BOOK NOTICES.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 12052, 25 May 1901, Page 4

BOOK NOTICES.

"Lefit We Forget." By Joseph Hwkit.:.;. London: Wan], Lock, and Co. D>jn*din: Whitcombc and Tomb-. (3: frl.t Mr Hocking's new l»ok i—'.'i: llu.—} new departure in the realm hi t/.-.'.v.:. It I is nn historical talc- of the :tl-r. 'A '-}v.m ! Man*, and concerns itself chiefly r.,j-i the religious troubles rind persecu:ior,;i o.' that period. It is, indeed, a sequence of two previous volumes—" The Kcarht Woman'' and "The Purple Robe"; for, though chronologically anterior to them, it draws attention to ;i state of things which made true-born Dritnns hate the name of Popery as synonymous with treachery, cruelty, and murder. Happily the condition here depicted has Ion;; since passed away, lint the historian cannot forget, though the partisans of cither side are able to do so, that crimes of cruelty and violence perpetrated in the name of religion were not peculiar to any denomination or country, but wore consequent on the ignorance and undeveloped hun.ar.it_v of an age when only a few of tli* wisest could see into the mystery o; the heart of love. Mr Hocking's hero is a tine, bright, imeiligrnt boy of 21. a faithful scion of the "Old Faith," who is driven by circumstances into (lie society of some very noble Protestants, and plays knight-errant to a beautiful heretic maid, whom he 'finally rescues from the slake. Richard Hamstead is thus, as a protector of innocence, thrown both in action and in sympathy on to the side of the persecuted and oppressed. The beauty 1 of holiness, the charm of faith, the grandeur of martyrdom, appeal alike to his heart ami his imagination, and lie at once throws ill his lot with the weaker side. It is a pretty story and pleasantly told, but in thought, structure, and characterisation it is essentially' modern: there is here no effort, ns in'Mr Hewlett's "Rietal; Yea and Nay," to reproduce a former state of things, and to carry the reader back in spirit to the crude, strong mental condition of u people ignorant of modern complexities. The religious discussions (fortunately, they are very few) are better suited to our own times than to the stern doctrine which believed in tlie purging of ciror by sword and Hume, j and ip the actual ending oft' and casting away of "the right limit]" or "right eye." The sli.ry is, however, a good story: the style direct ami simiile : the plot full of action, and snllicirnllv interesting to wry the reader along: and—as in all Mr Hocking's wrrks—'.he morality is pmv and hightoned; the readers' sympathies throughout are with the best people, and no sophistry is employed to make wrong appear right or sin nlluriiHr, Severn] of the scenes are picturesque aiid life-like, especially those in the witch's hut nnd the rescue of F;iitli Hertford from the stake. "Number One and Number Two." fly Frances Murv Pcard. London: Macmillan and Co, Dimcdin: .T. llraithwaiie. (Colonial I/brarv, 3s 6d and 2s 6.1.) A bright, sparkling love-story, full of gems of thought Vnd' observation and quaint lit lie Hashes of humour. The characters arc life - like and well individualised, and the conversations especially good. From the first we went to know Pride Kennedy and all her friends, and willingly make room for tlum among our own personal belongings. Major Mostyn "Number Two" is an exceedingly satisfactory hern—manly, courageous, and high-principled. " Number One," of whom we see very little, is not so satisfactory, and the reader's sense of justice is altogether pleased by (ho heroine'); choice of the belter man, Among the minor chawclers wr. may singlo out for admiration the sketch of the mother of two sons, who treats her noble fiislliorn with indifference while i;ho showers favours on the. gay young rascal who neglects her with tiliavming effrontery; another'kiss of "Number One " and " Number Two." The scene of this story is kid chiefly jn Kg.vpi. in the neighbourhood of Cairo, .and the local' colour is excellent and is as much appreciated by the reader as by Carrington, the American artist, whose intuition is productive of many wi<e speeches and much pleas, nut banter.. Like nianv modern books, "Number One and Number Two" is just a 'slice out of real life with no laboured beginning or ending; things in genera! explain themselves, and a conventional introduction imfiiccs. We meet, have a »o:d time, and part without any violent regret. Too episode of Dick Allistfr and the deaih of his poor little sweetheart is very touching, and, with Pride herself, we'ask the constantly-repeated question, " Whv should it require the unalterable, with all its remorse, to open fine's eyes" to the best things in life? tSii often seen and recognised 100 late. "Hate, The Destroyer.''' ISv K. Norman Silver. London: Ward, Lock. ai:d. ('». Diinedin: J. Dnithwai'.e. (15?ard-'. lis 6d.) This story is well named. Though somewhat too sensational ami crude in plot and chi'iactcrivition, it shows very plainly the evil effects and the awful retribution that hale brings, not only on its victims, but also on the heart tint cherishes it. for. like jcaloinv, " it mocks the meat it feeds on." Edward Oalveit and Robert Tangye are mates. The former, a, practical miner, discovers valuable lodes of platinum in the Ural: Tangye, not content with half., treacherously'murders his partner ami takes nossession of- the whole and becomes enor-

piously wealthy. Calvert is not dead, bill so injured that his recovery is 'slow, and his brain permanently injured ; his wife and child die in misery and poverty. In time lie, too, amasses a great fortune, which lie spends in effecting the ruin of his enemy, thwarting his every scheme, pulling him down from his commercial eminence, blasting Tiis hopes domestic and social, and freely committing such crimes as murder,, arson, and, finally, suicide, in his thirst for revenge. It is a pitiful picture of human nature at its lowest, hut we are asked to believe that the blow on C'a'.vert's head is accountable for the perversion of his moral qualities; and so Tangye reaps only what lie himself lias sown. "An Englishwoman's Love-letters." London: John Murray. Dimedin: Whitcombe and Tombs. (Imperial Library, 3s 6d and 2s 6d.) Seven English editions have borne witness to the charm of this anonymous volume, which in its passionate abandon, delicate pessimism, and minute self-analysis is a distinct literary gem. But love letters are proverbially a diet for two, and the cloying sweetness of the present exampleproves to the ordinary reader as'unsatisfactory and indigestible as a meal of sponge cake. We can all remember when a visit to the" tuck shop" was the height of our youthful ambition; but (hat period soon jiasses, and more homely tastes succeed. One such letter, as here we have dozens, would be a possession for a. man's lifetime —to be read and re-read at intervals when it became necessary to fan the ember 3 of a, dying flame; but" a whole boxful! The attraction here, however, is undoubtedly the note of tragedy, the certainty of shipwreck, the presage of approaching misery, despair, and death, wliieh runs in a distinct midciciiretit from the first page to the Inst. It is the same shrinking, delightful terror which makes people rejoice in a good ghost story, and welcome the thrill when thev are "afraid to go to bed." Ghost stories are at n discount. We think we know too much about I hem ; but we must still have, our sauce piquant, the expectant thrill of a coming tragedy, to add the last touch of contrast to our own happy, comfortable lives. We believe that it will.be found that the taste /or pessimistic literature is one of the signs of material prosperity rather than a prnof of inndern degeneracy. More strenuous times demand a stronger form of literary pabulum, but when things go well with us, and the commonplace life has few real wants, then tho desire for contrast io heighten the sense of present well-being craves the pleasing excitement of a secondhand catastrophe, and a subtile flavour of cayenne stimulates the highly-cultured palate which a coarser diet would disgust. "A Bicycle of Cathay." By Prank R. Stockton. London: G. Bell and Sons. Duwdin: Whitcombe and Tombs. Indian and Colonial Library. (3s 6d and 2s 6d.) Mr Frank Stockton's new book is decidedly disappointing. Presumably no man can write humorous fiction ad infinitum, and unfortunately for himself Mr Stockton has established the reputation of a humorist. 'I lie historic clown who tried to make jokes while the tears ran down his cheeks is a case in point. Jokes, like other good things, come—they are not made—and when tli3 natural supply is run out the only remedy would app'rar to lie to wait until the reservoir is refilled ; but gentlemen who write for a living cannot do this, hence «i!';!i volumes as the " Bicycle of Cathay," where the only joke consists in a play upon •be words of Tennyson's well-known line ; and not even the ghost of a smile can bo nised at the aimless wanderings of a very commonplace eye-list. The illustrations are quite the best part of the book; tliey ore often funny, and always beyond' the average. "Rodman, tho Boat-steerer." By Louis Becke. London: G. Xcwnes and Co. Puncdin: J. Braitbwaite. (6d.) " Malcolm." By George. Macdonald. London: G. Ncwnw and Co. Dimedin: J. lirajthwaifc. (6d.) • "Resurrection." By Tolstoi. Free Age Press, Cliristchnrch, Hants. .Dimedin: .1. Ilrait.liwaitc. (6d.) Three excellent- reprint editions of wellknown works. Mr Bscke's is a collection of the powerful South Sea Island tales for which be is so justly famous, and is wonderfully picturesque and lifelike. "Piesmrection'' is a marvellous piece of work, an autobiography in the form of a novel showing the inner working of the author's mind and, the influence of those events in his early life which led to his renunciation of home, position, fortune, and all that makes life enjoyable, in the sacred cause of down-trodden' humanity. Yet the story, powerful as it is, is not for all readers; its plain-spoken coarseness is always crude, often revolting. These scenes arc, however, interwoven with the most noble and elevotins sc-ntiinerts. and thoughts worthy ol Kmerson. It is a pity that in translating for English readers some of the passage) were not a little softened. In our opinion this would iinve detracted in no way from the force of the narrative, while it would kive nude it far more suited [or general reading. We have to thank Messrs Whitcombe and Tombs for another copy of Mr Phythinn's ' Story of Art in the British Isles,' which was noticed in our columns on May 11.