FROM . . . Bookstall and Study.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17832, 28 April 1926, Page 13

FROM . . . Bookstall and Study.

LITERARY NOTES. Let me grow lovely growing old— So many old things do: Laces and ivory and gold And silk need not be new; And there is healing in old trees, Old streets a glamour hold. Why may not I, as well as these, Grow lovely growing old? —Karle Wilson Baker. Messrs Constable are publishing a book of essays and natural history by Lord Grey of Mr H. A. Yachell and Mr Archibald Marshall have collaborated in a novel called “Mr Allen,” written round the mystery of a moated grange in Essen. Mr Robert Keable, author of “Simon Called Peter” and other popular books, has gone baak to Tahiti and is engaged on anotherrnovel of life in the South Seas. From Putnam Book News:—Yes, my wife gets more out of a novel than anybody.” “How do you mean?” “Well, she always starts in the middle, so she’s not only wondering how it will all end, but how it began.” Mr Galsworthy is continuing the story of Fleur and Michael Mont, and of those of the, Forsyte family who appeared in “The White Monkey,’ in a new romance entitled “The Silver Spoon.” In Indiana, U.S.A.. they are organising a movement to build a model highway to Limberlost Cabin as a memorial to the late Mrs Gene Stratton-Porter, who made this part of the country famous in her novels. It will be called the Limberlost Trail. Her last book, “The Keeper of the Bees,” is being published shortly by Messrs IlutchinMr Winston Churchill, the American author, who has written many excellent historical tales, recently told an American interviewer that he has made up his mind to write no more novels. There are a number of authors who could well be encouraged to make a similar resolution, but Mr Churchill is not one of them. His earlier novels, particular^ l- “The Crossing,” “The Crisis,” and “Richard Carvel,” have stood the test of time and, even to-day, are in demand. Messrs Jonathan Cape are publishing shortly a new book entitled “The Job,” by Sinclair Lewis, the popular American author, whose books, “Martin Ar-row-smith,” “Marie Street” and “Babbit,” have put him in a strong position among the best sellers. Mr Lewis has just recovered from a serious illness. An editor received from a lady some verses, daintily tied up -with pink ribbon and entitled “I wonder if He’ll Miss Me?” After reading them, he returned the effort to the sender with the following note: “Dear Madam,—lf he does, he ought never to be trusted w’ith firearms again. - ' The death was announced recently of Rev Charles W» Barclay, husband of Florence BarclaS*, author of “The Rosary.” After her death Mr Barclay retired from clerical work. In “Memories at Random—Melton and Harborough,” the author, Mr Henry S. Davenport relates that Mr Winston Churchill, once hunting with the Quorn, came down wallop at a fence. Alfred Brocklehurst, one of the shbuted out to someone who had stayed behind to render first aid, “What w-as the damage?” “He broke his collarbone,” was the reply. “Good Lord, is that all? Pity it was not his jaw\” The centipede was happy quite until a toad in fun Said, “Pray, which leg goes after which ? ” That worked her mind to such a pitch She lay distracted in a ditch Considering how to run. —Mrs Edward Craster. A recent obituary notice in “The Times” recalls a piece of literary history, says “John o’ London’s Weekly.” The late R. G. Hargreaves, who died at Lyndhurst. England, the other day, was a country gentleman of taste and accomplishment. But the more generally interesting fact is that his wife, who survives him, was Miss Alice Pleasance Liddell, for w-hose childish entertainment “Lewis Carroll” wrote his great classic, “Alice in Wonderland.”

Mr 11. L. Mencken, the well-known and caustic critic of American institutions and culture, has recently published a newt volume entitled “Americana, 1925.” He states that his object is “to make the enlightened minority of

I Americans familiar, hy documentary evidence, with what is going on in the minds of the masses—the great herd of indifferentiated, good-humoured, [ goose-stepping, superstitious, sentimental, credulous, striving, romantic American people.” He gives as an example of “American culture in blinkers” in the following account of a debate Avhich took place in the capital city of Georgia, and -which, one is glad to know-, w-as defeated by a majority of seven in one hundred and tw-enty votes: — * * * * “During a debate in the Legislature on a measure to allow counties, school districts, or municipalities to establish and maintain public libraries, either by taxation or by donations, Representative Hal Wimberly, of Lauiens County, made a speech against the Bill. According to Mr Wimberly there are only three books worth reading in the world—the Bible, the hymnbook, and the almanac. ‘Those three are enough for anyone,’ Said the. Laurens representative. ‘Read the Bible. It teaches you how to art. Read the hymnbodk. It contains the finest poetry ever written. Read the. almanac. It shows you how to figure out what the weather will be. There isn’t another book that is necessary for anyone to read, aiid therefore I am opposed to all libraries.’ ” * * * * The scene of W. Harold Thomson’s latest novel, “Each One of Us,” is laid in Amalfi, Italy, the correct environment for a story described in the jacket as being “bne of rbmancc and passionate love.” The heroine, Rhoda Galbraith, an orphan, is the paid companion of Mrs Fenton and her daughter. She has more than one suitor, but prefers an artist named Trehearne, who, of course, is a married man, and their path is consequently not a smooth one. Mrs Fenton’s son, Philip, who meanders through the story uttering cheap cynicisms and seducing maidservants, in the end, provides an outlet for Rhoda and Trehearne by making good as the lover of Mrs Trehearne, who unexpectedly appeared on the scene and naturally resented her husband’s philandcrings. A suitable book for passing away an hour or two on a railway journey. ❖ * * “Did you write this unaided?” asked W. D. Howells, the famous American writer and editor. “I did,” replied the young poet. “I wrote every line of it.” “Then I am very glad to meet you, Lord Byron,” said Howells, “but I was under the impression that you had died some 3*ears ago! ” « Miss Edith L. Elias has written an amusing book of topsy-turvy rh3*mes which will appeal to those who are fond of good nonsense verses. The following is a characteristic piece:— If houses suddenly got up, And ran about the street. If chimneys nodded “ How d’ye do?” And every shop had feet, I wonder where-we’d live, and how; What fun to move about! “ Is Mrs Jones at home to-day ” “ Oh, no, her house is out.” Mr John Ressich, who alread3' - has two volumes of short stories to his credit, has scored a distinct success with his first long novel, “The Triumph of a Fool.” (Cassell and Co.) The “fool” is Walter Gilray, the adopted son. of Gideon Gilray, a wealthy manufacturer. Mrs Gilray, on the death of h£r husband, shifts from the small Scottish town where always lived, and settles in London. Here she Jiopes, with the assistance of Walter and an income of £30,000 a 3 r ear, to make an assault on society, the lady being a born “climber,” and a tuft-hunter of the deepest d> ,- e. She procures the assistance of Molly Lambert, a charming but impecunious person, well versed in the ways of London society. Walter, after leaving Harrow, to his mother’s disgust, prefers going into business to leading the life of a gentleman of leisure. He makes amends, however, by marrying the daughter of a dissolute earl, who, according to Mrs Lambert, “was born two drinks below par, and has spent most of his life tr3 r ing to level it up.” The marriage ends in tragedy, and an opportune channel collision disposes of the unfortunate bride. Walter's second marriage was equally disastrous, but, in the end he finds happiness in his secretar\*, Madge Traquair, and bv bribing his wife to divorce him, he is 1 able to marry Madge. And they eventually settle in New Zealand. There is a vein of quiet satire through the whole stor3*. Mr Ressich*s characterisation is excellent, except that he is rather inclined to overdo Mrs Gilray. She is an exasperating wo- | man. The hero is simple, rather than I foolish, quixotic to a fault, but tries to play the game. Jack Lambert, Molly’s husband, always hard up, but always cheerful and breez\', is a delightful creation, and we could have done with more of him. A capital story, and one to be recommended.