Books and Bookmen

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLI, Issue 21, 18 November 1908, Page 53

Books and Bookmen

The Firing Line : Robert W. Chambers. (New York: D. Appleton and Cc.) It had seemed impossible to us that Mr. Chambers could write a more virile book than “The Fighting Chance.'* But while in that book he showed us the effect of heredity he has gone farther in "The Firing Line," and shown us both the cause and effect of the degeneracy of the American aristocracy, as represented by the south-eastern race. He also shows us that as a dominant, or as a useful race they are dying out, and declares that unless they follow the advice suggested in this book another generation will see them extinct as a result of too close inbreeding. The principal scenes of the book are laid at Palm Beach, Florida, and the story opens where Garret Hamil, in the assumed character of Ulysses, meets Shiela Cardross, who masquerades as Calypso, with the difference, that whereas Ulysses of the Homeric epic was a Benedict ere he made the acquaintance of. the Ogygian nymph, the Calypso of Palm Beach has a husband, though only in name. “Shiela Cardross,” whose real parentage was absolutely unknown, had been adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Neville Cardross, who had taken her from a foundling hospital. This adoption had been kept a profound secret from Shiela until the day when she had refused a certain eallow youth named Van Dieman, his' mother had, in her indignation, blurted out the obscurity of Shiela’s parentage which so crushed Shiela, that in spite of the love and care that had been lavished upon her by the entire Cardross menage, she had conceived herself disgraced, and nameless. While in this rebellious and morbid mood Louis Malcourt, an intimate friend of the Cardross family, and the last representative of a degenerate, though noble family, had offered to marry Shiela and give her a name, and she had accepted conditional on the marriage remaining a profound secret between them. And afterwards Shiela had learned to loath Maleourt, and though he would have released her she would not hear of an annulment of her marriage for fear of the disgrace that would fall on the Cardross name. In the meantime Maleourt had been leading the life that is affected by the degenerate man of fashion, who, possessing next to no fortune, lives by his wits, in this ease gambling, in the interval of acting as his friend’s man of affairs on his Long Island estate. Now Louis Malcourt, though degenerate, was not unlovable, and his successes with the fair sex were notorious. That he possessed grit and a keen sense of honour was apparent whenever the necessity arose for him to toe “the firing line.” His offer of marriage was a sacrificial and supremely unselfish aet, an act foreign to. his reputation. Shiela neither understood its value nor appreciated the nobility that prompted it, for it cast him adrift, took from him the possibility of the salvation a strong, good woman’s love might, nay would, have wrought for him. But for this or of her duty towards him, Shiela does not seem to have had "the faintest comprehension. Hamil, in contradistinction to Malcourt, belonged to “the younger set,” to whom Mr, Chambers looks for the regeneration of America, and it was inevitable that Shiela, who also belonged to that set, should fall in love with Hamil. And though Shiela, after Hamil declares his love, confesses that she is already married, she still further increases the wrong done to Maleourt, by suppressing the fact that he is her husband, so fearful is she lest the Cardross family be disgraced. So complication follows complication, and with each phase Louis Maleourt’s “fighting chance” recedes, and he is driven to the only reparation he can think of and that is to straighten the tangle out of Shiela’s life by giving up his own. And "greater love hath no man than this that he lay down his life for his friend.” We ure no advocate of suicide, and we arc doubtless wrong, but Louis Malcourt is completely exonerated in our mind. To his diseased fancy it was the only way out; and he took it fearlessly, conceiving that he was playing the game

and toeing “the firing line.” No more powerful delineation of the distorted workings of a brain, predisposed to insanity by heredity, and driven over the border line that separates sanity from insanity by misunderstanding, can be imagined than this characterisation of Louis Malcourt. And no stronger or more reasonable plea for the regeneration of America eould be put forth than that which furnishes the motive for this book, for out of the welding of the old and new race shall come forth a more perfected race, the old supplying the polish to tone down the crudities of the new, and the new bestowing strength and vigour to supplement the graces and impaired intellect of the old. Shiela Cardross, though lovable enough in some respects, seems to have been entirely lacking in the intuition that is said to be the special prerogative of her sex, but Garret Hamil, though we admire his superabundant good qualities, is not our hero, for we think a lack of understanding a fatal blemish in a hero. And though ultimately the union of East and West will be beneficial to the American race, there are bound to be rude shocks in store for those who belong to the old order that is to give place to the new. The other characters of the book, though subsidiary, are well drawn, especially Virginia Suydam, for whom the reader will feel the most profound sympathy. The book is splendidly illustrated, and not a little of its charm lies iu the superb description given of the vegetation, animal, reptile and birdlife indigenous to the forest reserves of Florida. In the sporting phraseology, of which Mr. Chambers so well knows the use, he lays down the dictum that "it is on the firing lino that character shows; a person is what he is in the field —even though he sometimes neglects to Jive up to it in less vital moments.” And as we linger over the last few chapters of the book, we fervently wish Mr. Chambers an increasing fecundity. Our coyp has been received through the courtesy of George Robertson and Company By. Ltd., booksellers and stationers, 107113 Elizabeth-street, Melbourne.

The Song of Hyacinth, s John Oxenham. (London: Methuen and Co., 36, Essex. Street, W.C.) Though Mr. Oxenham is not always in his happiest mood in the narration of the twelve short stories that comprise this book, want of vigour in the telling of them cannot be laid to his charge. Indeed in the depiction of the crimes, adventures, sufferings and pitiful ending of the characters that form the dramatis personae of the grim story entitled "The Legion of the Lost” (the strongest story of the book) he has almost overstepped the line that divides the ghastly from the merely sensational. “The Song of Hyacinth” is a piece of dainty sentiment'that has a strong undercurrent of pathos running through it, and has evidently been suggested by the numerous parallel episodes of the much to be regretted Boer war. But underlying all the tragic or serio-comic element of the book, is the intimate knowledge of human beings and their motives, at their best—and worst—that so marks Mr. Oxenhani’s work, and in the sympathetic analysis of which he is such an adept. “A Simple Beguiler” has a strong Dickensian smack, while “The Two Old Maids From School,” is the quaintest reading imaginable, and we strongly advise readers to get the book for themselves, as every note in the human gamut is struck, and there is a story to suit every mood that humans are subject to. Our copy has been received through Messrs. Wildman and Arey. Musings in Maoriland : James Sillars. (Masterton, N.Z.: “Wairarapa Daily Times.”) "Musings in Maoriland” has much true poetic expression running through it. Its author does not lay claim to a high standard of merit, his preface being deprecatory and apologetic for the defects which appear, but which he lamely says he has neither the patience nor per-

severance to correct. To the thoughtful readers it will seem that time spent «>n more immature poems would have been better employed iu revision and correction of previous faulty effusions. These faults lie largely in errors of judgment, iu au apparent ignorance of ibe proper meaning of words, and in illogical expression or faulty grammar, to say nothing of what might be termed innocent slang. A few examples may suffice : The secondary part of the title of the book is "Stray Thoughts an! Fugitive Fancies.” "Stray thoughts” may bear a meaning of occasional or rare thoughts, but "fugitive fancies” are fancies that have eluded the grasp, not fancies seized and recorded, in the poem, "Who Dares to Say That England's Might has Fled?” the fault in the third line is merely an ungrammatical change of person, but the fourth line, “Her heart still throbs exultant at war’s blast” is a serious libel on England, and out-jingoes the jingoes, who have the grace in their wildest moments to state, “We don’t want to fight.” The spirit of that last line of the verse puts the cautious, peace-loving and peace-preserving heart of Old England on a par with that of an impetuous, ravening savage, thirsting for gore. Then take the next poem, “The Decision.'’ In the construction of the first verjse logic is discarded. The second line of the second verse, “Whose knowledge was astute,” makes the word “astute” an attribute of knowledge, whereas it is purely an attribute of mind. Poetic license cannot be urged for sins of this sort. Further, in the same poem, the artist's and the poet’s pleas (their respective claims to superiority over each other) are woefully superficial, and reflect the author’s poor conception of the vitalising inspirational spirit, his “pleas” more fitting the description of works of the genus pot-boiler. As a light literary repast the book will have a p! : its perusal cannot be other than mildly beneficial, and to some extent amusing, for there is humour as well as sentiment and pathos in its pages. There is no vulgarity, but the essence of a kindly nature pervades every page. Some of the pieces have real merit, as “Pygmalion and Galatea,” "My Garden,” "The Legend of Te Ore Ore,” etc. The author’s frequent longing for the land of his birth (Scotland) gives the reader the rather sad impression of a eaged bird fretting to escape. The Sunny Side of the Hill : Rosa Nouchette Carey. (London: Macmillan and Co., St. Martin's-strect). To read and properly appreciate one of Miss Carey’s pleasing old-world stories requires a detachment that is difficult to acquire in these days of hurry and bustle, superficiality and ceaseless change. But the reader who possess this gilt of detachment will be richly rewarded, for so invigorating is the, pure wholesome sentiment that breathes from its pages that it works like magic, leaving the reader refreshed, reassured and rejuvenated. ' No fool like an old fool ’ is the expression we have heard used in the case of lovers who, having delayed

the consummation of (heir liappinesa, from various reasons some too sacred lo become public pr<q>erty or from motives of expediency until after they have jiassed the meridian of life. But, if, after reading the deeply pathetic Jove story of middleaged "Margaret Brydon,” the reader can still justify the indiscriminate use of this too often misapplied epithet, or declare that love is unseemly or impossible in middle or old age, he must stand convicted as a fool, young or old. Though .Margaret Brydon’s history is only incidental to this eharming story, which depicts the fortunes, limitations and idiosyncracies of the Brvdon and the Chaytor families, it supplies the most absorbing interest of a book that is a fount of interest and ideal from cover to cover. Nothing that Miss Carey has ever written (and she is a past-master iu the art of depicting the seemingly trivial round of daily duty that filled, if it did not always satisfy, the lives of the gentlewoman of the Mid-Victorian age) has so fully demonstrated the quiet happiness that follows the conscientious discharge of duty. In short, Margaret Brydon’s character, as conceived by Miss Carey, is a practical expression of Carmep Sylvia’s beautiful lines which head the tenth chanter of the book:— There is but one happiness. Duty; There is but one connotation. Work: There is but one delight, The Beautifol. And though “ Nellie’s Memories ” has ever occupied a very high place in cur esteem, it is to “The Sunny Side of th® Hill” we shall turn when Dan Cupid shall have played us one of the scurvy tricks he so delights to play on lovers young or old. Our copy of this book has been received through the publishers, .Macmillan and Co.

DELTA.