IDEAS IN INK

NZ Truth, Issue 471, 27 June 1914, Page 12

IDEAS IN INK

:■"' , BOOKWORLD'. /

What then to me is the gay sparkling . Wine-purplod Banquet, or vain fashion's blaze. Thus roaming through the realms of rich Romance, • Old Bookworld, and its wealth of royal days: Forever with those brave and brilliant ones That fill Time's channel' like a stream of sunsl

VVhen the-dim presence of the. awful night . Clasps ins her jeweWed arms the slumbering earth, Alone 1 sit beside the lowly Jight That like a-droam fire flickers on my ' i ' hearth, ' „ i (AWith lomo joy teeming volume m my hand*-' A peopled planet, opulent and grand. > ... V|t-may be Shakespeare," with his endless train .. V Of sceptred " thoughts, a glorious ' progeny • rßorne on the' Whirlwind of his mighty „ strain *". Through vision lands for ever far and free: f His great mind beaming through those " .phaptom crowds, ' Like Avftntng.«un from out a wealth ' of clouds. • ./ , . ■ '/Jt may bo Milton on his seraph < w j ng , t Soaring to heights of grandeur yet untrod;- ' . Now deep where horrid shapes of darkness oling, Now lost m splendour at the f»et of God. Girt with the terror of the evening skies, Or wrapt m dreams of infant Paradiie, U may be Sp»n»er, With his misty shades, Whore forms of beauty wondrous tales rehearse, With breezy vfstas, and with cool arcades Opening for ever m his antique vtrtet ' It may be Cfhituaar, with his drink Hi> Tabard old, and Pilgrims twenty nine.

! la his new* volume Mr Cllve Holland vrlte« of many countries and the theme and ntyte of his stories Is as »iiracUvcly varied as n»oir scum*. ' I'erhap*' the two beM ftl>»l most iJrn* nuitlc ar»; the vividly grim, ronllsile irnKCdy of "Tho laivp of O Fuji San." nnd tho poignant love Idyll of "Th« Wooinu of O Snsa SJin." Not less convincing than hl« Intimate picture of that Jupnnc«C Hfc with which Mr. Ojlvo Hollaml has fflmlliariMd v* In the-mosmjopulur of hi* novola aro hla

Perohance I linger with the mighty Three Of Glorious Greece—that morning land of Song— Who bared ythe fearful front of Tragedy, '■ ■ And soared to fame on pinions broad and strong; Or watch beneath the Trojan ramparts proud The dim hosts gathering like a thunder-cloud. t No rush of Time can sully Quixote's mail, 'n wanted rest his lance securely lies; : ti" '* tlie faithful Sanche stout and hale, or ovor w'^e h'g, wonder«stricken eyes: And Rosinantc, .bare and spoctral »teed, ."-."■' , „ , S*l" throws gaunt shadows o'er their every deed.' ....... Still can I robe me m the old delights Of Caliph splendid and of • Genii grim, The star-wealth of Arabia's thousand n .^hu.,. ' .. „ . ' Sh.ning till every other light grows d '™: '" * . . _, , k Or wander far m broad voluptous j land» t .. „. By streams of silver v and through golden sands. Still hear the «torm« of Camam burit and lwel1 ' | His seas of vengeance reging wild: «nd widc ', „ . _ J Or wander by the glimmering fires of j ■ "«" .< I With dreaming Dante and his spirit guide: Loiter m Petraroh'i groon, molodtous Or hang with Tasso o'er his hopeless lovo-

studies of Paris life and character In il* Latjn ju^or «\ Th( wiU , ftlJlKlncd J ] }t}uj „,,,„ wrmm: aamviMwt of m-: ttuim-o cuter* Into th^lr grlmmvst real- ] ism: now nnd th««n tht- not<» is wholly] Uh-nllftU-. No art In the short story . can mono for a luck of lutvrest In plot j or Incident, nnd ihcuo talcs of Mr. Cllvo Hollnnd posses that crowning mcrU-hc h«* nlwnys v story to tHI. und hr has the gift of telling tt Inter- j eatlngly.

BOOKS AND THEIR BUILDERS.

A BOOK ABOUT THE BOTTOM DOG. '•The Children pf ( ,The Dead .End: The Autobiography of a Navvy." ' By Patrick MncG lll, Author of "&ongs of the Dead End." L.o~h;\. don: Herbert Jenkins. Wellington: S. and W. McKay. Biographical and -autobiographical, volumes usually nre tabooed by the general reader. This may be* from the fuel that the ideal .biographist is born, not made, or that such works' appeal only to the friends and admirers ot the person written about, or who writes about himself. H has to be admitted that m the generality, of cases both of theHc assumptions arc justified, but there are exceptions. "The Autobiography of a Navvy" by Patrick Mac Gill, Is one of the exceptions, and a rare exception it 1h m more than one sense of , the term. Perhaps the title, "Autobiosrsiphy" i« hardly the correct designation to apply to Air. MacGIU'H "Children of tho Dead End." though it is of his own choosing. ''Autobiographical < uketehes," would be more accurate, but whatever the sub- title, the tale told m the book m question would bo just an "gripping" to the many, and as shocking to the few; it would contain as charming pictures of Irish peasant life and realistic transcriptions of the ways of inc. bottom dogs aH only "one can picture thc»pe who has himself experienced the pleasure and the pain of them all. A few years- ago. Patrick*' Mac Gill was an unknown Scoto-Irish navvy. Onu of tho horniest of horny-handed nomads who wander from Job to Job, now "on a new railway cutting, or a canal bed, | next scooping out a reservoir among the hills above the gasping city, m order to slake Its thirst "tumbling a river down"— through tho necessary conduits and pipes of course. To-day ho is well-known throughout the throe kingdoms, gallant little Wales and the Islo of Man to boot us a writer who has given the flabby conventionalities of tin* age tho go-by and who ventures to stir up the dry bones of a p«oudo elvlllwittpn by lotting the searchlight of truth penotratf! its darkest recesses, exposing thf! smug saints und hoary hypocrites who pose therein us angels of light. 1 1 was by ihr publication of his ".Songs of th*» Dead Knd," two or three year's ago. that. MncCJIH look the literary world t*f .London by storm. Critic after critic, from the late Andrew Umg. m the "Illustrated I^ondon Nows." to the literary hack .on tho provincial weekly, proclaimed the birth uf a poet who had tho 'slngin' gait." i Kroni the rim tho success of his book j of poems was assured. • "Tilt' Children <»r the Dwirl Rn.il; nn I Autobiography of a Navvy" Is Mr. j MncOlUV Urwt votumo of prose. To ! say thnt h« theroln fultlls th«^ pro- ! rnln«* elvt«n In his volume of vrruo Is lo underrate the ni«wor volume considerably. In "Tho Children of the Dead Km!." MhcCJIU show? thnt he possesses powers of description «nd of chnmcjcr sketching, not always vouchsafed to

the clever singer of vernacular songs. MucGill's ai)horisms niay not be as pungent as Mrs. Poyser'Sj'-but they arc nevertheless brilliant. Often m a, single line "he hits off a 'character so aptly that he or she Immediately appears to the reader's mental eye. , JThe'. littlo schoolmaster, with the fat stomach, who "could talk a lot of wisdom if he was not so short of- breath;". Old Nan, the rag-gatherer. .and bottle-oh wumman, "which she paid for m blessings and sold for pence.'-' Joe Bennett, tho Ulsterman, with tytt ''It's a pity you're a Papist-.- DermoU" Sorloy, the Emergoney Man, tho, tnotlojt crowd on the Irish boat bound for Greenock; Gourock Ellen, tho "tael." who, though "a bad wumman," as she herself admitted, was ready to halve even her last crust or divide her week's earnings with anyone worse off than herself; Moleskin Joe, with his ready- made philosophy and rather carnaptious nature — one and all real characters to tho very, life. , When only twelve years old, his mother says: Dermod. darling! Come next Aliiy,- ye mut>l go beyont the mountains to push yer fortune, pay the priest, and make up the rent for the Hallow E'en next coming. So the poor child to sent away into tho .world" to work, to slave, to sin, without a helping hand, or a warning word from, anywhere, lie c?n l\nd no solution for the niyHteriouH problems of life, and lias to bid farewell to all he believed m. Ills Innocence was ignorance, and knowledge, only shows how deceived h<> had been. Stern experience all too soon shows him that his belief In the goodness of things Is a mistake, and that what he erstwhile de«med fair In life it. foul. At least, slQk at heart, he tells, us: . 1 turned into bed without sayIng my prayers, and 1 determined to pray no more. I had been brought up a Catholic and to believe In a Just God. . - . Ood byhlnd hI.M millions of worlds hud no tlm« to pay any particular ul- • tentlon to nu\ ThlH thought I tr><Tto drive away. . . . for anything out of keeping with my childish creed entered my mind like I*ll1 * 11 into, .the flesh. Gniduijjjjjj|n»e 'W^a UirouKh utl rtKtrnintj?*sit><l t>nt«W- wlth-.«*rHt into all the w\iQjit*s»i'.ot the new, life that has been opened up to hlin-rdrlnks. Rambles. robs. lißhts; meanwhile tolling j and tramping uecordlng to his luck for tho time belnsr, brutallsed bullies his bed-mutes, and often women who *ell ihotr rtesh for sain, slceplnj; m the same rtportnu-nt. At la«t wo find him" tolling as a navvy at,".KWiJo<jlil«vrn. that onftwhllo beauUf«l vHiKlilnnd Glen that tho huqd ot ,^f<« rnod^rn vandal. .^ommrrclaliKm, ithib'HfortiKfel so r«;contfy into a seeth- : ;<s&»l<h}jn nj^:«.«VJlry.r heen nnriftfaW, WtSifi* J«t«»'ih#^ojrx rivals panto's linnglnatfon m tht- "Inferno." Th«> Klrtiplr little Irish lad. MnrOlll. or, as hn hrrv ciillh blm^lf. Dcrmot Klynn; bfiann- an »r<lvnt lovt-r of slounh— nnd stouutt without rim?. , rule* to rpf««ree: utoueh which was ladled out until one or t»oih romb»iinw w«rn exhausted. H*« description of one of thc*c tncounter» \n ono-of'thc beat bin

of pen picturing: m the book. 3-* he fight is between "Hell-fire Gahey" and "Moleskin -Joe": — / .--•■' | Gahey struck out with his I right. In his eyes the purpose be- ' t rayed' itself, and his opponent, " forewarned, caught the blow on-' ' his arm, 1 Hell-fire darted m with ; the left and took Joe on the stb- : ! mtich. The impact was sharp and : " sudden: my mate winced > a I' trifle. . . . Gahey retorted, and '"• came m' with a resounding smack r to Moleskin's Jaw. Joe -.received / the blow stolidly, »nd swung ! a !' right for On hey. but, missing his man, he fell to the ground. '. . .' rising to his feet. . : .my | mate made for ' Gahey. . . . coming nearer every moment and eager to get into grips. "When I thut would happen, Gahey was lost; but being wary, he avoided Moleskin's clutches, and kept hopping around, aiming mat inter- i valfi one of his lightning blow*. | and raising a red murk on Mole- j akin/8 white body whenever he struck. Joe kept walking jiftcr His man. . . . The other man's hope lay In knocking Moleskin unconscious. . ;* . the smile had long gone from the face of Gahey, who was still angry. . ' • he Inflicted punishment, but it seemed to have no effect. . . . Joe was implacable, resistless . . . his pace was merciless, and it was slow, but m the end it would tell ... he was streaming with blood, one eyebrow was hangiug. and tho flesh of the breast was red and row. Gahey was almost without a scratch: If he finished the tight at that moment," he would leave the rinK nearly as fresh n« when ho came Into It. Joe still smiled, but the smile looked ghastly when seen through the blood. . . . Oahey . . . reaJlsed that he would be beaten if he did not knock Joe out very soon . . . once or twice he blundered nnd almost fell into Joo's arms. . . . Gahey struck out, but Joe imprisoned the striking arm. -and drawing it towards him. he gripped hold of Galley's body. Then, without any perceptlble" offon. he lifted Gahey over bis head, /and hold him iherc at arms length for a few mlnutrs. Afterwurds-'he took him down a» * fur us ' -.his chest. "... Joe throw hlnxon the ground, went on top of him. and beg»n knuckling hlw knees alonsr Go hoy's rlb« . . . Joe smiled and roue ■to his fc«t. "That's a wet Job nnUhcd," *be , snld io m<\ A llttl- alteration In lh<- phrasology. a proper regard for the rules of tho Boxing Association .and ditto of the Marquis of Queonsbcrry. and thfcubovo would pas* ns a description o( > hia?JJum chnmptoMMp »'*»«■ h >' "**«;* {>r Major" at bin br*f. "These men w«»rc a pair of bniU'f*." wiy« Home mjnerM«nsltlv«« reader. No «l»>ubt, tmt th*y wf-rr bin prod uc tit "f the unorgonlned organism w.» call civilised society today. Could you expect men to evolve into nncpU who had to work ten hf>gr« « day :ix nurh brtiiaHfins toil na th«c men #laved «i to wrn their

:••'•* . ■•-■■tj dally bread- and nothing over?' The description of the railway surfacemen tolling Jn the ashpit among chunks of half-burned coal and hulfablaxe, lumps of molten slag, red-hot bricks and fiery ashes muddled together In suffocating: profusion, "enters the mind .like a, noil driven Into the flesh 1 ': ■ . T From the bottom of the pit a fierce Inpotus was rcriulred to land the contents of tho shovel m th« waggon overhead. Somctlme'tt a brick would strike on the rim", of tho waggon and rebound back on the head of tho man who threw it . upwards. "Crlpest we'll have to fill it ourselves now," lilh two mates would say as they bundled . their bleeding fellow out of the . reeking heat. A shower of ashen wax continually falling. ... Under the run of the shirt tho ashes scarred thn flesh liko wandpaper. All around a thick smoke rested and hid up from .view from ' tho world without, and within we suffered In a pit of blazing (iri-. I've seen men dropping m the Job i like rats m a furnace. And over and above th«» physical lyrture' of such conditions there was added the mental agony of men who, because of tho vustnoss of Capital's reserve army — tho unemployed— for the sake of wives and weans, stand the vile driving of tho Canger, for brutal us lh<j work i*». find th<? prwfctit writer from personal observation can vouch for Its accuracy, tho language of such a man, who received from «• generous railway company a sixpence a day] more than tho members of the gnnj: is by far the more brutal. Here Is a '•Swatch":— i .God's curse on you, Dan Devlne, I don't sco your shovel at work at all! . . . . Where the hell are you, Muck Macrostiun? Your waggon Isn't near water-level yet. j and that young whelp, Flynn, lias I his nearly full! If your uncut wnn i urn brond as your belly. MaeQucon. | you'd be a dunged sIkIU better j man on an ash-pile! U"n not but your well enough used t<> ( n#hos, for 1 never yet saw a Heelanmau who j didn't spend the best part of hi* j lift? before a fire or before grub! , Com? now, you men on the off«id»-; | you are slackening li like hell! | If you haven't your wnitgnu l 'l J j over the lip, J'll suck every (Jod- ■ damned man of you on the next j pay dny; Has a brick fallen on i F-'eeley's head? Well, shove th<> ] Idiot out of th«? pit and «<» on with , | ' the work! Ills h«-ad i* too bis, ' nnyhow. It's always m the road! : And m<n — Kngllshmon, Irishmen »ntl Scotsmen™ »i«nd this u»IHnK and moll* Ing, with the above hflllsh hounding \ of a bruto boss thrown m for mtuce, i nnd all for three shillings a day! ('an j you wond'-r thru UrH«n'* »«jifi und j I daughters an* riVoing to th<' rotonif* ! from tuseh condition*. «l thy ml«« «»f 2UO,t>qo n y«»ur: The utory <>( O«*rm<»«'* piir*- |Ki*"i"n for ih* girl who «houl«l have "bern <i nun." but who had K» *«"H her body on th«? ptrorii* of C»U»*k«»w m a v»tn ni««*mpt i«> tmve Jirr /rtihrrirpj* twbx • from d«iU» by marvaiJoM, is finely con-

| r.-Utnl. »nd v«'ry i«>iul«t>}- and i;onvlnr« i liiklv wrotiKlti ?'» •« nnl«h. For irii<* ; and ronllKiif i»lriur«'»i of H\«-»* «»f ih<- j J)«*ijid-Knd«'rrt *»»' U'litnin-Uoa.**. !•««- \ rkU Miu-Oiir* volitut" »iiifx)H out <u» ii* j )otu>Kotn<-, MurOill ii< » >«»uiik man. HUM nimuiK Jhr l«»w«r twrntl*^, «>nd will n« t}<<uMi ttlftc«" th<« i>rot«-»*»r»«»n movrjnr-nt Mr><4^ ftiflhrr in«lc-WtrtJnc^* tw hi.-* fj»i»«-in<»<ing i»<«n.