AMONG THE BOOKS.

Otago Witness, Issue 1950, 4 April 1889, Page 32

AMONG THE BOOKS.

TEN THOUSAND MILES ON A BICYCLE.*

The book under review is written by an American cyclist, who assumes the norn de plume of ••KarlKron," once "0011. Ohron.," and standing for College Chronicle, under which heading our friend, who is, we believe, a graduate of New York University, used to supply to the New York World "a weekly appeal to college interests " for the general behoof. His book claims in its preface to be "a book of American roads, for men who travel on the bicycle," and the general reader is warned that if he repents of his purchase he has himself alone to blame— the book is on the special shelves of the great Worldlibrary, It appeals then chiefly to wheelmen, and especially to the wheelmen of a distant country— is there aught in it to interest New Zealanders, cyclists or not? It i3-our intention to answer this question in the present paper. In the first place, "Ten Thousand Miles on a Bicycle " is a literary curiosity in the mere matter of its birth. It came into the world because the writer relicd — on excellent grounds it would appear — on the fraternity of feeling among wheelmen the world over. He asked for and obtained 3000 pledges from bicyclists in every quarter of the globe to take a copy of his book at the subscription price of Idol. Here were a text for philosophic treatise on the strength of an idea ! — but we spare our readers. Suffice it that his faith was justified, and that of his . subscribers also ; that the book is published and is worth the money asked "for it, containing as it does 800 , pp. of indexes and reading matter, among which we find some chapters that do more than give Jus pleasure, for they open our heart to the man behind the cyclist, and make us feel the still more beautiful if less complete fraternity of feeling between us and him as members of mankind. The book is admirably bound though plainly, the type is clear though often smaller than short-sighted readers would be pleased with, the indexing is copious and complete. The only typographical error that we noticed is the misspelling of a proper name — an easily excusable mistake now when caligraphy is well nigh a lost art. The error of enthroning Christchurch as the capital of New Zealand rests not with the author but with his correspondent — a Canterbury man of seemingly imaginative build — we can forgive him. The dedication of the volume to ".My Bull Dorg," Curl, whose picture forms the frontispiece, may seem to some a foolish freak. Not so to us, for reasons that will appear below. In spite of the paging "Ten Thousand Miles on a Bicycle " should not be read in the order of its printing. We wish to know the man who is desirous of our company for such a lengthened trip, and so after the preface — which sets forth the scope of the book, explains the " egotism " that a general reader might object to in his ignorance (whereas a cyclist only smiles to think an explanation needed) and truly points out that it is the tourist not the racer that exhibits "the solid significance" of cycling— we must turn to the last chapter of all, entitled •' This book of mine and the next," to further our acquaintance. Here the author describes how his book was generated and grew, and how it became a Frankenstein and forced him on to an un-dreamed-of speculation. How he had to become publisher as well as author, and how it is his labours and risks in the former character that he seeks a monetary reward for, his work in. the latter being hardly commensurable with coin. He then takes into his confidence the men who pledged their support, and it is certainly a fine straightforward thing to do, though by no means forced on him or even expected by his subscribers. He says many a wise and witty thing by the way, and makes us feel that we are dealing with a man who has lived, who has studied his fellows, and has not found them utterly contemptible as some would teach. He has a broad kindliness joined to a sense of humour that is generally unobtrusive, though now and then unpleasantly grotesque ; and as he looks on men through this double lens it is natural that there should ever be a smile upon his lips or in his eyes as he moves quietly on in his own way. In his own way — that' we learn from every chapter of the book ; and all the more we feel a kinship, for though we are not all quite bold enough to keep an eye upon the distant mark, and let the world and its mad ways go by, at least we wish we could be careless as Karl Kron of Grundian laws and customs. As we could easily imagine from his record, he believes that " contact with Nature is the first condition of human happiness"; and no one will deny that he has the greatest with him there, besides the purest part of every individual human being. He praises his beloved whesl most justly as a valuable help towards the attainment of this " contact "—its healthfulness and cheapness as a mode of locomotion, the delightful freedom of the cyclist when he has left his native town behind him, and spins merrily along, at home in the open country, with its sunshine and its verdure, utterly careless of aught, conscious that it is an exquisite joy merely to be alive. In this connection he reminds us of opportunities of studying Nature's chief piece of work — our fellow men — such as no other kind of touring possibly can furnish. Our author speaks of the value of sincerity in no dilletante fashion —"speaking squarely," as he calls it, in forcible and, to our ears, familiar phrase; and points out— what is not' too readily admitted—that a man's conversation, about himself if square is always to be prized, because himself is the one subject that he in-

evitably must know more of than his listener. This leads us naturally to a disquisition on tlie terrible artificiality— the maskedness of social intercourse, and the necessity of a return to childlike simplicity if we would have our lives more noble than they are. Cycling, he claims— and we admit: the justness of his claim, — more than all sports tends to preserve or re-induce tha childlike qualities. of a man. The chapter closes with a quotation from James Fitujamea Stephen's book on "liberty, Equality, Fraternity," this title being held by Karl Kron to define the relationship which cyclists every where should have to one another; en* joining us to live and die "with no sophistry in our mouths and no masks on our faces." From chapter XXXWII we ought to torn back to chapter XXVIII, and after a close study of the frontispiece, a keliotype portrait of " the best dog that ever lived," read the biography of Curl. To quote would be to maim if not to desecrate the piece, but all who have or ever had a pet, who love the sympathetic creatures and note their ways so human — with a difference; and those especially who like ourselves have found a friend among whai so many call contempt tuously the lower animals, will feel a pl«a« sure, all the sweeter for the pathos of it, In this history of a dog. For us— our eyes were moist when we had finished. In chapter XXIX we get the last great insight into the character of our new friend Karl Kron. It is entitled •• Castle Solitude in the Metropolis," and begins, repellantly enough, |in an account detailed and backed up by quotations from novel and directory of the foundation of the New York University, and its great pile of buildings, " Castle Solitude " a part of them. Soon attention is excited, then interest, and then in our case enthusiasm, for the quaint place and all its possibilities. Our author shows us how~it wins its title " castle." He points out how the owners of great houses and retinues are really slaves of their mansions and their' servants— even of their friends. He touches on the despicable classiness that leads men to fawn upon the rank above.and spurn the rank below, and ends in uniformity and artificiality — Heaven save New Zealand from relapsing into such state 1 His strictures on " respectability " remind us of Carlyle's grim? banter; and he supports his views, which really need no support, with long quotations from twojwriters, Hamerton and.'Nadal, whose books on " Human Intercourse " and " Impressions of London Social Life " seem to be of that stamp colonials could approve of to the full. The castle earns its title. In the midst of the hurrying social life _of a great city in m century distinguished chiefly for its pace, the University building is a veritable hermit's cave. There may a man live absolutely isolated'; there, Jif he has the courage to defy " society " and throw conventionality to the winds, he may live what life he pleases — no need to fly'to a~distant cattle ranch. Yet that is easier! The world of fashion merely smiles at that; but let a man " camp out " here in the city solitude, he gets the label " crank" or worse tied round his neck; such '" direct and unequivocal contempt for their authority has power to penetrate even the dense vanity and stolid self-complacenoy of .... social leaders." Much is told us of the peculiar solitariness where next door neighbours live in ignorance of even each other's names; of authors, artists, journalists who live their own lives here— none saying nay. The .janitor, admirably painted, provokes our smiles ; but we end with a sigh for suoh a castle solitude in our own city, which in ita small way attempts to hamper who would live as their own soul bids them. The olose connection of this building and the bicyole will be, we fear, a marvel to the general readers ; but Kron is right, the wheel does give a man the liberty to follow his own bent, to throw off every smallest rag of fashionable folly, and be an individual at least for days together. Herewith our task— if we can call by such a name a real pleasure— is ended. After these chapters the book may be read from beginning to end straightforwardly. Its writer tells us of his earliest attempts to ride, his tours, his tumbles; his adventures, in short, over a total length of roads amounting to 10,000 miles. Only a cyclist will read every chapter; only an American perhaps will follow every woid ; for the book fulfils its purpose, and is to all intents " a road book for American wheelmen.".' Still, in every chapter crops up some remark that has more than local application, and such all readers can appreciate. In one point only can we quarrel with our author, and that is !as regards his verse. With the exception of ! chapter ll— a short "Ode to His Wheel"— ; Karl Kron writes execrable verse, and tha ' ode is confessedly an imitation. His one ! excuse for the rest is simply that he knows as well as his readers the value of them, and enjoys their grotesqueness as he writes. lie is happier in his quotations, one of which we cannot help giving as a conclusion to our article. It is not marked by poetic finish, but has, we can affirm, a gleam of true poetic fire : — Nob he who by agnation's vastjacolaim Is sudden sought and singled out alone, And while the people madly shout hisnamff, '■ Without a conscious purpose of hit own Is swung and lifted to the Nation's thronff. But he who has all single-handed stood, With foes invisible on every side, And, unsuspected by the multitude, The force of Fate itself has dared, defied, And conquered silently.-* Ah I that soul knows In what white heat the blood of triumph flows. 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