SOME RECENT FICTION

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 7865, 29 July 1911, Page 12

SOME RECENT FICTION

A BATCH OP " AMERICANS.” 1,1 Ge.orge Thorne.” From far-away Boston, tradition;., home of tho best in. American literature, comesS from the old established publish-i ing house of L. C. Pago and Co. three* novels, two of which are much above tliej average of American fiction, and tho third, well—the third is fairly readable,. Norval Richardson’s “George Thorne”’ deals with an old motif in a new way.; Thoro is a millionaire, whosq child has been kidnapped. Aleo, there is an unprincipled i but brilliantly clever young •man, who determines to impersonate the llcst youth. So far, this is ancien jcu, hut Mr. Richardson's treatment of the: well-worn theme is original. His charlatan is handsome, unprincipled,, unscrupulous, but —at the bottom of hisiself contaminated soul there is a way-i •ward streak of decency. The million-* ‘airo’s wife, whose anguished, long-sulicr-. ing soul leaps at tho very possibility of. a restored son, believes in the impostor,, and the luxury loving rascal's long dormant conscience awakens. Out of respect to the mother who is no mother, out of love for* the woman whom he loves and who, although in her heart of hearts believing him an_impostor. yit, loves him, tho better part of Georg* •*J home’s nature suddenly dominates and, triumphs over his selfish unscrupulous side, and ho forthwith docs the right, the honest thing, though the heavens ’may fall, and ho may lose both love and tfortuno. Mr Richardson writes strongly and well, and his story is decidcdl\ worth reading. " Miss Billy.” Miss Eleanor H. Porter's "Miss Billy’’ (Boston: L. C. Page and Co.) is a very ‘in-ettily told story off throe bachelors •who, at almost a moment’s notice, havo thrust into their staidly ordered and oldfashioned household a most disturbing figure, in tho shape of a young lady •ward, the heroine of tho story? Billy, •whom the bachelor brothers at first imagine to be a boy, turns out to be aj rather boydenish, but decidedly attractive young lady of sixteen. Of course the experienced novel reader knows full well what will happen. And it does happen. Each brother in turn, the grave lawyer; the widower, who is now an ardent collector of bric-a-brac, and tho musician, falls hi love with their Joint •ward—when once she is “grown up,” and, ■occasionally the ensuing complications are most mirth-provoking.' "Misst Betty ” is a very brightly written, pretty .story—one specially designed, I should* say, to win. the approval of that huge .American public, which loves the sentimental and plenty of it. Ido not for one moment believe that three sucli brothers ever lived or ever will be found in any American city, but one •pardons the artificiality o x f the story for the grace and charm of its setting. "The Gilded Chair.” The third of tho L- C. Page books is " Tho Gilded Chair,” by Melville Dawson Post. This I havo claimed as “fairly readable” and the criticism, brief as it is. . hardly needs detailed justification. Mr Post must be credited with having devised a widely original chief figure, an. American multi-million-aire. who has an almost insane desire to exercise personal power and calls to his aid a horde of Japanese who, for a while, arc his humble and apparently devoted servant® at tho Monte Christo like palazzo he erects upon an isolated point on the Californian coast. Unfortunately the devoted Asiatics " play up" and run amok, and tho last skate of tho Rcomer of white men and fond believer in the docility of the yellow and brown races is very much worst than the first. A British duko, of tho impossible American tj*pe, a beautious young Mamie or Sadie —no, her name was Caroline—daughter of the mad millionaire aforesaid. whose name, by tho way, is Cyrus Childers; an intriguing and impecunious Marohesa (of.Murkan extraction) and a Calvinist who loathes “fiten” but can, on occasion, beat even a Eenimoro Cooper hero at "straight phooHnV' make about as mad a company of characters as I havo met with in , recent fiction. Still, is must be confessed that those most palpable -puppets dance occasionally not unontertainingly. “Fairly readablethat is aIL

"The Island of Test.” A recent Harper novel, a copy of which roaches ruo through Dymook’s, of Sydney (per favor of Whitcombo and Tombs) is Mr Andrew Soutar’s “Island of Test,” which relates tho experience of a very priggish and conceited young Oxford man who, on his way homo from Australia in company with his fiancee, the daughter of a wealthy and utterly impossible squatter, is cast away on a South Sea island, in company with a half-cracked, deformed ship’s carpenter, 1 and a handsome and sensual Eurasian woman. The half-cracked chips—Gnatt is his name—is, as a man, worth a good baker’s dozen of such a self-conscious and completely selfish hero as John Sterne,' and whatever other readers of Mr Soutars’ pretentious but most unsatisfactory story may think, I am all on the side of the dwarf when it comes to his rivalry with Sterno for tho affections of the romantic and amorous Sorowa, Sterne survives the earthquake which disposes of Sorowa, and is restored to the fair Australian girl from “ Dingo Flatts”—with two t’s if you please—to whom on the island ho has been more than merely mentally unfaithful. But my sympathies shall 'go out to the poor devil of a half cracked carpenter, and not to the Oxford man. who is so constantly reminding Its he has been at Oxford. Tho author tries hard to make ns believe that Sterne leaves tho “Island of Tost” a changed man, with all tho ’nonsense knocked out of him. But ho .does not convince mo. A prig ha is to (start with, and a prig ho will remain Ito the ond. “The Island of Test” is, I ‘perceive, being “ starred,” as it were, by local booksellers. I may bo quite wrong, but to me it seems but very poor stuff, with a most wofully distorted moral, if moral it possesses at all.

" Young Wallingford.” Frankly, impudently slangy, and in its .cheery championship of successful spielerdom, rightly deserving the most unqualified condemnation of all good and proper people—duly so labelled—is George Randolph Chester’s “Young Wallingford ” (Indianopolis; The BobbYorxill Co, Melbourne: George Robert,6on and Co.). It is all about a successful “crook.” -And what is a crook? you may ask. Well, a “crook” is what New Y’ork, New York of_ the Groat White Way, the Tenderloin and the Bowery, the New York of rascality in ,all its phases, calls the class of person we in New Zealand stylo “spielers."' Young Wallingford—his real name is Jonathan Reuben Wix, —is a remarkably aouto witted and completely unmoral young man who, after badly “ taking down ’’ the “ smarties ” of La Salle, his native town, clears out "on the cars ” for Now York, his pockets lined with the eight thousand dollars he has gained by selling out of the profitless “bucket shop ’’—otherwise a cash sharebroking tusiness—he had been conducting. In New York he mgets other “spielers” who rashij assume he is a “ hay seed ” to be cunningly exploited. But Wallingford proves more than a match for the “ boys.” They try him with tin/venerable " green goods," otherwise “false notes" game; they “take him on" at "stud poker”; they inveigle him into backing various gee-gees —and so forth, and so forth, and every time the gang “hits up” against a very hard “rock," and the glee of tho supposed ■ “mug”—pardon, my slang, for which Mr Chester must bo held responsible —increases as his wallet gets more crammed with bank notes. Eventually, by the aid of “ doped," otherwise “drugged” "wine," —the flashy American never talks of champagne, save simply as “wine”—Mr Wallingford is trapped and robbed. Following Lord Charles Bercsford's advice to the reactionary Tory peers, he goes “into winter quarters.” and leaving New York for a reason, carries on a most profitable “loan society” swindle in a country town. Having amassed a fresh supply of dollars, he returns to New York and —well, for his further adventures, for his "framing up" of and complete triumph over the 'gang.” his marriage, with a nice girl who was far too good for him. his virtuous decision to forswear sack and live cleanly, his appearance, before tho world as the proprietor of that world famous specific “Scialacata” and many other experiences 1 refer you to Mr Chester’s always lively and amusing nar-

rative. Hero and there, when reading tho story, .1 felt aggrieved that the author should not have provided a glossary, but tho “hold up to use a term which is of frequent occurrence in the book—is merely temporary. _ Read “Young Wallingford ” and you will learn quite a lot of things. Tho hero is certainly a most amusing scamp, but I should not recommend Mr Chester’s book as a birthday gift for the average Sunday School superintendent. \ ‘ MAGAZINES. The Art Journal. • That almost uncannily clever artist. Joseph Pennell, probably the best “black and white" man in the world to-day, is represented in the Juno issue of the Art Journal by some lithographs of New York buildings, which, go to prove that to tho artist there is beauty everywhere —oven in tho much abused skyscrapers. When I call to mind Mi - Pennell’s brilliant work in Harpers and tho. Century, I have specially in, memory his beautiful etchings of Rowen and other French authorities, and then see how cleverly he has applied the same principles in his etchings of Chicago and Pittsburg, and, quite recently, of Leeds and Bradford, 1 can only sum- up Mr Pennell as a modern enchanter. The original lithograph of "Brooklyn Bridge," which appears in the Art Journal, is alone worth tho eighteonpence the number costs. Other, good features are Rudolff Dirks’s article on tho Royal Academy Exhibition, and Mr “Whitley’s appreciation of Mr Colton’s sculpture. The supplement plates (beside the Pennell lithograph) are a reproduction—in colors —of Edgar Bundy’s line study of Antonio Stradivari and Mr Colton’s noble group, "The Crown of Love.” Mr G. W. Rhead continues his articles on "Modern Epglish Fans.” All tho above and other articles arc copiously and beautifully illustrated. - Tho Studio. Those who only know William Nicholson as a clever poster designer, or by his boldly drawn and splendidly decorative of celebrities should turn to the June number of "The Studio” where they will find an admirably written appreciation (by A. L. Baldly’” upon Mr Nicholson’s work as a painter in oils. The article is liberally illustrated by reproductions of some of Nicholson’s most notable pictures. Current art finds agreeable exposition in the articles on the Royal Academy and the Salon of the Societe Nationale dcs Beaux Arte and the originality of lafterday Austrian art is agreeably .exemplified in the illustrations to tho article by A. S. Levetis on the spring exhibition of the Vienna Secession. Dr. Singer writes on the wood engravings of AVnlther Klemm. and there are many other interesting features in what is an exceptionally strong, number. The supplements includes reproductions of paintings and drawings by Nicholson, Klemm, B. Brough Johnson, and Miss Mary Ash Robertson. *A “Cassell's Magazine.” A leading feature 1 in the June issue of “Cassell’s Magazine” (Cassell and Co., through S. and W. Mackay) is an excellent article on “The Coronation” by the Duke of Argyll, who is at some pains to make plain the world-wide significance of the, great ceremony. Another good item this month is a liberallv illustrated article on the work of Miss Watana Utagawa, a young 'Japanese artist, whose work is now ranch esteemed in art ' circles in London and Paris. Atherton Fleming describes the building of an aeroplane by two enthusiastic amateur aviators, and a stirring but rather weirdly illustrated story, of the heroism of a sergeant in the Canadian Mounted Police is recounted. by Arthur Homing. There is a plentiful supply of short stories, including another of Mr Cliesterton’s essays in detective fiction, and a plenitude of good pictures. "The Windsor.” The July issue of the "Windsor Magazine” (Ward, Lock and Co., through S. and W. Mackay) is a sumptuous Coronation Number, including a new por-

trait group of their Majesties King (L-orge and Queen Mary, finely reproduced in colours, as a special frontispiece pla r e, and several lavishly illustrated articles dealing with themes connected with the approaching ceremonies of State; Among* tire general articles of the number is .art attractive paper on "Some Favourite Dogs," which is accomt anted bv ten admirable reproductions from nlntes of pictures by the famous cog painter. Maud Earl, which have not yet been reproduced in previous articles on her work. The fiction of the. number includes a complete long story of absorbing interest by Justus Miles Forman, author of ‘‘The Garden of Lies” and other "Windsor” successes; a further episode in tiro remarkable career of Robert Barr’s "Lord Strnnleigh, Philanthropist," and other complete stories, grave and pay, by writers of talents so varied as Keblo Howard, Mrs F. A. Steel, Norman limes, Emma Brooke, CL B Lancaster, Edith Bart, Charles G. ]V Roberts, and H. B. Marriott Watson. Altogether this is a very notable number. THACKERAY THE POET (By CHARLES WILSON) Parliamentary Librarian.) Thackeray's Ballads. Almost ns strong a feature of his vouthfuj affections as his love of sketchInc was his delight in the making ot versts And what were his youthful hobbies remained tire favourite pastimes of manhood. As a mere child he wrote "nonsense rhvmes.” which would hare delighted Edward I/far or Lewis Carroll. Ho not only sketched real or imaginary nursery heroes and heroines, but, emulating tfie example of the immortal alias We™- "dropped into verso’ about them. Some of these amusing juvemlia have lx>eii piously preserved by .Lady xutciue. As, for example: Little Miss Perkins . Much loved pickled gherkins. And went to tho cupboard and stole some; But they gave her such pain, Sho ne’er eat them again, She found them so shocking unwholesome. When at Charterhouse ho parodied the then highly popular "Violets of that sickly sentimental poet, L.L.L. , (.Lc--titia London), who, by the way. made a conquest of Dickens’s friend, the highh r prosaic John Porstor; and at Cani” 'bride 1 © most of his contributions to iue Snob" and “The Gownsman” werein verse. Later on, ho wrote ballads, mutations of or translations from the iFrench, and verses innumerable. Seldom did he write verse in pther but lighter vein, lie know his limitations, and strictly observed them. As ho once said lo Frederic Locker (afterwards Looker Lampson), the author of "London Lyrics,” and the father-in-law of Augustine Hirrell, of "Obiter Dicta” and-poli-tical fame: “I have a sixpenny taJent tor gift) and so have you; ours is small Leer, but, you see, it is the right tap. ,And that it was a good whoiesonio sound beverage all who know Le ivoi d'Yvetot,” “The Ballad of Bouillebaosse,, and the ever memorable "Old Mahogany Tree,” will, I feel sure, most cheerfully testify. /Although a most devoted Thackerayan I confess I have not . much ‘‘lime for” —to use a hateful but useful American colloquialism. The “Chronicle of tho Drum” and "The Legend of St. Sophia of Kiofi” is a mere second-rate variant of -an Ingoldsby theme. But how deftly and neatly, and gracefully, ■does Thackeray give the full savour of Berangor in his translation of "Le Eoi d’Yvetot?’; but how simple, and honest, and telling is the pathos of “The Garret”.; . Let us be gone—the place is sad and strange— How far, far off, those happy times appear; ' All that I have to live I'd jgladly change For ono such month as 1 have wasted here— To draw long dreams ot beauty,' love, and power From founts of hope that never will outrun, _ , And drink all life’s quintessence in an hour. Give me the days when I was twentyone 1 "The Ballad of Bouillabaisse.” The days when Thackeray, if not exactly either having "vingt-et-un ans” or living in tho "Grenier” made -famous; by Berangcr, was leading a eemi-Boho-. mian life in Paris, were constantly rc-i burring to him.. How delightful his chronicling, in the "Ballad of the Bouil-' lebaisse," the gustatory joys in which ha took part at the dingy but cosy* little restaurant in the Rno Neuve des Petits, Champs, where he first sampled the curious delicacy, half soup, half stew, which! is still tho pride of the Marseillais. I; cannot' refrain from quoting two verses This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is— A sort of soup, or broth, or “brew. Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes. That Greenwich never could out-do. Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron. Soles, onions, garlic, roach and dace: All these yon eat at Terre’s tavern In that ono dish of Bouiilebaisse. Here, too, is a note of semi-melancholy memory, so curiously present—as I have mentioned above —in so much of Thackeray’s work: Where are you, old companions trusty. Of early days met here to dine? ' Come, waiter! quick, a flagon\ crusty— I’ll pledge them in the good old wine. The kind old voices and old faces Hy memory can quick ■ retrace; Around the board they take their places. And share the wine and Bouillabaisse. “The Cane Bottom’d Chair.” “The Ballads of Policeman X” and "Peg of Limavaddy” (the latter reminiscent not a little of Lover) have their admirers, but to me Thackeray’s versical masterpiece must ever be accounted the famous “Cane Bottom’d Chair." with its suggestion of Bohemianism, its pleasant lilt, and its homely, kindly philosophy. How well does it open:’ In tattered old slippers that toast at tho bars. And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars. Away from the world and its toils and its cpres, I’ve a snug little kingdom up four flight of stairs. In spell a. retreat, no doubt, did George "Warrington receive that, then immaculate dandy, Mr Arthur Pendennis. Fitting scene for friendly converse and interchange of wit and 'humour: ■ Long, long through the hours, and the night,-,: and the chimes. Here we talk of old hooks, and old friends, and old time®, _ ' ■ ' As we sit in a fog made of rich Lata bio, This chamber is pleasant to you, friend, and me. , As for the famous "cane bottom'd chair,” here is its picture: • But of all the cheap treasures that garnish my nest There’s one that I love and I cherish tho best: ' For the finest of couches that’s padded with hair I never : would change thee, my cane bottom'd chair. ’Tis a bandy-legged, high shoulder'd, worm-eaten seat. With a creaking old back, and twisted old feet; But since the fair morning when Fanny sat there, I bless thee and love thee, old cane bottom’d chair. A poet in the highest sense of the term Thackeray may not have been, hut he enshrined wholesome, kindly thoughts in simply graceful language, and if ho were but a "mere rhymester," as some highly superior person, writing the other day in a London paper on Victorian verse, was pleased to call him, all I can say is, would that there more of such rhymesters with ns to-day.