BOOK NOTICES.

Otago Witness, 6 February 1901, Page 74

BOOK NOTICES.

EDWARD BARRY, SOUTH SEA PEARLER Bt Lotjis Becke. London: J. Fishei Unwin. There is plenty of adventure, movement, ytxd unflagging interest in Mr Becke's latest oook. Not, perhaps, quite as strong as his Hhort stories; lacking the intensity imparted by brevity, but exhibiting greater qualities of construction and finish, "Edward Barry" is % book likely to be popular with the majority of readers. Barry is the hero, an unaffected, manly, and "honest fellow ; shrewd in his observations ; modest, and plainly straightforward. Being out of a job in Sydney, and, moreover, "stoney broke," he is exceedingly glad to secure the billet of chief mate of the Mahina, n smart brig running in the Island trade under her owner and captain, Rawlings. Several little details connected with Barry's hasty engagement, and the swift departure of the Mahina on her Island cruise, point to some under-lying mystery connected with Captain Rawlings and Barradas (the second mate). Chiefly do these strange circumstances centre round the death of the former first officer, who is lying dead, shot by his own hand in a moment of temporary insanity, when Barry comes aboard. Captain Hawling3, however, taking Barry into his confidence, tells him with much feeling the fead story of his late chief officer, the clever, kindly, genial Tracey. How much of Capitain Rawlings's story was true, Barry was, 'during the course of a pearling cruise (whose xiches read like a story from the "Arabian Nights' " entertainments) to discover. The mysteries and crimes which Barjy, strong in %iis single-hearted courage and honesty, is ijble to unravel, and in due course to puiiiek ;

make too good a novel to spoil by telling ; we therefore leave our readers to pursue the j fortunes of "Edward Barry, South Sea ! Pearler," for themselves. DESMONDE, M.D. By H. Willard French. London : J. Fisher Unwin. In the above novel it is plain from the opening chapter that the writer has a gospel to preach. The most important thing, then, to the reader is to know if that gospel is one in which he is interested ; and that we shall briefly try to make plain. The gospel is that of medical hypnotism, embracing all the side issues of suggestion, auto-suggestion, etc., and culminating in the final success of the experiment of physical projection. " Desmonde, M.D.," is the extremely eccentric doctor who constitutes the lay figure upon which are draped in endless variety of aspect and incident, the strange theories of the author. Just what those theories are we do not feel in the least inclined to explain, but their working out, we may remark, involves all the psychic phenomena of mental telepathy, hypnotism, faith-healing by auto-suggestion, etc., closing, as we have said, with the grand triumph of Desmonde, M.D., in discovering the secret of physical projeotion. | Concerning this fast, we may quote a sentence or two. "It has long been possible for those Who caught the trick, by the natural , secretion of energy, to throw the mind upon an errand with sufficient force to present lively credentials to another mind. . . . Tho grand triumph of this last discovery is that it changes what was before but a doubtful mystery to an intelligible and scientific certainty. . . . Before, the projection was like sending an irresponsible boy to deliver a message if he could, without even receiving his report afterwards. Now lam conscious of bearing the message myself, and of remaining in constant communication with my brain." i Having sufficiently indicated the purpose of Mr French's book, our readers will judge how far its perusal would interest them.

LONG LIVE THE KING. By Guy Boothby. Dunedin : Braithwaite's Book Arcade. The serial which, with its" spirited illustrations, ran through the Windsor Magazine, is now issued by Messrs Ward, Lock, and Co. in book form. The fortunes of the reigning family of Pannonia, and especially of Max, the eldest son, and his younger brother, the narrator, supply Mr Boothby with the "motif" for his book. It is remarkably interesting to hear of the fortunes of royalty in the easy, everyday diction of the author. Pleasant to follow them after their downfall into the quiet seclusion of English country life, and observe how strikingly Mr Boothby' s great personages resemble commonplace people ! From their somewhat dull society, however, we awake to the glitter of untold wealth in diamond mines, to adventure, peril, and the harmless excitements of which Mr Boothby always keeps an admirably-assorted stock, set amid the brilliant unfamiliarity of a Brazilian landscape. In fine, "Long Live the King" is quit 2 up to the Boothian standard, and s-hows no falling off in the special line of fiction, which Mr Boothby has made his own.

i HATE, THE DESTROYER, By Norman Silver. Dunedin : Braithwaite's Book Arcade. The discovery of a fabulously rich platinum lode in the Ural Mountains is the event which heralds in this most dramatic tale. The discoverer is a singularly frank and pleasant Englishman named Edward Calvert, who has associated with him a certain Robert Taagye, whose only qualification as a partner in this prospecting expedition is an excellent knowledge of Russian— of which language plain homuly Edward Calvert is quite ignorant. Calvert's boyish exuberance of joy in their discoveiy, his extravagant as Bui'ances cl the wealth that awaits them — ''10

millions under your feet just there" — awakes in Tangye a cold, devilish contempt for the sirjr.plieity of the homely fellow with whom hs must share the vast wealth which otherwise might all be his. "Without a spark of gratitude for the generosity which has put him, Rcbert Tangye, the mere interpreter, or equal terms of partnership with Edward Calvert, the clever mineralogist, plucky pros-I-ector, and originator of the whole scheme, Tangye instantly begins to plot for the undivided control of this amazing wealth. The devil favours him with facile opportunities, and Tangye uses those opportunities so well that we find him firmly established in London as a city magnate, a platinum millionaire. Calvert has mysteriously vanished ! It may be that Tangye sometimes has uncomfortable recollections of a homely figure lying stiff and stark in the dark shadows of a Russian forest. It is, however, quite certain that he does not in the least connect a certain white-haired gentleman with whom he shares a cab accident in Piccadilly some 10 years later with that unpleasant memory. Nevertheless, from that time "Hate, the Destroyer," dogs his footsteps, and the story is full enough of incident mingled with pathos to interest those readers who are not critical in a literary sense or from an artistic point of view.

A HERO OF ROMANCE. By Richard Marsh. Dunedin : Braithwaite's Book Arcade. In this novel the author has chosen to break new ground, and leaving the over-worked field of criminals and their crimes, has given us the story of a schoolboy who was bent on being a veritable "Hero of Romance." The little sketch of schoolboy life which precedes the absconding of this foolish boy is not unpleasing, and the exciting advpntures which befall him are improbable «nough to shine in the pages of the World Wide Magazine. Parents and guardians may be glad to know that the "Hero of Romance'^was glad enough to reach home at last, and be only a commonplace English schoolboy once more. Further criticism or comment is impossible on so slight a work.

THE HOUSE OF GIANTS. By Yottck Everett. Dunedin : Braithwaite's Book Arcade. The collection of short episodes which follows the initial story, and constitutes the larger part of the book, does not call for special comment in any one instance. Neither better nor worse than the average magazine tale, they are brief enough to have been much wittier ; and, lacking wit, it is well they have brevity to commend them. In a somewhat self-satisfied preface, the author appears to assume that brevity and wit occupy much the same relation to one another as cause and effect. It is useless, perhaps, to regret that publishers have done nothing to correct this impression, but since there is much published that is neither brief nor witty, let us be content with small mercies — the sort of small mercies that will kill the vogue for short stories more surely and quickly than anything else.

— MUlress : "Did anyone call while I was out?" Bridget (the new housemaid) : "Vis, mum : foive leddies an' two gintlemen." Mistress: "Where are their cards?" Bridget: "There was no need o' thim lavin' any." Mistie»s: "Why not, I should like to bnow?" Biidget: "Oi was at home." Mistress: "YouV" Bridget: "Vis, mum. They called on me, mum."

New Name for Liebig Company's Extract. — We notice that Liebig's Kxtiact of Meat Company have decided to put another distinguishing mark upon their Extract, in addition to the well-known blue signature, "J. V. Liebig." On and after the Ist of January, 1900. all the.r jars will have an additional label bearing Liebig's Extract of Meat Company's initials, L.E.M.UO., by which rame their Extract will, soon be generally known*

THE NEW ZEALAND COCKATOO. His hands are the hands of the toiler, Ab he goes his daily round With tLe plough, the harrows, and roller, Tilling nia bit of ground. Perhaps with a wife and children, Perhaps with a girl to woo; He's one of Nature's gentlemen— The New Zealand cockatoo. Nobody knows of his struggles How to make both ends meet ; But he rises above his troubles, Things that make angels weep. He is thankful his debts are no bigger, He can paddle his own canoe ; He's a sort of a working nigger — The New Zealand cockatoo. And he doesn't go in for orations At the load upon his back ; Nor yet for mighty quotations, When things are looking black; But he puts his shoulder to the wheel In the way that he ought to do, For he's as true as the finest steel — The New Zealand cockatoo. "When the sun gets up in the morning, Till the sun goes down at night, All day long he is toiling, Toiling with all his might. And if with it all he is sinking, It has nothing to do with you, For he's rather reserved, I am thinking — The New Zealand cockatoo. Maybe his crops are failing, Parched for the want of rain ; Maybe his ground needs draining, And he carries the thought in his brain. But amidst the greatest disaster He has never been heard to say "boo," He's a horny-handed grafter — The New Zealand cockatoo. There's a look that is always light-hearted Beams from his face of tan, And when from him you have parted, You feel you've been along with a man ; So here's to that selfsame party, And the work that he hae to do — , The backbone of the country, The New Zealand cockatoo. —ARCH. M. M'NICOL. January, 1901.