BOOK NOTICES

Otago Daily Times, Issue 16589, 12 January 1916, Page 6

BOOK NOTICES

"Is God Doad?" By Nowman Flower. London: Cassell and Co. (Cloth Is net.) This is a forceful,- yet reverent, treatment of the trial of faith which tho war has brought to many minds. Justin Siddeley, a hitherto religious and God-fearing man, is driven il.to atheism by tho present state of affairs, and pours his oonviction that "God is Dead" into the ears of an old friend who has long held the agnostic attitude. To his surprise this friend declares that, instead of destroying his faith in a Supremo Ruler of the Universe, tho war has strengthened his belief in God. According to him the war is a punishment brought oxl the human race by its own folly, ignorancc, and crimcs. In . this the Churches are largely to blame for their own quarrelling, and the ignorance and priest-craft to which they have subjected tho people We talk of * German militarism, tho Yellow Peril, and the steady uj>creep of Sooialism, and regard them as forces — things to be considered, directed, exterminated, or utilised as necessity requires. But consider religion—its powers and possibilities. Bind your Churches together—tho Churches that .follow a common God, yet study rather their difierences than their unity. . .1. Tho present war is the great test of the world's faith. That is all. ,It shows, more than anything has ever done, that God is alivo and watching over His world. ... Consider the past ;ears. Pious millions holding up their hands and exclaiming, "Thank God for these times of peace!" when all the while tho great war—tho war between churches themselves—was at its bitterest. . . . How many a man has had his belief snuffed out by the venom of his church? Is this world war that you call Hell, worse than tho conflict that is destroying souls and smothering belief? . . . This war has given me the sign which I have been looking for for 20 years—tho sign of God's existence. It is a sign not intended lor mo alone, but for millions more. For by war man finds his limitations. He slays his neighbour but progresses not at all. His little Babel oomes tumbling down again and brings him baok to his religion. He goes to it as the only stable thing. . . . This war will bo the means of proving God to millions. For after passion has spent itself will come the calm religious thought, stronger and fresher, the resurrection of beliefs wo thought were dead —the greater knowledge of the supremacy of ' God. . . . Wo shall go back very conscious of that sublime influence which has carried us unfailingly to a new beginning. We shall go back, you and I, sure of ourselves, suro of our limitations, and tho better for the knowledge, realising that something—be it God or what we have named for God —still reigns, has never slept, and still rules tho destinies of peoples But Justin Siddeley is not convinced. The , shock of his'own personal trouble is so great that it dulls his • senses to everything else. He cries, '"My religion is dead. Nothing you can say wili convince rpe. My faith is destroyed." Then follows another and a heavier blow. Siddeley learns of the death of bis only son. He goes out into the darkness meaning to take his own life. He then has .1 series of six visions, each showing God's dealings with individual men; ana the judgment which mght be formed on each. What argument could not effect, what reason could not touch, is quiokly done by feeling. For a moment, an hour, or a day—he has lost count of time—Siddeley enters, as it were, into the council of the Most High. He sees as it wero, "God at His work." And all the tipno it soeined to him that God was smiling, as one smiles at tho frantic effort of some child enraged with a task which defies its iruny lingers." And tho world, as Justin Siddeley now saw it, was filled, ' Not by war arid loosened passions, but by an influence suibtle, yet forceful, an influence that drew ever upward as the sun draws the goodness of the earth, an in-, fiuence that draws the souls of men out of the husks of self-conceit to blossom at the feet of God." "'The Evil Day.'' By Lady Troubridge. London : Methuen and Co. (3s 6d, 2s 6d.) The motto of this story, "0, call back time; bid yesterday return," gives a hint as to the nature of "the evil day" of the title. It is a pathetic and powerful version of the tragedy of middle-age creeping over a woman, before she is prepared for it-; before she has really lived her life and tasted the sweets of youth. In these circumstances Lady Mead falls in love with a man nearly young enough to be her son, and her baulked youth reasserts itself in a headlong passion, from the extreme results of which she is only saved by a sudden and serious illness which makes her old before her time. The story is cleverly designed and brilliantly carried out. Lady Tronbridge's novels are always acceptable. They show a wide knowledge of life, and are generally, as in the present case, the special study of a" woman's heart. For a long time the romance and tragedies of youth have occupied exclusively the pen of the novelist. Lady Troubridge and a few other modern writers aTe daring enough to show us that romance is never really dead in the heart of a woman, although her hair may be gTeying ; and if it cannot find' its legitimate outlet in home, husband, and children, it is apt to seek it in dangerous paths and amid social quicksands. "Tho Romance of a Red Cross Hospital." By F. Frankfort Moore. London: Hutchinson and Co. (3s 6d, 2s 6d). Tho Rod Cross Hospital of this romance is not situated in any part lof that somewhat indefinite region iof Europe known as " the front," but ! in the heart of a peaceful English county, i It was not only a Red Cross Hospital, but a memorial hospital as well, erected by a lov--1 ing woman to the memory of one whom she ! believed to have given his life in tho seri vices of his country. That she was misi taken in this idea and that the supposedly I dead man was still alive does not detract from the beauty of her offering, but constitutes the ohief element of surprise in tho subsequent romance. The greatest glory of the last year and a-half has undoubtedly attached to the thousands of Red Crosis workers who have counted no sacrifice too great if they might alleviate the sufferings of the wounded, and in Mr Moore's I story the " hospital ajid its working form the real centre of interest, so much so that the story suffers in comparison, being obviously a stalking-horse to convey the j author's admiration for the splendid work I done by the surgeons, tho nurses, and the voluntary helpers wearing the Geneva badge. "Tho Gates of Silence." By Lindsay Ruesell. London: Ward, Lock, and Co. (Cloth, 3s 6d.) " The Gates of Silence " are not the portals of Death, but. of the convcnt. The heroines of Missi Russell' 6 now story arc two Irish girls, Elizabeth and Mary Gabriele Crorey, doomed by their father to fulfil in thoir own persons tho tradition of their house. "Priests an' nuns there have been of tho house of Crorey, an' please God before Denis Crorey closes his eyes there will be two more of his flesh and blood thit will go to the glory of God." Denis is an old man, who married a young English woman late in life. She is dead, leaving him two dan "liters, with whom the direct line of Crorey will end. It seems to him an excellent olan to leave the girls and their large fortunes in the hands of the church. The ster-- tells tho fate of these girls. Doubts enter their hearts as knowledge of real life, especially of convent life, was forced upon their understanding. Then .allowed repentance and their passionate struggle for liberty. Elizabeth has a greater vocation than her sister, and holds out longer againstl the diotatee of her own heart; but Mary-GabneUe has a short and sad career, and embodies all tho natural shrinking of a young, ardent nature from that life which is symbolised by tho term " Tho Gates of Silenco. Several priests take part in the story, the action of which moves from Ireland to a miesron station in New Guinea, where one of them l-o-appears as .1 hard-working poor man s " do-tor, and wh-re he ntrain meets the Crorev girls, and is instrumental in their cscapa from' the house of nilence