were free To venture as they willed, and youth was stirred With the wild call of the unconquered sea, Still hiding in its bosom secretly Vast lands as yet undreamed of, under skies Bejewelled with the stars to maze starweary eyes.

There are false tellers of that splendid past Who cry those warriors thieves, and name their kings Grim murderers who set the world aghast With their most bloody deeds, whose venturings Had love of slaughter for their only springs. And telling of these sins perpetually They see no good in that long history. But they are blind. ’Tis true that Europe felt The anger of those nations on them hurled. They ravaged all the kingdoms of the Celt, And stormed the ramparts of the western world. Around them e’er the tide of battle swirled. Their thirsty blades drank deep the foeman’s gore, And weeping wives to their far land they bore. But if they sinned ’twas in a violent age When weakling peoples died a painful death. They took the whole of ocean for their "stage: They laboured at the oar with panting breath, And where the blue-veined iceberg wandereth Their tiny ships they drove, and fearlessly They faced the wrath of the tempestuous sea. No lonely hero in a coward race Was Ericsson the Red, who made his way, Across long leagues of rollers, to a place Where vines grew wild about a tropic bay, . And named the country W ineland that to-day We call America. Not lonely he, But type of all the Norsemen strove to be. For they kept pure the old heroic sang upon tho Attic shore. True courage that endurotli under pain. True loyalty that feareth not to pour Its life-blood out upon the battle floor. All these that once the early Greeks had known But lost long since, the Vikings made their own. A SPRING IDYLL The first lambs of the year— And what shall be The wish I needs must make? Nothing for me. Only, my little son, This for you—- “ May he be hapy and healthy, Clean and true. Happy as springtide lambs, Healthy as they; Clean as the wind-swept fields Wherein they play; True as the love of God That holds them dear — These little white foolish lambs, First of the year.” —Teresa Hooley, London. BOATS OF CANE A traveller once told How to an inland water slanting come Slim boats of cane from rivers of Cathay, With trembling mast so slight, It seemed God made them with a hand of air . . , To sail upon His light; And there Soft thev unload a jar of jade and gold In the cold dawn, when birds arc dumb, And then away. And speak no word and seek no pay Away they steal And leave no ripple at the keel. So the tale is writ; And now, remembering you, I think ol it. . , Geoffrey Scott, in ‘Poems.

THE POETS OP DEVON AND CORNWALL Considering its fame and its hold on the affections of Englishmen, the West Country has attracted little _ attention from the poets. The examination of its poetic history is less a survey of literature than an adventure in a curiosity shop. Of Devon’s finest poet there is no need to speak, except to claim him for his county. There is so little trace of this in his work that few people realise Coleridge was a Devon man, born of an old Devon family at Ottery St. Mary, and educated at the King’s School there (writes L. A. G. Strong, in ‘ John o’ London’s Weekly ’). In common with the rest of England, the West Country was richest in Elizabethan days. John Ford, of Ilsington, and William Browne, of Tavistock, were born in_ 1586 and 1590 respectively, by which time Sir Walter Raleigh was well on in his thirties. Sir Walter Raleigh’s position as a poet we cannot properly judge. Gabriel Harvey called nis ‘Cynthia’ “a fine and sweet invention ”; it was also mentioned by Spenser, who thought highly of him—- “ the summer’s nightingale ” and “that delicious poet.” A less famous contemporary, Puttenham, remarks: “ For dittie and amorous ode, I find Sir _ Walter Rawleigh’s vayne most loftie, insolent, and passionate; Probably most readers nowadays think at once of the lines: Even such Is time, that takes on trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have which popularly entitle Raleigh to remembrance as a poet. BROWNE OF TAVISTOCK. Ford is a different story altogether. Of his stature there can be no two opinions. The passion and beauty of Ins writing, and the extraordinary success with which he handles the most perilous situations, make him a great figure even in so full a time. It is noteworthy that neither Ford nor Raleigh wrote directly of their native county'. That was left for William Browne of Tavistock. The modern reader knows little of him, except that he is credited with the celebrated epitaph beginning:— Underneath this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse: Sydney’s sister, Pembroke's mother and that he delighted Keats. Browne was a copious poet, whom all Devonians must revere as the first distinguished celebrant of their home. His work upon it shows the influence of two backgrounds. The persons of his pastorals are the old stage favourites who have done duty since Theocritus and the Eclogues of Virgil, and his descriptions of Nature suggest the Court masque rather than the moorland. Then, all of a sudden, the countryman’s sharp eye is focused upon some scene, and a wealth of detail added in quite another strain. He tells ns of Walla Brook, now the Walkhara; of Lydford Law; and of the moor. ‘ Britannia’s Pastorals,’ his chief work, is long and copious, but he wrote shorter pieces. Less known than the famous epitaph, but more characteristic, is the following:— Here lies in sooth Honest John Tooth, Whom in a day Death drew away. With which simple and homely touch we may leave him. Henceforward our researches -will be into the curiosity shop of verse rather than its garden. A few years ago I was publishing a book of Dartmoor verses, ‘ The Lowery Road,’ and was anxious to find out how many poets had worked so rich a mine before me. A few names came into my head: Carrington, the moor’s traditional laureate, Ernest Radford, Eden Phillpotts, and Baring-Gonld. Off I went to look for them. Carrington proved to be a profuse bad poet of the “bosky dale ” school. He has, unfortunately, been imitated by a great number of Devonian aspirants, whoso descriptions seem to have most affinity with the illustrations in books of Continental travel a hundred years ago. In one such little poet, Isaiah Keys, is to be found an address to Pew Tor near Tavistock about 900 ft high), which might have been addressed to Aconcagua. The poets of this class were always apologising for the tors’ low altitude. Carrington is the father of the Dcvonia’s Alps school. Radford’s two books. ‘ Chambers Twain ’ and ‘ Near and Far,’ promised better things, and I set about them with hopes kindled by the verses on Plymouth Harbour in ‘ Poems of To-day.’' I found a poem about Bickleigh Vale-, and another about Shaugh Bridge; but readers of ‘ Poems of To-day ’ have seen the best of Radford. Another poet of the same period, Austin Dobson, was a native of Plymouth. EDEN PHILLPOTTS. Of Eden Phillpotts, the most distinguished living interpreter of Dartmoor, it may be said that his verse has been a sideline with him, a recreation from his novels. To say this is to do it no discredit, for it is the scrupulous work of a humane and noble mind; but, except in a few happy instances, it lacks the merciless discipline of fine poetry. With Sir Arthur QnillorCouch (“ Q ”) verso is also a sideline, but, as his recent collected edition shows, he brings definite assets to the practice of it. Now winds of winter glue Their tears upon the thorn, And Earth has voices few, And these forlorn. This, from ‘Green Bays’ (1893), shows an amateur’s hand, but there is real quality struggling to escape beneath it. The Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould offers much loss. No one nowadays is likely to enjoy much of ‘ The Silver Store ’ (1868). Worse, in his edition of ‘ Songs of the West ’ he has bowdlerised old ballads, such as ‘ The Three Drunken Maidens,’ which may well have had good stuff in them. Among other clerical poets are Henry Francis Lyte, author of ‘Abide With Mo’; Bishop Bickorsteth, who wrote ‘ Peace, Perfect Peace’; and Robert Stephen Hawker, vicar of Monvcnstow, who will always ho remembered for his ‘ Song of the Western Mon,’ written in 1825; —- And have they fixed the where and when 'i Ami shall Trelawny die.' Here's twenty thousand Cornish men Shall know the reason why!

Scott, Dickens, and Macaulay all took this for a genuine ancient ballad. And, of course, there is Charles Kingsley: but since he gave his opinion of poetry in the lines suggesting that simple village maidens, by the exercise of unintelligent virtue, might earn “ a purer poet’s laurel than Shakespeare’s crown ” we will none of him. : DIALECT POEMS. Other West Country poets with a niche in history are John Gay, author of ‘ The Beggar’s Opera ’; Eustace Budged, of the ‘ Spectator ’ and the * Dun-' ciad and Tom d’Urfoy. For the rest we shall be indebted to the piety of a former Plymouth librarian, Mr »V. H. K. Wright, who published in 1896 a compendium of West. Country _ poets. The earliest name in his annals is John Garland, circa 1040, whose verses were written in Latin. Simon Ash, who lived in the reign of King John, is described by Polwhele as “ less blessed 1 by the maids of Helicon than Alexander Necham and Joseph of Exeter.” The first dialect poem is by William Strode, about 1625. Many of the words' have clearly undergone little change since his time. A later dialect poet, Elisa Tozer (1825-73) was very popular. Here is a sample of his verse:— The devil he come to our parish wan day. But he zed he didden intend for to stay; He was gwain on varther to vetch a vat Prior, The layder of Tavistock’s vair Abbey quire, Who’d a been a behavin’ as no Prior shude do, And he’d vix’d to make un a vine brimstone stew. The devil was so lavishly entertained that he stayed “ till the vrost did zet in,” and when at last he left, The devil rawd on, and bam by (by and by) cum a shout; The vrost strook his tail, and he died like a lout. THE NAMES OF THE POETS. The names of the West Country poets are often the best thing about them. Tom Billinger, the two Glubbs, Ted Penua, Zachary Bogan, Paul and Peter Speccot, Dick Jago of Snittersfield, are all more interesting than their verses. Edward Edwin Foot writes with enthusiasm upon the “ Encampment of the Volunteers at Haytor, July 30, 1892.” A namesake of mine, the Rev. Charles Strongj opens one of his songs with this striking apostrophe:— Louisa! guarding still the name of Winn Remembered thou Devonia’s vernal hue . . . ? Abraham Hosking Saunders lamented the death of George Eliot, and William Francis wrote a long poem, ‘ Gwennap,’ sub-titled ‘ Sketch of the Life of a Pious Minor, of Which the Parish and its Vicinity Have Furnished Many Examples.’ Why have the great ones passed the West "Country by P Is its beauty too complete, or has it never captured the imagination of a major poet? Till it does it is to the old songs and ballads we must go for Western poetry:— 0 buy me, my Lady, a cambric shirt, While all the woods ring with a merry antine (anthem); And stitch it without any needlework, And thou shnlt be a true lover of mine. A breath of that, and the Saunderses, the Foots, the Bogans, the Francises, and the Keyses are blown back to the dust heap from which the kindly and industrious Mr Wright exhumed them. WHERE KIPLING EDITED “ COPY " The newspaper ou which Mr Rudyard Kipling once served as an assistant editor, the ‘ Pioneer,’ has passed from British control to Indian —making one of the most significant pieces of “ Indianisation ” that has occurred in this country in recent years. First published in 1865, the newspaper has conscientiously served Anglo-Indian interests in India, and its change to an Indian-owned publication is viewed in India as something in the nature of a minor Imperial event. Since its foundation the ‘ Pioneer ’ has virtually always represented the best characteristics of the British connection with India, and for many years was considered the most important newspaper in the country. Kipling served on the ‘ Pioneer,’ at Allahabad, and the ‘ Civil and Military Gazette,’ at Lahore, between 18S2 an 4 1889. It was as a result of his connection with these newspapers that he developed his flair for portraying Indian life and manners, and it was in the columns of the two newspapers that his first sketches of the Indian scene were produced. It is a popular habit with tourists and others in. the country to drop in at the offices of both newspapers to see where Kipling worked, and an editor of one of the journals recently said that scores of Americans make pilgrimages to the offices in Lahore and Allahabad for the purpose of seeing where Kipling actually wrote. The office of the 1 Pioneer ’ to-day is virtually unchanged since the time when Kipling worked there. WHAT BOYS READ Fifty thousand boys voted, during the Los Angeles “book week,” on the question of the most popular books for boys, and the Public Library of the city has issued a pamphlet, which shows the titles, and in order of popularity. ‘Tom Sawyer’ heads the list, followed by Pyle’s ‘ Robin Flood ’ and ‘Treasure Island.’ Then come ‘The Call of the Wild,’ ‘ Robinson Crusoe,’ ‘Huckleberry Finn,’ ‘King Arthur and His Noble Knights,’ ‘Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,’ ‘Dr Dolittlo,’ ‘Swiss Family Robinson,’ ‘Martin Crusoe’ (Bridges), ‘White Fung,’ ‘Black Beauty,’ ‘ Voung Trailers,’ ‘The Three Musketeers,’ ‘ Ivanhoo,’ ‘ Life and Adventures of Buffalo Bill.’ Fairly down in the list are ‘Last of the Mohicans,’ ‘The Mysterious _ Island,’ ‘ Tho Arabian Nights,’ ‘Kidnapped,’ ‘Toby Tyler’ (Kalcr), ‘Jim Davis,’ ‘Hoys’ Life of Abraham Lincoln.’ ‘ Peter Fan.’ ‘ The Biography of a Grizzly,’ ‘The Covered Wagdii,’ ‘Unde Tom’s Cabin,’ and ‘ Ben Hur.’

NEW BOOKS THE ATONEMENT ‘ The Atonement in Experience,’ by Leon Afpee (Geo. Allen and Unwin).—M. Arpee’s book is a critical study of the most difficult of all_ Christian doctrines to expound. This difficulty has resulted in the fact that there never has been in the church any .universally received explanation of the Atonement. Those explanations which have been accepted have always in the end been found unsatisfactory. What exactly we mean by freewill, guilt, punishment, sanctification, and so on, will always be open to illumination from our ever- § rowing body of new knowledge, and ecause this is the case we shall always have to recast our theories of the Atonement anew in every age. M. Arpee attempts this task in the light of modern thought and experience. Repentance and forgiveness, reconciliation and sacrifice, and the vicarious atonement are some of the subjects that he examines briefly, but ably, in the present work. His treatment of the subject is marked by a sensitive appreciation of past efforts to set forth the doctrine, together with a keen sense of the enormous range of facts to be taken into consideration in attempting a synthesis that will satisfy the most intelligent men of our time. SURVIVAL AFTER DEATH Sir Oliver Lodge, the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the Rev. C. L. Tweedale, and numerous other writers whose opinions must command respect have told us that continuity of life and communication with the so-called “dead” are established facts, and they have brought forward what must be regarded as strong evidence to support their views. It is questionable, however, whether the case of Spiritualism has been so clearly put as it has been by J. Arthur Findlay in his book ‘ On the Edge of tho Etheric.’ Mr Findlay is evidently a . level-headed business man who approached the study of the psychic in the manner in which many other practical inquirers have donej with a bias against the “ spook ,’ theory and a determination not to be taken in by tricksters. And, like the majority of these honest investigators, he has been thoroughly convinced that life is indestructable, that the personality persists, and that the hereafter is a world of realities. And in this book of his he sets out his evidence, obtained mainly by the “direct voice ” method of communication, which is the most arresting and most convincing of all. The world’s unrest to-day has been attributed to tho awakening of a desire to learn the truth; it has been described as a spiritual rather than a material unrest. It way well be so, in which case Mr Findlay’s book will be of much value in fixing tile mind on a truth which, when accepted, must make for patience, poise, and progress. A feature of ‘On the Edge of the Etheric ’ which makes it different to other works of this nature is the clear exposition of the laws by which it is claimed by many investigators we retain, in the etheric, our bodily appearance, our memories, and onr affections. It should thereby appeal to every genuine searcher after truth, for that which assures us that “ death ” as a simple and painless process; that we continue to live in more or less familiar, if idealised, surroundings; that we reap there what we have sown here, and that opportunity for reparation and for progress is increased rather than altogether lost when we “ pass over,” cannot be otherwise than comforting and encouraging, especially when the assertions are supported in the manner described. Our copy is from Angus and Robertson, Sydney. EDGAR JEPSON RAISES A CHUCKLE The patrician mother of a happy-go-lucky young baronet informs her son that, in order to save the family estate from bankruptcy, he will simply have to marry money. A few minutes later the nobleman sees the pretty governess pirouetting before a mirror and admiring her new frock, and, yielding to what in the hook is called a leonine impulse, he suddenly embraces the girl and kisses her. A distorted tale of the affair is carried to the formidable lady of the house, who promptly gives the governess notice. Mr Edgar Jepson’s new novel, ‘ Sarah and the Silver Screen,’ goes on to give a colourful and amusing account of the experiences of a girl, financially poor but rich in personal attraction, who seeks to make a living as a movie, actress. Always in the running for the girl’s favours is the amorous baronet, who lias no serious regrets over the stolen kiss, apart from his sorrow over causing Sarah to lose her position. Mr Jepson’s book will entertain youthful members of the fair sex, but it cannot ho commended to the lover of robust fiction. The publishers ar© Messrs Herbert Jenkins Ltd.

NOTES It is reported that a volume of the letters of the late Mr Lytton Strachey will be prepared for publication before very long. In the books of Lewis Carroll, as in those of no other writer, wo find the true mirror for our oivu generation.— Lord David Cecil. Sir John Martin-Harvey, the celebrated actor-manager, is writing his autobiography. He is in his seventieth year. A bronze tablet has been placed on the wall of the Royal High School at Edinburgh to commemorate the fact that Sir Walter Scott was educated there. He went there in 1778. The music library of the late Don Sebastian de Bourbon, containing about 900 items, has been presented to the Madrid Municipality. It includes manuscripts of Rossini and Verdi. Mr St. John Philby, who will publish a book dealing with his adventures in Arabia, crossed the grim Rub-al-Khali desert from east to west, while Mi 1 Bertram Thomas, author of ‘ Arabia Felix,’ crossed it from south to north. No man was ever yet a great poet, without being at the same time a profound philsosopher. For poetry is the blossom and tho fragrancy of all human knowledge, human thoughts, human passion, emotions, language.—Coleridge. Putnam’s report that Miss Flora Klickmaun’s popular novel, ‘ The Carillon of Scarpa,’ will shortly he published in a Swedish translation. Miss Klickmann has a previous connection with Sweden, as she edited the English editions of tho two flower garden books by the late Crown Princess of Sweden, Princess Margaret of Connaught. At Chalfont St. Giles, in Buckinghamshire, there has just been felled a 500-ycars-old elm, nuclei - the shade ol which Milton is said to have rested. The dm had become dangerous, and it was decided—though only after a long dispute between its enemies and its

defenders —that the tree should bo cut down and the stump preserved as a memorial to the poet. The second edition is being now printed of a book of which tiie first edition, consisting of a single copy, appeared 1,300 years ago. it is called ‘The Exeter Book,’ and is a collection of the earliest poems in the English language- According to legend, it was prepared to the order of King Alfred. For nearly 1,000 years it has been preserved in the library of Exeter Cathedral. M. Abel Bonnard, poet, novelist, and essayist, has been elected member of the “ Academic Francaise.” M. Bonnard, who holds in F ranee a status equivalent to that of the poet laureate in England, is well known in European literary circles .tor such works as ‘ The Royalties, Friendship,’ ‘ln Praise of Ignorance, and many books of travel. Mr John Buchan, the Scottish novelist and historian, played tho role of Sir Walter Scott in a pageant given in Peebles in connection with the Scott centenary celebratimis. Mr Buchan appeared in an episode showing tbe “ Author of Waverley” m his study at Abbotsford. This was one ot a senes presented in the pageant, which pictured a throng of Scott characters, who emerged from a lingo book inscribed ‘ Waverley Novels. As the pages of the hook were turned diameters from the novels stepped forward and spoke their parts. A book is good company. It is full of conversation without loquacity, said Henrv Ward Beecher. It comes to your "longing with full instruction, but pursues vou never. It is not offended at your absent-mindedness, nor jealous if Vou turn to other pleasures. It silently serves the soul without recompense, not even for the hire or io\e. \nd vet more noble—it seems to pass from "itself, and to enter tho memory, and to hover in a silvery transfiguration there, until the outward book is but a bodv, and its soul and spirit arc flown to you, and possess your memory like a spirit. The Catalonian poet Ventura Gassols, who is also a member of the Spanish Parliament, had a compulsory haircut recently. Four unknown men waylaid him in the corridor of the hotel in which he was staying, and held him down on the floor of a bathroom while one of them sheared his abundant locks. When they released linn lie dashed into his room lor his revolver and lived several shots at them as: they rushed down the staircase. It is thought that he hit one ol them. Blood stains were found on the stairs, but all of the men escaped. Is there a decline of reading? Sir John Simon, the talented Secretary ot State for Foreign Affairs, asked tlie question when he presided ou - v toe anniversary dinner ot the Royal Literary Fund. “ I look back to my beginnings,” ho said, “ and I think "ith deep gratitude and affection of the home from which T came, whore the rending of it hooic and tiio niaicnig ol d ( a part of the lilo ot the borne was a must important and interesting event. But,- family reading, like iamdy pray-

ers, has certainly gone out of vogue, and the hustle of these days, with the easy processes of the cinema screen and the broadcast talk, offer to idle minds a dangerous diversion. If it were true that reading and that delightful process of subsequent reflection which is of the essence of the pleasure which literature gives to the reader is on the decline we might think unhappily on the future of our State.” ‘A Man’s Life ’ is the title of an autobiography by Mr Jack Lawson. M.JL It is to ho published by Messrs Hoddor and Stoughton. Ah; Lawson went from tho mines to Oxford and from Oxford back to the pit, turning his hack ipTon opportunity because he believed that the present scale of human values was all wrong. His wife shared his belief and went with him. Later on, ho was elo tod to Parliament. His book describes his whole life; it tells of the heroic struggles of his parents against poverty, and is itself a remarkable tribute to the personality of Mr Lawson's mother.