BOOKS OF THE DAY.

Otago Witness, Issue 3775, 20 July 1926, Page 74

BOOKS OF THE DAY.

AN INSPIRING NOVEL. “ But I" Our Lives.” A Romance of the Indian Frontier. By Sir Francis Younghusband. (Cloth, Ts 6d net.) London: John Murray. “We show forth thy praise, not only with our lips, but in our lives ” —such was the ideal inspiring the life of the young soldier whose career this novel records. “Romance” is an inapt title; there is nothing romantic in the ordinary sense in the story: it is realistio in the true sense, and might very well be a modification of actual fact. Sir Francis Younghusband ja known as an author by two previous books, “ The Gleam” and “Wonders of the Himalaya,” the former a presentation primarily of the souls’ strivings of thoughtful Hindus, Christians, and Mohammedans, the latter an idealistic interpretation of the glorious nature of the Himalayas. It is pleasant indeed amidst the plethora of trivial and often morally lowering fiction of to-day to come upon a novel infused with idealism, and presenting fine types of character. The good in life is just as real as the bad and the ignoble;' and very much worthier to be portrayed. And there is nothing of the prig about the hero nor about his likeminded friends who lead consistently moral lives inspired by religious faith; they are thoroughly human, and the narrative is throughout simple and natural. lCvan Lee, who becomes a soldier of the type of Havelock and Lawrence, came of a military family, though his father entered the navy and rose to the rank of admiral, and ran his brief career in the latter part of last century. His childhood is described, the earlier part of it spent under the care of a somewhat austere aunt. Later, when his parents settled in England, a very strong affection grew up between him and his parents and Bister; his love for his mother, a woman of deeply religious nature, being especially strong. At school and college lie distinguished himself in athletics, and fdrilled two particularly close friendships. The aifli-

culties of his life as a young and impecunious officer in India, and the story of his thwarted love, are naturally told. He throws himself whole-heartedly into the duties of his profession. He liai imagination, and sees his regiment as a living thing existing century after century apart from the men who compose it. Possessing enthusiasm for work and a natural power of handling men he wins speedy promotion. His leaves are spent by choice in the jungle or the mountains. Sport does not attract him, but he delights to study the wild creatures in their natural surroundings. He stays sometimes with a friend who is an officer in the Forest Department. The latter, constantly in presence of Nature’s law of struggle, is impressed by its real beneficence. “ The beasts and birds are Kept at their best; they live life to the full and enjoy it. . . And the more we know about this forest life the more reasonable does it appear. Not cruelty and pain, but joy and beauty is the main impression I get from it —and the pain simply sharpens the enjoyment.” Naturally religious, and desiring to make the very best of his life, Lee for a time debates with himself whether or not to leavtf the army and give himself to social and religious work, but his friend Truman, with whom he discusses the matter when on English leave, helps to convince him that his powers will be best used by continuing his military service. Truman, a thinker and a musician, is devoting himself to philosophy. Why, Lee asks him, does he follow this study rather than the clerical profession? Truman answers that the philosophy he means to expound is founded on religion. “ It is religious experience which gives us the deepest insight into what the world really is at bottom. The more religion a philosopher has the better his philosophy.” Philosophy will not freeze religion, rather will religion warm philosophy to life. Lee’s spiritual friendship for Lady Meara, A society woman, who is also a saint and a religious mystic, is a beauti-fully-told episode in the book. To her Lee discloses his deepest ambition—that of working towards the creation of a new religious revival in England. After several years of regimental service Lee is sent as agent to a jpettv frontier State, with whose chief he makes friends, winning his confidence and that of his subjects, endeavouring to improve them along the lines of their native religion and civilisation. But the Nawab is killed by a brother, and the little State is invaded by ,a neighbouring chieftain. And Lee, repelling the attack, is killed in the moment of victory. He had hoped that his lifework would endure. The book purports to be written by a brother officer to make it known. “ His soul still lives in the souls of others. With theirs it goes to form the soul of England.” THE ADVENTURESS. “The Yellow Leaf: otherwise the Third Book of Sarah; a Novel by Robert Stuart Christie.” (Cloth, 7s 6d net.) London: T. Fisher Unwin. In spite of the title, which might suggest declining years, this book takes up the story of Sarah immediately after the conclusion of the period covered in the second, and the whole three-volumed history apparently relates only a few months of the adventuress’s life. Sarah Pender is a minx of first water, who, as narrated in the first book, robbed a poor boarding-house slavey of her unexpected legacy, and married Philip Santos under the name she had signed to get the money. Then she had an intrigue with a titled reprobate, and the second and third books tell of how Philip took her desertion, of family complications and property concerns in which he and liis father and step-mother figure, with “Simmonds the manager” and “Simmonds the waiter,” and of the way in which Philip and Sarah approach perfect understanding and happiness. A sensational incident is Sarah’s shooting Philip with the laudable design to save him the distress of learning particulars in her past record. But the revolver is only loaded with bread, and Philip forgives everything. Sarah is compared by the publishers to Becky Sharp, but she is a much less realisable character. She is more temperamental than Thackeray’s heroine, and is perpetually whitening and stiffening, or going off into furies or ecstasies. She really is not amusing, and one cannot take her tragically. None of the characters make an impression of reality, and the style is unattractive, the author affecting short, jerky sentences. A CONFESSION. “Once I was Blind.” By Andrew Stewart. (Cloth, 7s 6d net) London: Cassell and Company. This story is written in autobiographical fbrm, and purports to be the life confession of a man whose eyes are at last opened through the death of his wife to the evil life he has led, while boasting himself to be righteous. The bereaved husband tells his story in atonement, and to make known the beauty of his wife’s character. It is doubtful, however, whether the autobiographical form is a success; one can scarcely imagine a man in the position, and with the antecedents of John Armstrong, confessing himself with so much circumstantiality and realistic detail. He begins by telling of his childhood as the sort of a Durham coal miner. He began to work in the mines at 10 years of age, but soon improved his lot by getting work going round with a coal carrier. Saving as much os possible of his wages, v at 18 he was. able to go to try his fortune in London, and 10 years

iater had a horse and cart of his own, and was making a profit of £2 a week. Then he became acquainted with Joan Weslev, servant at a house where he went to liver coal. Their courtship was a strange one. We must suppose that Joan-—much his superior in refinement as well as character—was attracted by his steady purposeful walk in life, but we feel it strange that his very freely displayed faults did not prevent her marrying him. Women will overlook many faults in a lover, but not usually avarice and meanness. Joan’s troubles begin at once on their marriage. Hard, penurious, utterly selfish, he makes their home miserable, but Joan, as such a woman would do, remains loyal at heart and soul to the man she has chosen, always hoping that his better self she discerns in him will awaken, roikied to anger only when he Is cruel to the children. John “gets religion,” but this only makes matters worse, intensifying his former hardness, turning him into a Pharisee His religion is of the Old. Testament, while Joan’s is that of the Epistles of St. John. As his children grow up they are alienated by his tyranny. One daughtor “gets into trouble,” and her father treats her with merciless harshness, but thinks it even a worse matter when she later joins a Catholic sisterhood. When the war comes his sons enlist in defiance of their father, who—inconsistently is a pacifist. At last Joan, worn with long strain, and the grief for her lost son and daughter, dies. But when she is dying his soul awakens to love; he realises what she is, and what he is himself.

There is merit in the ground idea of the story, hut the story itself is a drearv one, ugly in parts, and the characters fail to be really convincing. A DRAB STORY. “The Misty Flats.” By Helen Woodbury. (Cloth; 7s Gd net). London: Hodder and Stoughton. The book title is taken from Oxenham’s lines, prefixed as a motto: To every man there openeth a Way . . . And the High Soul climbs the High Way And the Low Soul gropes the Low, And in between the misty flats, the rest drift to and fro. This is the story of a girl endowed with vitality and imagination, whose instincts of self-expression constantly come into collision with her regard for her pretty, fragile, conventional mother. It is extremely American in detail and style, and, however it may suit American taste, English readers are likely to find ifc dull. It is very prolix,’ and the repetition of similar scenes and incidents makes it tedious. Three of the seven books into which the story is divided are occupied with Linda's childhood. As a little girl, Linda wanted to play with boys, and invented an’ imaginary little girl companion much more interesting than the real ones available. Her childish escapades, her puzzlement as to where babies come from, her embarrassing sayings and the worrying of her uncomprehending, ineffective little pother are detailed at great length. As Linda grows up, she finds herself constantly thwarted by the mother who wants her daughter to be happy, but expects her to be happy in her own way. Her literary ambitions and her unconventional friendships and love affairs are alike traversed by her mother. College life brought some expansion, though Linda referred to the English course as “Dickens and Thackeray and Scott and infantile people like that. I prescribe Oscar Wilde for myself.” But in spite of her rebel instincts we part from Linda still on “the misty flats,” kept there by dread of hurting her mother. And “the little crowding lulls siemed to swoop down behind her, closing her in ... . stifling her.” PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED. Close on a hundred writers and artists from all parts of Australian and New Zealand give of their best to the latest issue of Aussie, all helping to make a noteworthy issue. There are some wellknown names among the contributors— Hod Quinn, Will Lawson, Les Robinson, Jim Grahame, G. K. Townshend, Percy Lindsay, to mention a few. All the jokes in this issue are well worth passing on. With its new and more attractive type, Aussie looks bigger, brighter, and better, and has enough in its latest issue to brighten up a week of evenings.

Here is just one from the hundred and one laughs in the latest issue of Humour: Mother: “It is very naughty, Lucy, to tell lies. Those who do never go to heaven.” Lucy: “Do you ever tell lies. Mummy?” Mother: “No, dear, never.” Lucy: “Well, you’ll be fearfully lonely, won’t you, Mummy, with only George Washington ?”