BOOKS AND BOOKMEN.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXXII, Issue 15717, 9 September 1911, Page 6

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN.

THE LONG ROLL.”

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

There is sonic lino dramatic writing in Miss Mary .Johnston's new story, “The Lons Roll” (Messrs Constable ' and Company). Miss Johnston, whoso , novels are all too few in number, has i choson the American Civil War as the t setting cf her new story, and with vivid imagination, fed by a. estudv of tlio : available historical records, slio shows her readers that liomeric struggle from I the point of view of the Confederates, tlio moil who did net win. The ‘ Outi look,” in a review of this book, says | that “of its extraordinary ability as a piece of semi-histone writing there can be no question. It has the quality of an epic-in its magnitude, its narrative sweep, its pervading senso of fundamental issues, its broad movement of elemental forces.” This is high praiso, hut most* readers will endorse it. The Long Rod,” which occupies, by the w-v no fewer than 663 closely printed pages, can take its place beside those stirring romances, ‘ L:^,9‘N cr ? • tn » Com pan v ” and “The Old Dominion. Horo ‘is Miss Johnston s description of the death of General "Stonewall. Jackson from a wound received m action:— , . , ... "It was sunny weather, fair ana sweet,with all the bloom of May. the bright trees waving the Ion? (Trass rippling, waters flowing, the sltv azure, bees about tlio flowers, the birds singing piercingly sweet, mother-earth so beautiful, the sky downbenaing, t.io light of the sun so gracious, warm and vita 11 . . . " A little before noon, kneeling beside him, his wife told Stonewall Jackson that, ho would di- He smiled and laid his hand noon her bowed head. ‘Yon are frightened, my child. Death is not so near. I may yai ' i< " Tim doctor came to him. ‘ Doctor, Anna tells me I am to die to-day. I 3 it scW "‘Oh, General, General! It is so. “110 lay silent, a moment, fhen ho said, ‘Yr.rv good, very good! It is nil right.’ “ Throughout the dsy his mind was now clouded, now clear. In one of ihe latter time* lio said there was something ho was trying to remember. There followed a half-hour O? broken sleep and wandering, in the course oi which he twice spoko a name. ‘ Deederick.’ Once ho said. ‘Horse Artillery,’ and onoe •■White Oak Swamp—’ “ Tlio alternate clear moments and the lapses into stupor or delirium were like tho sinking or rising of a strong swimmer. e - hausted at lost, the prey at last of a shoreless sea. At times ho came head and shoulders out of the sea. In such a moment ho opened his grev-blne eyes full on one of his stuff. All tlio staff was gathered in grtof about the bed. ’ When Diehard Cleave.’ he paid. ' asks for a court of inquiry, let him have it. Tel! General Leo ’ Tlio sea drew him under again.

“It hardly let him go any moro: moment by moment now, it wore out tlio strong! swimmer. Tlio day drow on to afternoon. He lay straight upon the bed. silent for the most part, but now and then wandering a littlo. His wife bowed herrolf beside him; in a comer wept the old man, Jim. Outsido tlio windows there seemed a hush as of death. “ ‘ Pass the infantry to ihe front.’ ordered Stonewall Jackson. ’Tell A. P. Hill to propero for nef’on.’ The voice sank; there cams a long silence; there was only heard the old man crying in the corner. Then, for the last time in this phase of being, the great soldier opened his eyes. In a moment he snoko, in a very sweet and calm voice. • Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.’ He died.

THE WELSH NATIONAL LIBRARY. One of the most interesting ceremonies which King George performed during tlio visit to Wales fer the investiture of the Prince of Wales was the laying of the foundation stone of the Welsh National Library at Aberystwyth. The first idea for the formation of such a library dates back to 1572, and in 1573 a committee was formed to further the scheme and to collect rare books and manuscripts in the Welsh language, and in other languages when they related to Wales and its people. The first collections were placed in University College, Aberystwyth, apd when the college buildings were burnt down in 1885 these were fortunately all saved. In 1896 a Web:!' Library Committee was formed, drawn from all parts nf Wales; and an appeal was made for books and manuscripts, which met with a remarkable response, and the collection speedily grew to such proportions that the need for a separate and permanent building in which to house it became groat and urgent. A building worthy of the principality is now being orected. The contents of this library will include such treasures as tlio oldest manuscript of the Laws of Wales, in Latin and Welsh; the earliest versions of the Mabinogion, as well as of the Arthurian Romances; the oldest and only nerfect copy of the Holy Grail; and'“ Tim Black Book of Carmarthen,” the oldest manuscript in the Welsh language, written on vellum in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

• THE HOME OF THE WAXEYE. (From “Birds of the Water, Wood and Waste,” by 11. Gutlirio-Smith.)

Tho Waxeye breeds a month or six weeks later than the Fantail, and it is not till October that the tiny nest may bo discovered, in a trail of native bramble flung on a laceback or manuka sapling, or cunningly hidden on the edgo of a patch of low scrub or dense bracken, or for choice suspended over water.

Tho two or tlireo delicate eggs of palo bluo hung in tho frailest-iooking fairy basket imaginable, a diaphanous cradlo, woven on to frond or branchlot and stirred by every breath of wind. The nest, though so slight iri appearance, is really sufficiently strong and is firmly fastened on to the supporting bough with web and wool, and lined with long, pliable bents and horsehair. For further ornamentation it is striped and crossed with fresh, faded leaves of soft meadow grass, their palo pilose Surfaces, flat on tlio exterior, blending exquisitely with the bluish cocoon wool and grey spider web. At a later stago many of the nests hang quite awry. They are perfectly secure, but the parents do not scorn to have allowed for the fledglings’ growing weight. The nast is tilted and has lost its earlier eminently trim and dainty appearance. . . . When rhe youngsters

are but a few days old, one or other of the parents is practically always on the nest. The parents then take it m turn to sit, the cock bird sounding forth his coming and whistling off his wife and he in his turn vacating tho neat when she arrives with supplies. The young are fed with moths, spiders, caterpillars, etc., all crushed and dead. They are fed fairly, as far as can be judged, but probably the strongest and hungriest gets rather moro than its rightful share. After placing, or rather stuffing the morsel in a nestling's mouth, it is sometimes found to be too large, and whilst the body <?f it has gone, the long legs or wings still projeet like antenna'. This condition of things is then considered judiciously for a moment by the feeding parent and the morsel often withdrawn and given to a hungrier or larger-mouthed chile!. Meanwhile tho unlucky loser still continues to gape and quiver in expectancy, persevering in vain long after his nestlellow lias swallowed the mouthful and settled down. . . . The young, whilst being fed, stretch forth their long necks with a rotatory motion, working their naked, wings, too, and shivering with eagerness. During rain one of the parents sits with wings outspread over tho nest, and in this manner keeps tho nostlings dry and warm. The young are also carefully sheltered from the beat, most particularly when young and flabby. Even from a distance it is easy to teli the age of the young, tho sitting bird acting as a sort of animated barometer. With eggs or squab young you hardly see her back; a week later you can notice her sides, and a clay or two before the nestlings fly she is fairly hoisted up by their growth.

“ WINDING PATHS.’* Thu theui6 of “Winding Paths/' a

new novel by Gertrude Pago (Sydney, Mr W. Dymock, and Christchurch, Messrs Wliiteombe and Tombs), is the woman worker, not of the factory typo, but of the educated class, which, supplies private secretaries, actresses and teachors to the world. Mrs Page is too experienced a writer not to bo interesting, and this story, with its quick action, dramatic scenes, and strong love interest, will appeal to most readers. But it is not easy to share the author’s own deep regard for the heroine, Hal Pritchard. Miss Hal is net fairly representative of tho women who have learned to held their own in tlio battle of life, and it is a little tiresome to have her presented as a type. She is a conceited, selfcomplacent young person, with an insufferable habit of natronising and lecturing. Sir Edward Cratliia, a Cabinot Minister of the aggressive and unscrupulous typo that appeals to the lady novelist, finds her impertinenoes charming, raid as his own manners are shocking, the pair got on well together. But why, when ho kisses her as though she were a parlourmaid and bo a cockney “sport,” should she refrain from protest lest 110 should laugh and she seem lacking in strength of character P Capable young modern women do not accept such liberties as tho eurroncy of everyday life.