CURRENT LITERATURE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume L, Issue 15252, 15 March 1913, Page 4 (Supplement)

CURRENT LITERATURE.

'•'•; NEW -BOOKS. ..' •" - v ''" ' ♦.''■ ■—— I '/. «Tin Impossible She '♦—by R. f ' Ramsay (Constable and Co.,' _H)ridoh)—tells chiefly of a, millionairess, a liiiirlaticy a bankrupt lord, and an unsophisticated girl. The lunatic considers that he has a right to certain millions j and having , been released from detention after his murderous attack on their former owner, ho 'turns his attention to Miss Seraphina Wombish. To save her life she tells him that the money 13 not really hers— she holds jit, only in trust till the girl Juliana's marriage. Believing her, Freddy;then, in quite an unbalanced manner, informs' Juliane that he intends to marry her. \ She child, giving all her attention to riding, to hounds, helped in this by Lord Pete, the j bankrupt. The lord's friends are trying to secure : an heiress, an "Impossible She" for him; and are annoyed at his friendship for.the girL ; - Finally ; ,a ■ fire occur*/ Freddy is, heroic and dies, even > confessing love for Serapbiniij: Lord. Pete finds that he loves'- Juliarie: and Miss Wombish declares that' truly the million do belong to the girl. The mein interest of the novel circles, round the hunting scenes with which the story abounds,, and the natural freshness of the girl who buys horses and' rides to" hounds with the '■■'.•, * gayest abandon. ,/ -:.y.\ :''.y. " A Cry In the WttdenMJU "—by Mary E. Waller (Melrose, London.; Robertson, may not: be., as-'-. charming as "The Wood Carver of J Olympus,' or as stately as the " Haunted Quarries,' but it is a readable story with a: thoroughly American problem plot. Plots which tread dangerously - near . the ; . edge of things are mucrt better done by the Americans than by the English* lor a.much superior ; type of American writer evidently likes ' to peer down into the depths. The plot of "A Cry in the Wilderness "depends upon a New York girl who Has bad many, •. temptations jroing to Cahtida as companion ! to' a Scotch lady and falling in love with' the stern and ■ mysterious hero, who turns out to have been her mother's husband, abandoned by f his bride at the church door; The story is full of coincidences, which are so numerous that a few 5 mote" or less can make no difference. Here is a French-Canadian ? orchard : " Oh, those orchard slopes - of Iberville' - I made intimate, acquaintance, with f them ■for the Jiext lour .weeks. I worked,hard. I was iip at five to help Madame Jean "with the breakfast and the housework. what there- was of ;&; then we were all r off to the orchards to pick the wholesome, Wi beautiful fruit—Nwrthern Spies,. Green- * ings, Baldwins•„ and Russet*. To use '-Jamie's -expression, ..their ~.';'fragrance is. in my nostrils ". as .1 write, of; them. At noon' we had. lunch—bread; and butter. with,jerked beef, v. cheese, apples, washed : v'' down &t ' ■sweet-cider. ' fremthe mill VThero "was* no stint ot the^ simple fare, Then at track, .the; children joining, except th* babv, who '' roamed' at •"will among the, circhard ■ grass with two small pigs that scampered wildly to and^fro- It-was work, work— picking, sorting, packing, till -the shadows . were long on the grass and the aoplecart ' was !p3ed- his-h* with -windfalls. The barrels.were filled ;with,picked fruit of the ,/■ ■'&*&&.?£: And,after supper*, regularly every evening, wej sang -the^Angelusi' -;* Xing': arrant — by- Flora Hume Steel • {Heinemann, i • LoadcA; Robertson,, Melbourne)— * very careful and wholly; readable study of Babar, Emperor of India, and founder of the Moghul dynasty. The . youth' and manhood of the great.Afghan adventurer, his wooing and bis wedding, his successes and his defeats; his virtues; and his vices, are dealt with in Mrs. ; Steele inimitable style. This is bow he. " seised Samarkand:—His ; nobles, his comrades, "were sitting: round hun, revelling '-over the "'camp firej hold-> ing ;■*"; sort, .of sacramental, least before: the dangerous ; surprise. "Come!" cried ' Babar, .turning, .* light on his face brighter' than the -firelight; *♦ let us" have bet on when we shall take Samarkand. To-night,' to-morrow, or newt!*!- * To-night 1 ?« cried NevianGokultaeli and the others Followed suit. ",. ' Half-an-hour afterwards they • were in their saddles, low.bowed upon, their peaks, lightscalinglsdde» r slunjr alongside/riding for aft t&y were-wdrthiv^Now.or never! The -ijmft was ripe;" Sh«baiid;Ehan himself; lulled :ih' security, away » maraud* ing'expedition, the garrison unalarmed, confident. >■■ was - mididght > when they?* halted in • pl(sasure-ground before" the'? ■''< walU '*f ■*?. :Samarkand.' Here- Babar detached eighty of his best men. They-were; if possible, to scale the -waft:'no»iefe|s|y by the ' Lovers Cave—most deserted-portion of the forti-- ■ fiea'tionsrHßiake' their way silently to the Turquoise Gate, overpower the guard and open*'- the" 'i ; ddors." r ' v ßab»r L ; himself, f with : the 1 ' remainder of his men ■- was to ride" up to the Gate and be ready to force their way ? in. ; How still the > ,: night was 1, The stars', how bright! ;■; The ' -Sevan j Thrones Z'\ wheeling in '% their ordered away 'to' the* dawn. k What had Fate ordered in his. life? Babar, wait- ■ ing,'his hand gripped on his ' sword-hilt in the dark way. of the Clate, listened > ; V eagerly for a'' sounds'"*,''Thei.' horsei^^bcofs;" deadened by" enswathing felt, had made no sound, the very .chink Of steel oh'steel 'had not been heard. . All .was silent as the grave. Whit did Fate liold in store? ;v ; Hark;.. a sentry's'; sleepy call: "What of . the hour of the night?" . £ What/ indeed? ..' Then in one .'second, tumult,' uproar, a clashing-of jiword oh' sword.' '.'The Gate! ' Open' the * Gate i" . shouted r Babar: ; A '. . awift bombardment ' '■ of dull blows- • stones, anything .on iron bolts and bars. A shiver, ajSudden yielding, and the Wide doors swung open. An instant ~ after , s "Babar!: " , was )f through, this ' v gateway, . King - K of •' Samarkand. - His . knew it, even as he galloped on through the sleeping - , staeets to the citadel.' ■ A : . drowsy •■ shop' ■ keeper or two, roused> byHtbe clatter,.looked: ' out - from .-the shops apprehensively, then, ~ . offered up prayers rf.thanksgiving. So, . */by-ones and twos, the city woke tc relief ' and gratitude. By dawn the hunted Usbeks had disappeared; dead or fled. And the chief people-;of the town, bringing such I offerings of food ready dressed as they had . at hand were flocking to the Great Arched ,' Hall of the Palace, to.do hewnage to their <;■ ': new King, 'i congratulate f him on his • success. ,'--... \ ..,- ~," . The Sanctuary—by Maud Howard Peterson (Robertson, Melbourne)— a book of especial timeliness in view of the increasing social unrest. .; liThe: hero, a man of. ' wealth, culture, ' and position, r tries by " leading a'dual 'though blameless life, as society man and mill-foreman,.to -do some- - thing towards solving .that most serious of problems, the fair-minded relation of 1 one - social class to another. But in attempting to solve this question/: he becomes involved - in another problem, still ■ older and equally' serious, the 1 relation'••' of man to Woman. The author makes brotherhood the keynote .of- the story, and the soul-develop-ment of three characters, each along' dif'lV ferent ' • lines, ■ . the, chief issue. The complicated :.'■; love v ' situation - is handled with . skill. ;' As- for; /the style. here is- a conversation between the; American- mill-owner and Ms sick daughter:—"l ant no worse than ' other men," ""and v s he. ; < spoke ;' sharply, and > the • flame 1 of anger ' burned within him again. "I/am not as bad as many. I - have lived a clean lifeas ■ mens lives go. I have never con- / sciously forgotten—your mofcher. As for -the muls— -money—-" the words were pouring out to escape the white heat of jury that burned ' beneath'- them— what— besides this—" he motioned; to the home *;■-:. and grounds—" besides the physical com- .-■:, forts—-luxuries of life, if-you will— I gotten from the money ? . Have I with- '- held:it from worthy charitieshave I begrudged it to the servants .in the house— : , 4xd%trrp^oni y your mother—has not your smallest wish been bought and gratified?" ." Slowly she sat up m her chair and :'"rJiSJB« ( - forward Without support—a thing ,; she had not done in weeks-raiad she clasped • her hands together tightly in front of her 5 :. breast. While, emaciated, with,, shining eyes, eX him again. ?;3uk*&sW*ii&im : voice Jow with emotion, "there are needs in my. life—in the life <d every woman—as there were . ;, in my ssoUstr.'s life—that cannot be bought ; brought yon

woman ever toiled as you toiled—ever renounced the finer" things as you did—with" Out some purpose. My mother knew long - ago what I, until now, only dimly guessed. . lib was not all for us—it was not first for us—you struggled. You wanted something k more than the luxuries. You wanted the ; esteem of other wanted gloryabove'all you wanted-^-power! And when you won themall those great i gifts of lifehow did you use them? For the esteem of men whoso hands I would not : touch, you killed the Labour Bill before the legislature of your state. For the glory, you built and endowed a home for ' fallen, women, while you gave starvation .wages/ to women in your mills. Was the : home—to shelter them? And for your power—because you had power over hundreds ' of workmen, that toiled to add to your wealth— refused them the protection of safety devices on the machinery, demanded by bare humanity; and their •blood,/: and the anguish of their women and little children, and the scar on the face of the man who shared his life with them— on yV>u. and on my ' heart." -' Molyneux of iiayialr —by ■ Duncan Schwann(Heinemann. London;' Robertson Melbourne)—is a delightful study' of aworthless old bachelor who has degenerated through sheer lack of effort, and finding life too smooth, from a fine athletic young : Englishman into a; gourmand and cynic; while the lady whom he thought he loved arid/who once loved him drifts away from . him ; into marriage with an energetic /and ambitious and unscrupulous son of the : people. / Heine is; how the ambitious one confides to the cynic:—"What would you do, Molyneux, if; you found : yourself on your .own at three-and-twenty, wltli not a relative :or friend who could rdo anything for you except give you away hopelessly, and yet having the ambition to do something in the great world before you; Were prehistoric?" I pondered a moment over the problem. "I should join a good club," I made reply. "Would vou? You'd do nothing of the sort.. You'd /join the first 'pothouse' you came across thatwould take a candidate on the strength of a personal application to the secretary. Often i and often I've stood ; envying : the • fellows—mere boys some of 'em, entered in the candidate's book in their babyhood by far-sighted parents—who had the right to enter tone i or other of the famous sclubs of St.: James's, membership of which opens every door. Situated as I was when i first, came to London I might just as feasibly have aspired to ;become; : a member of : the Privy Council as of a good club. " ,"H'm! So -you/couldn't raise a single soul to vouch for you?" "Not a Soul. I've an uncle .in < Cheltenham, an : old Indian civilian, : who's \ been -married : for his pension by the commonest minx in the place, and another in Hampstead who •..■ had,. himself painted: sitting on the Bench to'commemorate his being made a "J.P.* -And as v for the/people who used to .come to my father's, house, they're either in banks, or ought to be— that there's any thing discreditable in being in^ a bank, but the position: wouldn't necessarily predispose the ■ committee// of ?. the t-. Travellers/ in ■ one's ! favour, /nor ; make the' mother of one's ; pet heiress show - marked preference for one's suit. No, I can tell vou I'd a tough job to tackle." "How did you tackle it?" ilj inquired, my curiosity,. - fully aroused. Fenwick expelled a cloud of smoke. "I thought that for a man whom nobody knew anything about the Bar sounded the safest profession, and the Temple the best address. so I worked both /these things through the family "solicitor, and ate my first meal ;in my chambers with all the feelings of ,an adventurer. - The next thing was to get a footing in social London, and for that I'd ;■ one idea firmly i fixed ';■ in my head— .to/rely on feminine help. To that end I went to the best tailor and hosier I could find, on the theory that, if a fellow is ,well dressed, the average woman asks no questions. A man, on the other ;hand, is critical vto a degree before he* unbends to /a/stranger./\ He wants to know your public school, your 'Varsity, your : club, -who .your friends are, what you do. He judges by a dozen subtleties of manner and speech that a. girl disregards so long as your - tie ■is in the fashion, and your trousers have a crease. Fd guarantee to walk'l uninvited. into any ballroom ,- in the season,; pick out a likely partner, get an introduction through the hostess, - and be asked 'to lunch : . the following Sunday. In ] •fact I've done it. " , ... ;<■;<: ■- -V ;.:-*>' ■": ■;.'- -.•>-'■' . / -■..'■' ~