NEW BOOKS AND NEW EDITIONS

New Zealand Mail, 20 August 1902, Page 29

NEW BOOKS AND NEW EDITIONS

“Michael Ferrier.” By E. Frances Poynter. Macmillan and Co., London. S. arid W. Mackay, Wellington.

The hero of this story, Michael Ferricr, is a young man' whose parents died while he was yet a child, leaving him to the care of a strange-tempered old grandmother, with whom he spent a lonely and loveless childhood. He was rather a delicate child, and sadly needed the tender love and care of a mother which was denied him. His grandmother on the score of economy obtained a tutor for him. This she thought cheaper than sending him to Cambridge, but if she had done the latter his mixing with other lads of his own age might have had the effect of strengthening him both mentally’ and physically. However, he was a studious voting man, and it was thought he would grow out of his delicacy. When his grandmother died sthe left him in comfortable circumstances, and he, not wishing to remain in his country hall, left it in the care of some relative and went to London. There he met a young lady, Helen TJmfraviile, with whom he fell speedily in love. She was Motherless liko himself, but had been tenderly cared for bjvlier governess, Miss Beaven. She reciprocated Michael’s affection, but the course of their true love was crossed by a rival named Henry Mills, a cousin of Helen’s. The story is very interestingly told. Of their troubles before the lovers were united, and of the final tragic ending, which was inevitable under the circumstances, our readers will doubtless take an opportunity of learning for themselves.

Foma Gordyeoff.” By Maxime Gorky T. Fisher Unwin, London. Whitcombe and Tombs, Wellington. Maxime Gorky, the Russian novelist who has set himself to lash many of the institutions of his fellow-country-men, has drawn in this book a pitiless nay, a brutal—picture of the Russian social castes, and of the outcast lot of vagabonds of Russian civilisation. M. Gorky has had a strange career. Ho has been shoemaker, pedlar, painter, dock hand, baker, and tramp, and in bis life of privation lias seen with his K °;7 l e y° s t,le inner life of that reinark- . °. outcast class which seems to -bo inevitably present side by side with the riches and wealth of great cities. M. »orlcy appears to have come awav from tie study of it soured in temper and jaundiced in eye. The men and women io pourtrays are mere animals, and the 1 i o ho depicts is the life of egoism aid the pitiless, crushing struggle of the strong against the weak, with Thbf IS - 01 ’ its watchword, ibis, happily, 1S n ot. the whole world. SX P T aps section it, and M. Uon L n'f l K T y r f e ’ ]ias made that seenoHef i US llfe -*tu<b’. But it is a seek L d /x Ol ' 0 , oueryatin S task to \ fu| k i n I |f n,U a + t, C th ° bright and beauti|ul in life, rather than to preach pitiscieimrf - sm aUt tb ° d °ctrino that “conS SinSiStS ,( S^ rablo P °™ to

“Tlie Golf Lunatic.” By Mrs Edward Bonnard. Hutchinson and Co., hngton. H ' BaiUie a,KI Co ” Weling ' 1 t1 , 51 lg i I n bri?htly written a » d anmswfele t L 7i 1S . Sp b n ont inordinately, a nmJii • authors disposition to point coi ta.nl IS l i r atuig - Still the book ness of f \ S?t ' re 011 the snobbishwhtcli Adol f tal / type of s °cioty of hain L (or “Dolly”) JerningPerso > ; i GCfc specimen. This foolish Ce but i aHing in and oufc of Cmmtoss ° Ured at lasfc b y a bogus notorinnJ ° pr ° ves be one of a comes to tfi" g ° f , t]l \ Cvcs - Then he Bible wife ooufusmn that his sendivinities ” rw, h . m T ore t ,lia n all his at homo has mlf 'u Jemmgham when kousehoW a fair share of acting as' rlllvb .'f- blltlcr 18 always houseiraid Lk 0I ! l ; s and the for ( ‘Dol fa g c^ tton “ w °ol golf balls garden Tl, t , pr t CtlSC "’ith in the back b °ok h fi, „ n 10st am 11 sing part of the in Relein, 10 f c , count «f a bicycle tour g i) where Dolly” insists on

staying at the most expensive hotels in order to appear a,s a person of consequence.

“The King’s Counsel.” By Frank Richardson. Chatto and Windus, London. S. and W. Mackay,- Wellington.

"The author, of this book is a new writer. Of his ability to put together meritorious work there can be no doubt. As a skilful novelist he will take rank soon among our best-know’n authors. ‘‘The King’s Counsel” is complex, and decidedly interesting. Given law court scenes, company promoters of the fraudulent kind, men and women addicted to such passions as tend most to -violate the latter portions of the decalogue, and wo have a dish of strong meat, unfit, wo would say, for the mental digestion of the immature. Of course, justice and honour are vindicated in the end, and the author justifies his work.

“The Diamond of Evil.” By F. Wisiiaw. John Long, London. Wliitcombe and Tombs, Wellington.

In this clever story we are treated to a .description of the doings of some British soldiers who stole a diamond from the forehead of an Indian god. They quarrel and fight over its possession. All but one of the thieves die, and bho survivor loses tho precious stone returning to England from India. Mrs Gallup’s Baconian theory is severely satirised by the use made of a cryptogram for the recovery of tho jewel. The_ adventures of the hero in South Africa and in India are well told, and on tho whole the story will be read with interest.

“The Shadow of the Cross.” By Robert Comrie. Ward, Lock and Co., London. S. and W. Mackay, Wellington

The author of tho “Crack of Doom” has given us another story of considerable literary merit and excellence in novel-building. It is pathetic and in the end tragic, but tliero is love and honour and virtue in the story of the Rev. Hugh Adair and Liz Johnston, on whom lie lavished his affections. Adair was “called” to Dunsaney, a villago on the north-east seaboard of Ireland. Ho had been educated at an English college, which was quite the worst training for a lad who was to succeed to an Ulster Scots congregation. His theology was first questioned, and the verdict that “the boy’s not sound on hell” was destructive to liis influence. But this interest in his theology is characteristic of the villagers, and in the opening chapters we obtain a glimpse of rural life in Northern Ireland. But Liz Johnston is well educated, beautiful, and fascinating, and tho young miiyster has a ihoart. She seems to reciprocate his love, but he is not evidently sufficiently worldly, and Liz becomes enamoured of an English visitor to Dunsaney. He turns out to bo a deep-dyed scoundrel, and Liz only discovers her folly when too late. The story is commendable in many ways, and its moral is obvious.

“The Second Generation.'’ By J. W. Linn. Macmillan and Co., London. Wliitcombe and Tombs, Wellington. In this book the author has given us a sensational and slangy story of American politics and corruption. It is “strong meat,” and too highly spiced, wo fear, for many people’s taste. Wo have an Indiana Congressman who, though he has promised his constituents all sorts of good things to obtain their vote, sells their interest to put money in his pocket, John Kent, who is described by Congressman Wheeler as “proprietor of a dirty little Scannel County, patent inside, job printing handpress weekly,” goes to .expostulate with his representative upon his oonduot, but tho Congressman knocks him down, and the blow causes his death. John Kent leaves to his son, Jerome, then a baby, a legacy of revenge on his murderer. The hero starts life with the vendetta entrusted to him by his father, and the story tells how he fulfilled it. He falls in love with Wheeler’s daughter, savos tho life of that rascal, is imprisoned by him on a false charge, and although Wheeler eventually dies, Jerome loses Ethel, who, though silie loves him, makes “her father and her past” an excuse for throwing him over, and Jerome is left lamenting the “sins of the fathers,”

“The Silent Battle.” By C. N. Williamson. Methuen and Co., London. Wliitcombe and Tombs, Wellington.

If the art of story-telling consists in never stopping to think and never giving your readers a chance of thinking, Mrs C. N. Williamson is to be complimented on having acquired the art to a nicety. In her latest production, which is a liighly coloured picture of theatrical life in England, she hurries the reader along at breakneck pace. Miss Winifred Grey, of the Duke of Clarence's Theatre, is a model of innocence and propriety, who, being the daughter of an officer, supports an invalid mother and finanoes a foolish brother out of her earnings. To Winifred comes Lionel Maoaire, a millionaire with an artificial foot, a hideous face, the instincts of a satyr,* and not a particle of conscience. He is ready to give

Winifred a theatre of her own, and anything obtainable for money on earth bar a wedding ring, and as Winifred virtuously repels his - suggestions of a menage a deux unblessed by parson or registrar, the millionaire, who controls newspapers, theatres and prize-fighters, sets to work to bring the poor little actress to her knees. He is a genuine villain of the deepest dye, and the lady has a horrible time of it before she triumphs in “The Silent Battle.” It would be-unfair to give away Mrs Williamson’s “thrills.”

“Tho Expatriates.” By Lilian Bell Hutchinson and Co., London. S and W. Mackay, Wellington.

This is a smartly written and entertaming volume. It will .not, however, please French people, for they are unmercifully dealt with. For example, ono of the characters, Hollenden pere, bids farewell to Paris in this style. Addressing an American compatriot, lie says: “I wouldn’t have missed coming to Paris for a good deal. It’s been an eyeopener, and I wouldifit have missed knowing the Conitesse. She’s been an education to me. I’ve been a mark, nothing but a mark, for all Paris. I’ve been overcharged at every shop, every hotel, every restaurant I’ve gone into. Ivo paid for broken windows I never looked through, broken chairs I never sat in, dishes I never ordered, and drinks I never, saw. Whenever Igo to a hotel ( they look over the repairs they need, and put ’em in the bill. I tell you, man, it takes the French to make you appreciate Old Glory. The honest rascality of American business methods that I’ve fought all my life is like the teaching of the Bible compared to the slipperiness of the French. You can have my house just as it stands until Ootober, with iny compliments. But, as for me, I’m going home.” The heroine of the tale is Rose Hollenden, who comes to Paris with her millionaire papa. The girl, full of life and spirits, and all anxiety to know, and still more, to do, is quickly disillusioned in Paris. Sterling Townshend, American born, but a dweller in Europe, sees anew the vices and general rottenness of the Old World through the girl’s eyes, and constituting himself her protector and guide, fights duels witih dishonourable French noblemen, and finally goes home to fight his country’s battles, in the first of which he wins his wife. All the Americans in the book are well drawn, but the principal French characters are demons of nastiness.

“Something in the City.” By Florence Warden. John Long, London. Wliitcombe and Tombs, Wellington.

If readers desire an exciting and sensational narrative, this book will come up to their expectations. It is rather improbable, but the characters stand well out and are depicted in glowing colours. A credulous woman named Mrs Pender rents a house in an English town, and as soon as she moves into it the body of a man is discovered, and Mrs Pender becomes involved in this and other extraordinary events. She is unwittingly the dupe of a gang of thieves, who rob in Belgium and dispose of their goods in England, and robbing in England sell the stolen treasure in Belgium. Mrs Pender discovers them in the end, and finds that her landlord next door is the chief participant in tho spoil.