NEW PUBLICATIONS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXVII, Issue 8354, 6 September 1890, Page 1 (Supplement)

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

When' Wb Wuiie Boys. By William O'Brien. Longmans and Co., London.— This is certainly a cleverly-written book, and i.-i much mora agreeable reading than the author's philippics at Irish meetings. Tho book gives a very graphic picture of Irish life in tho semi-revolutionary clays of some twenty years ago. How it came to be written the author tells us in a note which closes the tale. When in prison under the Coercion Act lie was, " owing to tho influence of British public opinion," proferred the use of books and writing material. To beguile the weary hours lie began this story, and, with the exception of four chapters, it was written wholly in prison. Could we make sure of their being able to produce under similar circumstances so interesting and in many respects brilliant a book as this, we would gladly see the whole Parncll contingent lodged in gaol. But it is to bo feared that they do not all possess tho romantic and poetic temperament of Mr. O'Brien, his graphic powers of character delineation, or his high literary gifts. The only serious blemish of the book is its ending, which is sad and unsatisfactory. The young hero (Ken Rohan), convicted of treasona boyish attempt at insurrection —is left in tho stifling hold of a convict vessel, which is to bear him away from the land he loves and the broken hearts that remain behind. But the author tells us this is not the end. Readers, he says, who shrink from the thought of a tale of youth and love ending with the sailing away of a dark-browed convict ship, and the heart-breaking cry upon the quay behind, will in an approaching hour bo summoned to exercise the all-but-heavenly high prerogative of settling for themselves what shall really be the end ; and it is an Englishman whom he makes in the darkest hour of his hero's ' tribulation and despair comfort with cheer -

ing words of courage and hope. We trust, indeed, that there is a brighter future yet to describe, and that the patriotic instincts of a high-spirited and ancient race will nerer again be prostituted and betrayed by the glamour and selfishness of incendiary revolutionists, whose policy is pelf, and whoso accent is American. The fate of

Rohan, tho generous and the brave, has been the fato of many a nobly-passionate and pure-souled Irish youth, carried headlong to ruin on the crest of the revolutionary billows that have ever and anon raged in the tempestuous sea of Irish national life ; bub we devoutly hope thab ib i-> a fate which can never more overwhelm and crush the youth and manhood of Ireland's oft misguided sons. We believe Mr. O'Brien's novel will greatly help to bring about tho realisation of such a hope, although probably nob in the way the author intended. As an example of his style and as a typical picture of what in the Fenian days was a nob uncommon scene in some parts of Ireland, the following racy description of a conspirators' meeting in a public-house bar will be found both interesting and amusing :— When Ken Rohan was invited by his lively friend Jack to make the acquaintance of tho American captain who had arrived to take the district under his charge, _it was rather a shock to him to be ushered into the little bar parlour of the Drumshaughlin Arms Hotel, among a lot of men enveloped in no further mystery than a cloud of tobacco smoke and garnished with no more theatrical appcaranoe of conspiracy than pipes and grog. . . . Here was his romance thrust into a stuffy bar parlour, with Dawley's little fiery nose shining through the tobacco nlouds ; and the American ctptain, whom he approached with awesome recollections of how heroes with a price upon their heads behaved upon romantic occasions, addressed to him only the cabalistic remark: "Glad to shake your paw, stranger. Yes, SIR!" (with immense emphasis on tho last word, as though it were the official scream of the American eagle). " Missie"—this to the pretty, befringed barmaid— fetch us along another whisky-skin, there's a seraph: and—listen, my dear—if any of them blamed peelers call to say he has a par-tickler appintinent with me, just mention that I have walked round the block to enjoy the scenery." "If ho insists, Mike,"said Jack Harold, with the appreciative air of a manager who was running a star actor —" if he forces hit! way in—" " Wal," said the Captain, gazing affectionately at his derringer, " I guess T. can show him a little bit of scenery that will absorb his attention all his mortal days. It's

nob much of a, view," he said, tapping the diminutive muzzle; "but once you've been there you wants to see sights 110 more." "What! you here!" exclaimed Ken, discovering Harry Westropp amidst a smoky nimbus blown by a long clay pipe. "Is it possible ? You don't mean to say !" " Why not?" said the Lord Harry, whose faco was flushed. "Wherever there is any divolmen* going, I'm your man." He had picked up certain peculiarities of pronunciation as well as of opinion in the stables. " I suppose I'm as well able to shoot or be shot as another, and I don't care a dam a which it is going to be." Bully for you, lord!" said the Captain ; "but you just study clause one of the State Constitution of Kentucky, which provides, whenever there is to be shooting, get your own derringer in first. As a humane white man, I object to place on a fellow-creature's soul the guilt of shooting me." . . . " Somebody's got left, eh?" said the American captain, imbibing what appeared to be a tumblerful of orange peel through two straws. " Somebody's missing?" _ " It's only Mat Murrin, the edithor," said Dawley, who, being sft 6in in his vamps, would hear of nothing but physical force, and had a profound disdain for the pen as a weapon for heroes. "Uen'lemen, I knew him from a boy—l was raised on the far side of Cobdhuv beyond," remarked Captain Mike, whosi dialect was the strangest New English hash served up in a rich Minister sauce—"and Mat Murrin has spent all his life in getting left. It is my opinion lie will get left at his own funeral. That is what's the matter with you people all the time. If this British Empire was advertised to burst up spontaneous at an hour and place named in the hills, provided the Irish people was punctual on time just for that one auspicious occasion, darned but you'd have Mick and Paddy inouching along half an hour too late hoping they hadn't kep' anybody waiting. Yes, sir ; there's a very superior laygend I heard from my poor ould mother, that there's a band of warriors lying asleep somewhere in the Caha Mountains for I disreinember how many hundreds of years, and whenever they wake at a certain signal Ireland will be free. That's so; but they never do wake, i.nd, what's more, they never will. Gen'lcmen, it is my confidential opinion if they heard tho blast of the last trumpet, them sleepy warriors of yours would turn in and wait for a second call. That's just the Irish question slick through—plenty of sleep and poverty, and 110 coming to business." "Yell, wislia, don't be too hard on the ould neighbours, Captain,"said Mat Murrin, putting in his round, beaming face in time to hear the denunciation of his nation's laziness. " The Lord knows they wake earlv enough to the kind of life they're provided with. The only wonder is that a great many of them think it worth their while to wake at all." " That's so, boss. If the gen'lcmen of this 'ere island would only lay 011 as much horsepower in keeping their appointments as they do in turning out embroidered excuses for breaking them, we'd be the most ornamental nation that ever sot up in business." " Upon my conscience, Captain, if you had to bring out the Banner and forage through the town for a subscriber to pay the staff, you'd require all your embroidery to face Mrs. Murrin at the end of the week. I've just been explaining to her that the emoluments of literature in Drumshaughlin were not calculated 011 the basis of the Muse having a houseful of babies. Master Jackthe Lord love youreach us over the decanter." " Perfectly, my dear Mat. If we cannot feed the Irish Muse upon Ambrosia, she need never be short of whisky punch, and we have it from our old friend Horace that the Cam en a; know a good drop."

" Horace Ah, yes; groat old boy, Quintus ! —Arx Poet tea, old Falernian, and the rest of it—J) est dexipere in loco—that is, it's sweet to enjoy a glass of grog with Dawley," said Mat, with all the pride of a Latinist, letting his eye-glass roll roguishly from the tumbler to the tailor. Mat had been educated for the priesthood, and still proudly proclaimed his acquaintance with lialbus, the wall-builder, and other classical personages. " I never knew much good to come of leading articles,' snarled l)awley, who was always detecting scurrilous allusions to his own red nose in the Banner. " 'Twas your line talk and fine writing that ruined us in 'Forty-eight. I know nothing of your Latin or trash. I'm a Dimocrat —I don't care who hears it —I'm a plain working-man. 1 believe in physical force, and not in paper men. (live me men of action !" " Faith, I will —if you'll give me eight like yourself I'll construct one to begin with," retorted Mat. " The geu'leman who calls Latin quotations to order has the floor," t.h® Captain interposed, rapping the table peremptorily. "I don't go much on Latin myself. They didn't give much for them Latin eppylotten in the Ninth Massachusetts, and I guess the know'd how to scrooge through the Shenandoah Valley purty handy without asking their way in seven languages.'' "Ah, but you soldiers have one language that's worth sevenbad language !" put i' l Jack.

" Yes, sir ; a few," said the American captain. " But the bottom fact of the small gen'Jeman's observations is correct—we'v had too much sunburstOry and Brian Boi"kery in this Irish cause. Sentiment in Ireland is as plentiful as ruins, and a'most as onserviceable in a campaign. Round towers is fine, but, gen'lemen, you can't get roun' towers to stand agen modern artillery . . . But I'm not agen sentiment—th" human quartz rock was never growed in Ireland that won't show that streak ot gold somewhere —all I want to state is that th» man who noes after the British lion foscalps would want something grittier than poems in his cartouche belt." "You're for a policy of ballads plus bullets, hein ?" put in Jack. " Yes, sir—bullets mostly. _ And I've got to make this further observation, that there's 110 use mooning any more after ancient chief tains for our leadersthe only fight worth a cent you'll ever make for Ireland again will be made by men in the plain clothes of the American Constitooshun —men without an, genealogy to signify. There's myself; I'm as average a citizen as a street car will roll over—nothing ornamental about tut, There are fools that'll laugh at your calling me ' captain,' because I'm not like them little toy soldiers that's tricked out in scarlet, like cockatoos, and because I'm only the son of ould Jack Carthy, that kep' the forge at Coomhola Bridge long ago-just one of themselves, and that's what I am, divel a more. But I've got the air of American freedom in my lungs—l know a thing or two that's useful where there's bullets flying—and—bet your pile!—if ever you see them cockatoos m scarlet showing a pair of heels, it won't be the Brian Borus, but the Mike MacCarthys that'll send them Hying. Yes, sir !" "Do you hear that? What did I tell you?" cried Dawley, in a state of high triumph. " It vrou't be the Brian Borus that 11 do it,"

" No," said Mat Murrin, focussing his eyeglass with terrific deliberation, ''but he didn't say it would be the Dinnisheeii Dawleys that would do it." "There's too much cleverness going, exclaimed Dawley, fiercely. "I want something that is not going to end with pen-and-ink and talk. 1 want no Parliamentary agitation. I want work. I want blood. Young lords may laugh—" "Upon my word, I wasn't laughing, pleaded Harry, who felt himself fixed by Dawley's fiery little red eyes. "I assure you no. And I'm not a lord at all. It's only a nickname they give me— Lord Harrv." , "Put the paw there, young one you re a better man than if you were a duke," said Captain Mike, heartily. "There's no use buttering him like that. That isn't democracy. I saw him laughing. I know I'm only an humble workingman—" , , "Hold your prate I" remarked Con Lehane, with the "ood humour with which a mastiff might address a saucy terrier. "If the gen'leman who wants blood will only cool his noble thirst with cock-tails for a short time longer, I guess he'll find enough of that ruby wine on tap," said the American captain, speaking now rapidly and in a thrilling whisper. " That's the frozen fact. That is what I brought you here to-nigh c to tell you. We are getting near the hour. The boys are coming home. Half the barracks in the country are ours. The militia regiment? are with us. By the time the harvest is ripe lh°>'e'll be an improved American reaper on hand 1. A*" it. Thujginthn ?" " Grand !" says Con Lehane, the charge-of-cavalry smile about the eyes grimmer than ever. , "That's the talk I want to hear! screamed the little tailor, who, to do him justice, feared nothing in human shape except Mrs. Dawley, a woman of large proportions, who was accustomed to display a rolling-pin and a contempt for democracy. I " And now," pursued the Captain, " what I want to know is, supposing our boys keep their appointment, wnat sort of reception will they have from the people—supposing they land here in Bantry Bay, now, for argument's sake?" There was an awkward pause. Pulling the British Empire to pieces looks the simplest tiling in the world till you come to particulars. Our fervid Celtic faith believes in moving mountains, and hates being teased with petty difficulties about pulleys and means of transport. " Begor," says Mat Murrin, not being prepared with any other strategical suggestion, " we'll drink their health in the biggest bumpers that ever blazed with Irish whisky." "I con-chide you'd do that much violence to your feelings without bringing shiploads of people across a hemisphere or to assist at the de-monstration," said the Captain, drily. " No, boss; I don't allude to the toast list, nor the torchlight procession, nor the 'luminated address from the citizens." "Give us the guns !" said the stonemason, in a low, deep voice. "There goes the Ninth Massachusetts! said the Captain, fixing his dark eyes upon the speaker's brawny limbs with a critical approval that made Con blush like a rosy russet. " What I want to know is. can you multiply Con Lehane by fifty thousand How many more lineal yards of that material have you got in stock round here?" " You'll find too many like mc— as poor and just as ready," said Con, sheepishly. " In the towns, yes," uaid Jack Harold. " But we must not deceive ourselves. It is different with the country people. There are good prices for springers. That is their literature, their history, their heaven. The only cause in which they are willing to die is filching their neighbour s spot of land. Don't count upon the farmers. Purbleu! They are such miserable creatures that they have not found it out. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals might as well expect donkeys to call in the police to the brutes that flog them. If those charming peasants ever heard tell of us, we are wild young menwho ?—instigated by the devil." " It's the priests that does it, said Dawley. " There's Monsignor McGruddcr. He tells the oulil woman we're bringing over the French Revolution to abolish God and the altar." " When our boys go for bear I d advise the reverend man not to pan out on that text to any great extent within my lines," said the Captain, "if he don't desire a short road to heaven bored through his body." "That's what I teU'ein," exclaimed Dawley, triumphantly. "The French Revolution's too good for them sky-pilots. They're too purple and fat, r id wants blood-letting." " That's atrocious !" cried Ken Rohan, hotly. "If we are to judge three thousand Irish priests by Monsignor McGrudder, how can you blame Monsignor McGrudder if lie judges us by sanguinary balderdash like that?'' " Balderdash !" exclaimed the little tailor, his nose tilted into the air, like a flash-light on a dangerous coast. " Listen to that balderdash !" " Yes, stranger, it was nonsense— nonsense," said the American captain, coolly. " Shoot your man if he blocks the road, whoever he is; but don't go blazing away at the Short Catechism— may as well be firing at the moon. It's kind of wrong, and it wastes cartridges." " No," Ken Rohan dashed along. You 11 get the Irish people to write, ' Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity' in plain letters over the church doors, but youll never get them to dance carmagnoles on the altars. God forbid you ever should be able ! If there is a more detestable thing on earth than an Irish priest without a country, it is an Irish patriot without a God." "Do you mean me shrieked Dawley, who had seized a tumbler, having, worse still, emptied its contents. " Don't make a bosthoon of yourself!" said Con Lehane, smilingly, replacing him in his

seat. "I hope Dawlcy and the rest of you wn forgive me, lam sure. It's an infernal wai I've got,' said Ken, blushing Si far as I can judge, what you lacl is not young men to take up arms but amrs for them to take up. . . Give the young fellows a chance ; let therr see your ships here in Bautry Bay, and thej will rush to you as the young waterfalls d< from the mountains." " (ilory !" observed Con Lehane. "Correct," said the American Captain, witl much satisfaction. " Wal, children, I ain't powerful 011 Fourth of July work; butjusl you take home this sentiment, and frame ii over your chimney-piece in the most slavi-uj: style'this respectable but backward islam can produce. If Mike MacCarthy knows $ clam-bake from a Confederate shell, youi young waterfalls will have the chance befort long. Yes, sik !" " What do you think of that, Misthei Editor?" askecl Dawley, with fine scorn foi one weaponed with a goose-quill in such an hour. . " Well, then," said Mat, I was just thinking that if you hang up that sentiment anywhere within reacli of Mrs. Dawley, I hope you'll give the Banner notice, so that a short hand man may call around and take a note of her remarks. There, now, don't be cross —sure we will all have our Airs. Dawleys— the Five Great Powers of Europe aren't such great fellows when their five wives are anywhere on the premises. This wrangling is dry work. .Jack Harold, if you were the decent man a misguided public take you for, you'd be after ordering in another drop of nourishment." , "The chair recognises Edithor Murrm. Another drop of nourishment is in order!" said Captain Mike. "In the meantime, Mr. Chairman and gentlemen," said Mat, improving the hint, and solemnly rising, fixing his eye-glass with 11 majestic sweep of one arm, while the right hand was spread into a statuesque fan-like development springing from a concealed thumb in the arm-hole of his expansive waistcoat—"in the meantime, perhaps, I may be allowed, with the permission of the chair, to embody in the trivial form of a vote of thanks the feelings that are struggling for entrance in every patriotic bosom I behold around me—with the exception of Brother Dawley, whose massive brow, I observe, is corrugated with that severe superiority to the ordinary emotions of our nature which we honour in the tailor even more than we bow the knee to in the man—" " The usual rot," remarked the disgusted Dawley; " you ought to be in Parliament." " Mr. Chairman," said Mat, °jorgonising the interrupter through his eye-glass, and then Iropping that appendage with a supreme -hetorical grace, "I might have been tempted ;o reply in the language of an outraged Parlassus to the impotent interrubtions of Blackamoor Lane" (which was Mr. Dawley's private address), "only that the drop of lourishment (which I would respectfully vite our honoured friend, Jack Harold, to nix)— that the drop of nourishment las, I say, opportunely arrived to elevate us ibovo the mental plane of Blackamoor Lane, md, as I may say. to flood the ilusyspangled meadows of patriotism with the sunshine of the human soul." "It would carry the Sixth Ward—the ,vhole darned ticket!" Captain Mike oblerved, meditatively. " But, sir," proceeded Mat, it requires no iloquence, nor indeed whiskev-punch, to •ecommend to this assembly the vote of ;hanks which swells the heart of Ireland frith the force of a volcano of delight when ihe beholds Captain Mike MacCarthy and ;he scattered children of her race breasting ihree thousand miles of billows, with arms n their hands to strike the chains off the imbs of their poor, but universally respected nother, Ireland." "Strikes me this is kind of pre-matur

iditor," said the Captain. " Wouldn't it be »rell to wait till the gen'lemen in the billows are signalled off the JFastnet auyhow?"

" No, sir, the mind's eye sees them already crowding all sail for Bantry Bay, their eyes straining for the land, their hnd upon their manly weapons, their hearts panting for the hour when they will cross swords with the red-liveried minions of England—" " Pine, Mat," cried Jack Harold, "but couldn't you manage to sing it?" " Ay, ay, a song!" shouted everybody. "No, sir, sing it yourself," thundered Mat Murrin, who, to tell the truth, had forgotten the exact purpose for which he rose, and was beginning to feel lost in three thousand miles of billows of his own rhetoric. " No, sir, sing it yourself," cried Mat, suddenly and determinedly sitting down. "Jack Harold's song!"rose in a chorus of relief from a company cloyed with the orator's rich abundance, and Jack, being quick at improvisation and not at all deaf to the seductions of his own pretty baritone, after a brief interval, which he pretended to devote to chaffing the editor and filling his own tumbler, broke into brisk verses, wliich he sang to the swinging air of " The Lowbacked Car."

"I could not have expressed it better myself," said Mat Murrin, who had joined in the chorus. "Eloquence does homage to melody. The soaring eagle takes off his hat to the singing-bird. But, Mr. Chairman," proceeded Mat, rising again, arrayed in all the stately dignity of his eye-glass, " there is one toast, Mr. Chairman, which no assembly of Irishmen can seperate without honouring—" Until Mat Murrin's soul " separated" from his body, there was always "one toast" which demanded a brief tribute of his oratory. They say it was in the course of some observations in recommendation of " one toast more" that the Angel of Death interrupted him with a summons to a higher—l hopo brighter—board.