LITERATURE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2978, 12 April 1911, Page 77

LITERATURE.

BOOK NOTICES. "The Mountain of God." By E. 8. Stevens. London: Mills and Boon. Melbourne: George Robertson and Co. (Illustrated. 3s 6d, 2s 6d.) All who read Mr E. S. Stevens's previous book, "The Veil" —which created quite a little sensation and reached many editions —will be anxiously looking forward to his next appearance in the literary field. They will not be disappointed. "The Mountain of God" is a powerful and original tale, though hardly so arresting and exciting as its predecessor. MaStevens has again gone to the East/for his inspiration. This time to byria, a district littie exploited by modern novelists—at least, in relation to modern times. "The Mountain of God" is one of the poetic Eastern names for Mo unt Carinel. The reason of the name is thus explained : "This, mountain is a holy mountain: it has always been sanctified. The prophets have always loved it. Christ has trodden on its paths. Elijah lived upon it. The wind is sweet upon it, the flowers are many, the view is wonderful. When you come up the mountain many fragrances greet you ; the pure air gladdens you; the beauty refreshes you. So the mind is made single, the thoughts are purified, the spirit turns to God." It is impossible for anyone to write an Eastern story with a. truly Eastern atmosphere without making it religious. God is in all their thoughts—not only in the good, conventional thoughts, but in the less good, the absolutely mundane and commercial. He is literally ever-present in their concept of the universe, and His name is ever on their lips. "In England you apologise if you happen to get on the subject of religion with people who are at all conventional. God is a backstairs and attic subject. Here they keep it everywhere—even in the dining room, even at the table, even at the table d'hote." The special form of religion which is at the present time engaging attention in Persia and elsewhere is that known as Babism or Bahaism, which may be defined as a revival of pure Christian teaching on the model of the Christ. Their tenets are few in number, and appear to be entirely based on the Law of Love. But, as in all such teaching, it is the personality of the teacher which carries weight and' acts as a mighty lever. The Persian Bab prophets have been three in number —father, son, and grandson. The two former are dead, the latter survives, and lives at the foot of Mount Carmel, where rest the bones of his predecessors. The word Bab means " a gate," and the original Bab "promulgated new and mysticai doctrines in a series of writings known as Beyan, declaring himself the Gate of Knowledge, and pro?ihesying the rise of a greater teacher to ollow." He was shot by order of the Persian Government in 1850. His son, Baha'Ullah (the Blessed Perfection) declared himself to be the teacher prophesied by the Bab. He and his followers were subjected to great persecution in Persia, and finally exiled to Akka, at the foot of Mount Carmel, where he died in 1892. Abdul Baha (The Master) is now the head of the Bahai community. "He spends his life in teaching and explaining the Bahai doctrines. . . . The spread of Bahaism has been very rapid. It is said already to include one-third of the Persian nation, and has many thousands of converts in the United States, Turkey, Egypt, India, Japan, etc. It may be described as a religious progressiveism, in which the most humanitarian and practical ideas of th,e West are wedded to devotion and mysticism of a very high order." Such is the underlying theme of Mr Stevens's book, and though the nominal hero is a young Englishman, who gees l to Haifa for his health, having been knocked to pieces in an accident on the polo ground, by far the most interesting character, of whom we see all too little, magnetism, which, combined with his m is that of the Bahai himself. This man exhales an atmosphere of mystery and magnetism, which, combined with his arduous and ascetic life, exercises a profound influence on all who are brought into contact with him, irrespective of nationality. Robert Underwood, the English hero, is a " not uncommon mixture of the mystical and the athletic " ? many of the relations had joined the Oxford movement or gone over to Rome. He himself, " though he thought no more about religion than other healthy young Englishmen, believed in the ' force majeirre,' which is called God, and had even prayed under stress of extreme emotion or anxiety." But his accident had worked a mighty disturbance in his whole being. The untroubled surface of his life was untroubled no longer. He had been brought violently face to face with the crude fact of life and death. At Haifa he had time nd enforced leisure. He begins to think. The direction and process of this thought is cleverly portrayed by the author. Small, unconsidered details affect Underwood greatly. The very ascept of the mysterious " Mountain of God " behind which he sees the sun set every night, affects him. He is introduced to some Persian Bahais, whose simple lives and exquisite charity deeply impress him. A thousand trifles rouse the mystic and religious side, of his character, On the

other hand, there is the influence an extraordinarily vital and brilliant English woman, Sabra Greville, a wife separated from her husband, and travelling alone, whose acquaintance he makes on board ship, and with whom he carries on the most intimate platonic relations, which—on his side —gradually develop into love. Mrs Greville, though kind and even affectionate to her wounded fellow-countryman, craves a more passionate excitement and gives "herself to a very splendid young Turk, who exercises over her that extraordinary fascination of absolute mastery which appeals to a crude and passionate mature, craving primitive methods and primitive emotions. This love-story is painfully outspoken in some of its details, and comes to an end very quickly in the natural satiety of the Eastern lover, who can form no idea of a woman as apart from her function as " the mother of sons." It is in his portrayal of the character of this Turkish Prince that the author shows his extraordinary and convincing knowledge of Eastern life and thought, and of the subtle difference between. Eastern and Western thoughts in relation to woman, which it seems impossible to bridge. The very institution of the "Veil," as explained in the previous book, emphasises this in a manner which no mere words can give. On this and many other subjects the point of view is essentially different. It is not so muchi that one is right and the other wrong. They are different. Centuries will be needed before they can coalesce —if ever. In the end both Sabra Greville and Robert Underwood fall under the influence of the Persian Prophet. She pocs to seek her drunken, dissolute husband, who prays her to return to him and save him from himself; and Robert Underwood limps off on his crutches to lose himself in contemplation of " the Mountain of God,

black against the golden sunset sky." It cannot be questioned that we have here an uncommon and arresting book, dealing with a little-known side of life in a little-known country, and a deep, widespread religious movement which may possibly have an effect on the future of the whole world, especially when taken in conjunction with similar movements in other parts, all tending to bring back the pure teaching of the law of love and unity.

" Teddy Wilkins's Trials." By Jens Lyng. Me 7 bourne : The Jackson-Peter-son Printing Co. (Paper, Is.) Like many another man, Teddy Wilkins is inclined to the belief that it is wise to fly "the il.'e we have" by adventuring into "others that we know not cf. ' He soon finds out his mistake-, and learns that when he leaves- his little business in town for a. selector's life in the country he has only exchanged one set of trials lor another. The story is well told and most realistic. Teddy's "trials" are many and various, and not one but will be vouched for by some of our country neighbours. Though perhaps all of them would scarcely happen to one man, it is by no means impossible that they should do so. Insect pests come '' out of the ground to destroy his growing crops at all stages; rabbits and other four-footed enemies assist; what they leave the parrots are eager to devour. There are also "trials" connected with the bringing up of a family, clothes, schooling, dectoring, and other trifling matters. Teddy finds that the life of a small farmer is by no means all bliss; but he and his .good wife are industrious and persevering, and in the end these, qualities meet with their reward, and the settlers attain a considerable measure of peace and comfort, and watch their children start in life with better prospects than their own. In this very readable tale the position of the small holder is set forth very simply and without exaggeration; h's tria's are real, and they are not turned into jokes, but are met with the quiet confidence that always ends in success. We think that M r Jens Lyng has here done a good piece of work, and we wish him every success in his literary career.

" Tom Plagdin, Pirate." By EJv/in J. Brady. Sydney: N.S.W. Bnokst ill Co. (Paper, coloured picture-cover, lour il-

lustrations, le.) It is a pity that Mr Brady did not stick to hie original intention of making this a genuine boy's book; for the initial adventures oi the would-be pirate captain and his mate are amusing enough to divert all uncritical " grown-ups " as well as youngsters. But the introduction of the escaped convict and the relations of two horrible murders turn what should have been a screaming farce into a repulsive tragedy. When plays like "Chanteclier," "The Blue Bird," and " Pefer Pan" can hold large audiences for many consecutive nights, it is clear that a good child's story can forceably appeal to its elders; only the moral must be so subtle that every one who disco vers it thinks that he has found the one and only treasure for which others seek in vain.

LITERARY NOTES. The Cambridge University Press has nearly ready a Look, "About Edwin Drood," by Dr Henry Jackson, in which a fresh attempt is made to fill the gaps in Dickens's ■unfinished story. Mr Maurice Hewlett is going back to the classics for the setting of his_ next work. He calls it "The Agonists—a Trilogy of God and Man," and deals with the stories of Minos, Ariadne, and' HippOlytus with a view to proving some fallacies in the ancient conception of human and divine relationships. —Mr G. K. Chesterton has promised to have a. poe.Ti ready for the Coronation which he oalls "The Ballad of the White Horse." King Alfred and his exploits against the Danes are to be the themes of the woi-k, and it will be written in the four-line ballads measure. Messrs Methuen will be the publishers. , A story of the Basuto war from Mr Louis Cohen's "Reminiscences of Kimberley :—One small boy, about 16 years of age, attached to a colonial corps, rode up to a huge Basuto chief, and, pointing a

revolver at the dusky enemy, pulled the trigger. The weapon, however, missed fire, andi in a moment the youth was at the mercy of the bronwd Bruce, who seized him, and then, contemptuously pushing the boy aside as he tok*e away, said: "Go home, my lad; go ionic, and tell your mother to send your fither." "Empire Builders in Australia," by Edith Ralph, published by Unwin, is a. record of early days in three of the great States of the Australian The land is pictured as h was when >n posession of the blacks, many of whoso strange customs and modes of life are described, the author having seen much of that primitive race. Some account of Australian explorers and of _ the finding of gold and the great rush which followed in the fifties is also given. There is a terrible story in the Latilla family of Naples, which Mrs Hugh Fraser tells -in "A Diplomat's Wife in Many Lands." In one of the first visitations of the cholera to the city the head of the family was cairried off suddenly, and was hastily interred in the family mausoleum where his ancestors reposed, far away at the most distant end of the large patrk. The mausoleum was carefully shunned by the family and servants for quite a year after the unfortunate Marchese had been carried thither. At the end of that time his widow, who had either just been married again or was preparing to> do so, summed up courage to go and have a look at it. Imagine her horror on beholding, behind the bars of the heavily grated windows, a ghastly almost-skeleton, with fingers twisted, as in a last agony of despair, around the iron bars. Sir George Bernard Shaw is to be the text of an English as well as a French book this season. We (says the Daily News) learn from Messrs Hutchinson that Profesor A. Henderson, of Columbia University, is bringing out a large two-volume work, with copious illustrations, which will discuss Mr Shaw as dramatist, critic, and philosopher. The book, which is written by M. Ha.mon, appears with the authority of Mr Shaw himself, so that its conclusions may be taken as mare or less "official."

—As might be expected, Mrs Hugh Fraser, in "A Diplomat's Wife in Many Lands," writes with great animation about her life in the Chinese Embassy, and goodhumoured ly makes the best of many unpleasant experiences. Moreover, she does not hesitate to express the belief that the notorious Dowager-Empress had, as a matter of fact, been dead for many years before her decease was actually announced to the world. "The Dowager-Empress," she savs, "was passionate, dissipated, and elderly in 1875. Women who had relations at Court whispered that she was shrivelled and bent. No power on earth would have induced her to humble her pride by permitting her photograph to be taken. Yet, five years ago, I was shown a photograph of the Dowager-Empress Surrounded by her ladies. The portrait was that of a stout, serene-looking woman of about 40 years of age. How is the discrepancy to be explained ? These are the mysteries which baffle the historian and give opportunity to endless ingenuities of conjecture!" Messrs Hodder and Stoughton announce the early issue of a translation of "Leila," the latest novel by the famous Italian novelist Antonio Fqgazzaro, a companion book to "The Saint, that novel of "almost epio greatness." It is four since the publication of "The Saint,' the book which raised a storm of controversy that has hardly abated. And now we are confronted once more with the same problems under other shapes in pages of great strength and character. "Leila" is a fighting book. In one respect it differs very markedly from Fogazaaro's former work. It is the 6tory of a woman's heart rather than that of a man's conscience.

An article by Mr B. W. Matz on some unknown poems by George Meredith, appears in T.P.'s Weekly. Meredith's first poem,- "Chillianwallah," -was published in Chambers's Journal in July, 1849. Like so many of the earlier Victorian writers, his genius found vent in the pages of "Household Words," under the editorship of Charles Dickens. But no mention has hitherto been made of the fact by the authorities on his works. Meredith, it seems, was inroduced to Dickens by R. H. Home, who was then on the staff! of Household < Words. In fact, on one or two occasions the names of Meredith and Home are bracketed together as if they were joint authors, and once the same thing happened in regard to Meredith and W. H. Wills. It is interesting to note that on the title page of Meredith's 1851 volume is printed a ten-line quotation from Home's "Orion," so that he was not only a friend but an admirer too. It is deserving of notice that on December 13, 1852, the poem entitled "A Child's Prayer" was entered as by Meredith ; but the pen is put through the name, and a memorandum states that the cheque was "handed to Mr Home." Whether it is right to assume that the poem is Meredith's is a difficult question, but it is included in the list for the reason that in other cases payment was made in this way. I make no attempt to criticise or to "place" these poems of one of our really great men (says Mr Mate). My object is merely to call attention to their existence, and to give admirers and students an opportunity of making acquaintance with Mr Meredith's early genius. # Whatever relative place they are given in the list of Mi Meredith's work—and they will assuredly be included in that list sosne day—the ardent student will have reason for being thankful for. having had bis attention drawn to them now. t Probably the youngest writer of a scientific booklet in Great Britain is James Frederick Jackson, author of "The Rooks of Hunstanton and: Its Neighbourhood," whose age is 15. This work, which was issued by the Premier Press (Ltd.), not many months ago, forrnis a most excellentgeological gurJe-book to a part of the breezy East Coast noted for its fine cliffs and interesting fossil remain®. The book consists of six chapters, and includes a number of interesting illustrations of typical fossils of the neighbourhood 1 , flint implements, etc., also a simple and useful geological sketch maip of Hunstanton and district. The ttooount of the rocks was written under circumstances that make it specially remarkable —almost romantic, —and full of human interest. These have been very svmpatheticallv related by Jackson's local discoverer, who, under the initials "B L.," contributes a foreword and afterword' to his book. "The author of this little book," he writes, "kt C boy of 15, poor, unlearned (save An his own; subject), oan) unhelped, savtr Iby myself, who can heilp but little. In the teeth of great difficulties he has made himself thoroughly conversant •with the local rocks, and, following my ad-

vioo, ho issues this brochure. My desire herein is that it may find its way into the hands of someone better able to help than I, who will stretch out a friendly hand to a (rifted lad, heavily handicapped by the struggle for bread. The author has read littlo but geology; he talks geology, ho thinks geology. Given a chance, he iingh. make the name of Hunstanton as famous in the annals of-the .-cienoe as now is Uromoity. But th© lad needs help if he is to do much. He needs books, a petirologioal microscope, access to Jermyn street or South Kensington, and freedom from tho necessity to earn his living as a house painter or attendant on beach chairs, i often wonder how many of the lacr.es and gentlemen lolling on those »me chain guess at the dreams and desires of the shy Tad who takes their pennies. I wonder that he can attend to them when a storm ha* uncovered a section of the beach that h* rarely sees and all the geologist in hum is urging him to the spot to seek tor his rock treasure-trove." . It seems that Jackson derives his taste for geology from his maternal grandfather, the late Frederick Cambridge, who had a collection of fossils, which he presented to the Lynn. Museum. Jaekson us a native of Flintshire, but after the death ct his father—a Yorkshireman—the widow* removed to Hunstanton for the sake oi her boy's health. He was then about seven years old, and owing to his delicate health had had but littlo schooling. g He was ordered an open-air life, and it his mother who first took him on the Hunstanton cliffs, showed him the fossils, and aroused his interest in them. She, too, taught him to read and write. Far some years past the boy has been occupied in looking after the beach chairs in summer and doing house painting and whitewashing at other times. In order to bring grist to the mill—for Mrs Jackson is in poor circumstances—he supplies local flint implements, fossils, fossil hammers and chisels, and lenses for the examination of sand ana soil to residents and visitors with geological proclivities. He also gives advice as to the collecting of local fossils. His spare time is absorbed in adding to his store of knowledge of the science of his choice. —ln calling Thomas Love Peacock one of our best writers we (Athenaeum) raise a claim that must be made good. His exquisite style, with its fine Tacitea.n flavour, the perfection of his lyrics, his wit, and that intellectual brilliancy which sparkles from all facets of his satire, parody, and epigram, suffice to endear him to the small, fastidious world whose approval is best worth having, aaid also, perhaps, to justify our opinion. But, unless we mistake, his novels possess a more potent quality: their appeal goes further than the. frontiers of good taste. Peacock's mind was original; he thought about many things, and la always did his own thinking. He is -the other side to every question; his way of looking at life is a perpetual challenge ( and a man without a vestige of humour or taste may read him with profit for his point of view. Peacock belongs to no school or age. He has been called a man of the eighteenth century, living in the nineteenth; nothing could be further from the truth. He loved the dignity and calm of the Augustans, just as he loved the fire and romanoe of the Renaissance, and the mysterious gaiety of • the Middle Ages; bu* he could have criticised any of them with as good a will as he criticised the age of machinery and "the march of mind," and, bad he been born in any one of them, would doubtless have done so. He was a student of bardic poetry who yet admired Pulci and Ariosto; his passion for classical literature was uncommonly wise and sincere; he read Sophocles for pleasure. So remote was he from the eighteenth-century Grecians thao he could perceive and enjoy the romantio element in Greek life and art; yet it is a mistake to call him a Greek. An Athenian of the time of Pericles was, he thought, the noblest specimen of. humanity that history had to show, and of that nobility he assimilated what he could. He acquired a distaste feir cant, prudery, facile, emotion, and philanthropy; he learnt to enjoy the good things of life without fear or shame; to love strength and beauty, and to respect the truth. For all that, he was a modern too; sharp eyes can see it in his verse. A 1 touch of gloating and uninquisitive wonder, a suspicion of sentiment for sentiment's sake, the ghost of an appeal from the head to the heart, from the certainty of the present to the mystery of the past and the future, betray the descendant of Shakespear* and! Sterne.