The Bookshelf.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIV, Issue 4, 26 January 1910, Page 46

The Bookshelf.

By

DELTA.

BOOKSHELF FEUILLETON.

/Y\ R- EDWIN ARNOLD is publish--4I B ■* l1 = shortly “Recollections of A I 1 South Africa,” by Lady Sarah / Wilson. As every one will remember, Lady Sarah Wilson was a •war correspondent in South .Africa, and was taken prisoner by t-he Boers outside Alafeking. Mr. Joseph Keating, whose daring novel has created such a sensation iu “Home” political circles, is the brother of Mr. Matthew Keating, M.P. for South Kilkenny. Hitherto Air. Keating has been boat known as a writer of vivid, dramatic stories of mining life. It remains to be seen whether his incursion into the realms of political fiction will 'be successful enough to justify further inroads. We confess we like Mr. Keating’s physiognomy as revealed by the admirable portrait of him which appears in the current number of the Bookman. A novel which bears the sensational title of “A Mission to Hell," is announced by a Boston publisher. Its author is a Congregational minister named Eel Is who hails from Massachusetts. Scribner’s are said to have paid Colonel Roosevelt, as; he is now called, a dollar a word for his South African artichs. A New York newspaper man speaking to Galbraith, of the Bookman, eay.s: “l’ve not heard that Scribner’s is having a phenomenal sale to correspond with the phenomenal price they paid.* Sometimes I wonder if the price was really a dollar a word, or if the announcement was intended to be taken with a pinch of salt, as we take the announcements which the impresario makes as to the five-figure salary he is going to pay to his prima donna.” It is only fair to say, adds Galbraith, .that, this is the first time I have heard of this suspicion, though many people appear to doubt whether Colonel Roosevelt’s articles are now so valuable as they promised to be’when lie was still President. All of which goes to-how the ephemeral nature of fame and prestige. That line scholar ami litterateur, Dr. William Barry, has an article in a prominent literary- review- on Mr. 11. G. Wells, “Ann Veronica.” Ann Veronica he compares to a kind of hesitating George Sand, and with Grant Allen’s “lUmnn Mho Did.” Like Dr. Barry we were thoroughly interested and enjoyed Mr. Wells’ book until we came to the Ramage -iene. Then our respect and our belief in Mr. Wells’ bona tides declined, and we waded in a slough of increasing despondency until the end of his book was reached. That it may be an absolutely true presentment of the attitude ami the procedure of many of flic ultra-modern young women of today we have no reason to doubt. But all the same it is, to put it as mildly as possible, a nasty presentment, and utterly unworthy of Mr. Wells. And if he, with his great gifts of progressive thought and marvellous prophetic insight, can offer us nothing more comforting or ideal for the future of the feminine disciple of modernity than a vision of an “Ann Veronica whitewashed by a complaisant society because of a tardy marriage, and an increased prosperity, we, like Dr. Barry, conceive ourselves justified in wishing that Mr. Wells had not conceived, much less written “Ann Veronica.” Most prominent amongst t.he attractions of “Life” for January is Dr. Fitchett’s account of how- he first became acquainted with the “Cornhill Magazine." forty years ago. The article reproduced in “Life” first appeared in the “t'ornhill." which has just been celebrating its jubilee. Admirable photographs are given of its first editor and founder, the late George Murray Smith, and its present editor, Mr Reginald J. Smith, K.C. Grant Richards h.ive lately published at the low price of 3/6, a book which contains three prose plays written by that powerful writer. Mr. John Masefield. Tile ’‘longest and flic finest.” is named “The Tragedy of Nan.” The other two. and especially "Mrs. Harrison” (which has never been acted), a Heqnel to “The Campden Wonder,” are both exceptionally good in their terse presentation of dharacter through an *r-

tistie arangement of natural speech. The first mentioned is really all that matters just now. It is said by Mr. Edward Thomas to resemble a ballad, if there were one, that had all the mournfulness and beauty of its music wrought into its very- words. For Mr. Masefield’s play- combines the effect of music and words. It has the rusticity, the breath of Nature, and the passion “more precious than Sheba’s gold,” which the best of the ballads have at those best moments where their w-ords are all but mad with the inexpressible extremity of love and misery-. And yet there is no place where it can be said that Mr. Masefield turns lyric poet and ceases to be dramatic. He is as strict in the final scene, as in the chat over the dough. Tlie influence of the ballads has been great in poetry. But this -poet has been

able to preserve the simplicity of the ballad while enriching it with the beauty of a grave and sensitive modern spirit that has long brooded upon it. He has drawn from the rustic fiddle music that might have graced an exquisite violin.” Shaw F. Bullock writes whimsically and sympathetically and critically in the November Bookman on Mr. Robert Lynd’s new book “Home Life in Ireland” (Mills and Boon). Everything affecting Irish home and social and educational life is discoursed upon and thoroughly ventilated. Mr. Lynd is no Hardy, says Air. Bullock in effect. But he knows—he knows. And all he says is worth knowing.” Space forbids a mention of “Billicks,” Air. St. John Adcock’s inimitably written book, but we hope to give a resume of it next week. The Mark Lemon Centenary. Afore than ordinarily interesting is the current number of the “Bookman,” which contributes a long article to mark the centenary of that famous editor of “Bunch,” Mark Lemon. This centenary article, which has been written by Mr. AV. H. Spielman, can scarcely be called a flattering one. Mark Isernon’s place in literature is not, we are told, difficult to determine. He was not, m the true sense, a man of letters, and it

may readily be believed that were it not for his extraordinary success as an editor, endowed with a natural instinct, with an unfailing flair and good discretion, the centenary of his birth, which took place on November 30, 1809, might have been allowed to pass by the “Bookman” without the celebration and without the consecration of a special illustrated article to his memory. He was, declares Air. Spielman, a worker at the edge of the literary field, and took on any job that fell in with his love of writing and of humour, .and demanded little scholarship and less learning. His chief love was for humour and the stage; class journalism became his profession, and good judgment controlled- his pen. Nevertheless, his style was good enough for his purpose, and his dramatic sense was sufficiently keen enough to carry to a successful issue any staged play of his, as the public of his day- were not as critical of what has been called “their middle-class entertainment” as now. None of Alark Lemon’s plays, Mr. Spielman thinks, are ever played now, nor are his novels read; few of

his children’s l>ooks are republished, and those that are, are republished more for the sake of their illustrations than their text. The volume by which he is best remembered is “Alark Lemon’s Jest-book,” containing the wit of all ages, including jokes of his own staff— Thackeray, Douglas Jerrold, and others. By 1804, it had run into its seventh edition, and if it is still purchased, it is partly because it .U treasured by collectors of the works of Charles Keene, who drew the design on the title-page that was engraved on steel by Jeans. At this juncture readers will naturally wonder how Alark Lemon came to be “Punch’s” most popular editor. The story of Alark Lemon’s rise to the editorial chair, as told by Mr. Spielman, is a splendid illustration of the saying, that, “It is better to be born lucky than rich.” Mark Lemon was the son of a hop grower or hop merchant, of Cheam, near Epsom. At his father’s death his mother married a brewer named Very. Being without means, he was glad to accept a clerical position in the brewery, and eked out his salary by writing for the magazines, which pursuit, however, yielded very little grist. The brewery failing, a jovial tavern keeper named Romer, who had had business relations with the Very brewery, placed him as manager of

“The Shakespeare Head,” in Wyclfstreet. The result was unfortunate for, both. Romer had to shut up the tavern, and Lemon found that the fumes of the beer stuck to him more or Jess through life, and were audibly sniffedi at by his enemies at certain critical points of his career. He married on at loan of five pounds, an adventurous step, which was justified by results, as Airs. Lemon counselled hint not to lose sight of his literary companions, many of whom would meet, like the literary clubman of a previous age, in the mis-called “coffee-room” of the little hostelry. Lemon had been writing plays from the age of sixteen. Tn 1835 his “P.L., or No. 30 Strand,” was produced at the Strand Theatre, and thenceforward for twenty years and: more he flooded the stage with his productions, not a few of which, no doubt, were based upon French or German originals. In 1841 Lemon became editor of “Punch.” His salary, we are told by Spielman, was at first only thirty shillings a week; but it was destined to rise to £1,500 a year before the end—« the largest editorial salary, it is believed, which up to that time had even been paid.” Notwithstanding the duties and anxieties of his new position’, Lemon still continued to write for tha stage. A good story of him is told by Air. Spielman in connection with his career as a dramatist. A play of his 1 , entitled “Punch,” necessitated the introduction of a parrot into its opening scene, and when the curtain rose on the first night, the profane bird belched forth such a torrent of appalling blasphemy that the success of ‘tha play would have been jeopardised had it not been for the sense of humour of a shocked yet tolerant audience. In 1856 “Aledea” was produced, and then the stage knew him no more. Sixty plays in all, we are told, and not one, among them showed an attempt aft genuine eomedy or tragedy. His mor® vigorous writing seems to have been kept for publications, such as “Household Words,” “Once a Week,” the ‘’llluminated Alagazine,” and the “Illustrated London News,’ but his most serious role of all was his editorship. FoE Punch, as has been hinted, did not; monopolise his attention; he was tha first editor of the “London Journal,” which, it is said, he nearly ruined by) trying to keep up a fair standard in its» literature; of the ‘‘Family Herald,” and for a time, of “Once a Week,” besides the “ Field,” which he took a major parfi in establishing. Possessed of an indomitable energy, Mark Lemon must undoubtedly have been, for we hear that he used to fill in his spare time with lectures! upon London and public “readings” from the still cited, but not acted, “Hearts arts Trumps.” These were his labours; his relaxations included acting. He played with Charles Dickens, and his amateur company in “ The Lighthouse ” and iu Wilkie Collins’ “ Frozen Deep,” and acted! Falstaff with his own natural “ padding” at the Gallery of Illustration —a performance that is mainly memorable as bringing about a reconciliation between Lemon: and Dickens, who had long been estranged in friendship. But as an actor Lemon did not shine. “In a word with ‘ Punch’— that special number in which “ Punch’s” long-suffering victim, Alfred Bunn, at last turned on his tormentors and rent them—the appearance on the stage of Lemon and the other members of the “ Punch ” staff is savagely attacked. “Did you ever see them act ‘Punch’?” he asks. Did you ever see Douglas Jerrold. . . and Alark Lemon act at Airs. Kelly’s Theatre? And if so, did you ever see such: an lawful exhibition? . . . and if, as they say, they did ‘ hold the mirror up to Nature,’ then I say, it was only to cast ‘ reflections ’ on her.” Then Bunn, smiting Lemon on other grounds, proceeds to show that his satirical critics were no better poets than himself. But as editor of “ Punch,” Alark Lemon was, without doubt, the right man in the right place. “ ‘ Punch ’ and I,” he would say, “ were made for each other”—modestly omitting to claim that the making of the jiaper was in considerable measure his own. When Ebenezer Landells, the wood engraver, determined on issuing in London a comic and satirical journal, corresponding to the Paris “ Charivari,” and obtained the adhesion of the printer Joseph Last, the latter recommended him to seek out the support of Henry Alayhew, a genius of journalistic imagination, and a brilliant humorist who might be depended upon to form a thoroughly capable staff from among his own friends and acquaintances. Mark Lemon was one of the first enlisted, and when the paper was launched Mayhew, Lemon and Sterling Coyna

J(whom on account of hrs indifference to his personal appearnce, Douglas Jerrold used to dub “Filthy Lucre”) were the three editors. In 1842 Bradbury and Evans were called in to save the paper’s life, and Lemon was installed as sole editor with Mayhew as suggestor-in-chief—• Coyne having retired. Mayhew always felt that Lemon had dispossessed him disloyally of his birthright, for it was he and not Lemon who had imparted to the paper its distinctive character, and it was his ideas that had secured public approval of its healthy tone and original humour—his the conception which had brought a force hitherto unthought of into (the world of satirical and humorous, yet seriously-intentioned, journalism — his the idea that a comic journal might be a journal of responsibility. Lemon, however, bore the reflection of disloyalty with his usually radiant good nature, and took Mayhew and the rest of the “ boys ” to his bosom; fixing himself firmly in the chair, he continued to occupy until his death, which took place on May 23rd, 3870—just a fortnight before his immortal friend, Charles Dickens, followed him to his eternal rest. Aided by the genial personality (which, according to Mr. Spielman, constituted Mark Lemon’s chief eligibility to the editorship of “Punch”), Mark Lemon piloted “Punch” to success. L’nder him “Punch’’ aimed at leading public opinion, and not merely at the illustrating and criticising of it which has become its later yogue. He enlisted the able pens of Jerrold, Thackeray, Shirley Brooks, and others, and the pencils of Leeeh, Newman, Doyle and Tenniel, were stuck more forcibly into the body politic of the Government of that day than in these politer and less strenuous days. “It ■was Lemon’s hand, though mainly at Mayhew’s dictation, that had indited the original prospectus of “Punch”— svhen the intention was to call it “The Funny Dog”—but it was Lemon's rule (that gave its direction, albeit the policy was in great measure imposed by Jerrold just as its cast of fun was imagined by Mayhew. Powerful and talented as were his staff, yet Lemon ruled them with a kindness that was only equalled by firmness.” He might not be the most brilliant or the most masterful at the Wednesday Dinner, but as he presided at the (Table, he made all feel that the business of the meeting was in his hands.” With unflinching good humour, yet with a strict consciousness of knowing what he did, he declined G. A. Sala’s sketches and (Dicken’s unique offering on the metropolitan water supply entitled “Dreadful Hardships Endured by the shipwrecked crew of the London.” Here I sit (he exclaimed to Mr. E. J. Ellis, who was made to feel that in rejecting his work he Lad laid him under an obligation to Lemon by the charming way he had rejected it) like a great ogre, eating up other people’s little hopes. But what am I to do?” “Look here”—and he showed him ths waste-paper basket full of imbecility, graphic and literary, that the morning post had brought. And yet his own “songs for the sentimental” with their bathetic last line at the end of each stanza, his pointed paragraphs, his mild jokes, his cleverish epigrams, and the like, comprised the major part of his literary performances. But he was a genius at suggesting the subject for (the cartoons. From 1845 to 1847, that 5s to say, while the paper was winning its high position, not only as “premier comic,” but as a real political power, Lemon proposed thirty-five subjects, Henry Mayhew twenty, Horace Mayhew fifteen, Jerrold sixteen, Thackeray four and the rest fewer still. Later on, when Leech asserted his fuller powers, the other members of the staff became aides and critics rather than prime suggestors. The paper, fully launched and successful, Mark Lemon laboured on, almost infallible in judgment, wise in administration and organisation, firm in his determination to keep the paper clean, honest, and fearless (not that anyone On the staff would have had it otherijvise), level-headed in times of crisis, and courageous in the defence of the prerogatives, the rights and the privileges of the editorial chair when he thought the actions of the proprietors were making a covert attack upon them, and in which he was supported by his entire staff, who, in their turn, were swont, at times, to jib a bit, or, in summer-time to shirk their work. But whatever happened, “Uncle Mark" would literally “come up smiling,” laughing ilown incipient revolt, and ignoring the occasional derogatory sneer of anyone •f them who felt his own intellectual superiority to that of the man whose

fat, caressing palm soothingly pressed him back into his place In the team. In short, Mark Lemon, though lacking the higher intellectual graces, possessed to an eminent degree those diplomatic qualities and the strategy that is invaluable in the handling of artistic and literary genius, and which, for reasons that should be obvious, is so apt to get out of hand, and he was recognised as a consummate editor who had never slipped and rarely blundered during all the nine and twenty years that he grasped the helm. No wonder that when Mr. Gladstone awarded Mark Lemon’s ’widow a pension from the Civil List, he took occasion to declare that Mark Lemon had “raised the level of comic journalism to its present standard,” and that Shirley Brooks, speaking for the staff in the pages of “Punch,” bore “the fullest and most willing testimony that the high and noble spirit pf Mark Lemon ever prompted generous championship. ever made unworthy onslaught or irreverent jest impossible to the pens of those who were honoured by being coadjutors with him.” This is a high thought, a just tribute, coming as it did from the man who Lemon had long before declared wielded the most graceful pen in London. We have not nearly exhausted the article Mr. Spielman has so admirably written, but we have skimmed the thickest of its cream. If

there is a fault to find with it, it is that Mr. Spielman has written with somewhat contemptuous bias about that very quality which constituted Mark Lemon, not only the consummate editor he was, but demonstrates his exceeding fitness for the position he so worthily and inimitably occupied. Great literary qualities are far from uncommon in editors, but to our way of thinking the qualities that Mark Lemon possessed to such a marked degree, are of infinitely more importance in an editor than- that of high literary gift. That he had high literary and artistic appreciation is clear, that his faculties of suggestion topped those of the intellectual members of his staff is shown, and that he was an ideal leader and organiser, and a generous, and a genial, and a properly modest, and an infinitely tactful, and a feeling and a just man, and a sufficiently moral man has been testified to. What more, then, can Mr Spielman desire? Mr. Spielman’s article is splendidly illustrated, and an added interest is a fac-simile of a page from “Punch” (Vol. 1, No. 4, August 7, 1841). 1 REVIEWS. The Severins: Mrs. Alfred >Sidgwick. (London: Methuen and Co. Auckland: Wildman and Arey.) i'll is is an exceedingly entertaining story of a modern Bohemian family, written with both practical and sympathetic insight. Mrs. Severin, of German extraction, is the widow of an Eng-

lishman who has died and left her with somewhat straightened means to bring up a robust and highly turbulent family whose tastes run from operatic music, to marked unconventionalism, tolerance of free love, and anarchy, as personified in one Deminski, Kremski and Marie Petersen, the latter’s mistress, who, penniless, trade upon the good nature of Mrs. Severin, a weak, kindly hearted, slipshod woman of the type of femininity that lies in bed one half of the day. and potters about in deshabille the other half. At the time this story opens the tradespeople have refused to supply Mrs. Severin with any more goods unless they receive something substantial on account. At this juncture, Michael, Mrs. Severin's eldest son. who has been brought up ami educated since his father's death by a well-to-do unde, ami has for some time been holding a good position in a nourishing mercantile firm in India, writes to say that he is returning to England and home, and Mrs. Severin, so used is she to disaster, concludes that Alichael has lost his situation, and is to constitute another to the many burdens that she has already sunk under. But she manages, in spite of this conviction, to persuade the butcher that the leg of mutton she has ordered, and the back account also, will be paid for by this eldest son of hers, and it is accordingly sent. This canard being freely circu-

lated, and humourously discussed over the meal at which the aforesaid leg of mutton forms the piece de resistance, Bob Severin, the youngest hope of the Severin family, orders a bicycle on the same basis, and, as showing the perennial faith of London tradesmen, gets it also. Into this, not to put too line a point upon it, disreputable family, came Michael Severin, who. though as kindly in temperament as his mother, is the very antipodes of his family in character and conduct. But the reader is advised to buy the book and learn how Michael who had just been made a junior partner in the flourishing firm on account of his trustworthiness and splendid business qualities, assumes his position as eldest son of the house, and reduces chaos to order and decency, eventually winning both the hearts and intellects of his highly clever family, who, though Bohemian by drift and circumstance, are sound enough at heart. Michael's two love affairs too, are out of the ordinary, and repay perusal. Mrs. Sidgwuk is to be highly complimented on her judicious handling of as out-of-liand a set oi[ dramatis personae as over figured in the pages of a novel. We are indebted to Wildman and Arey for our copy of “The Severins,” which to read is to thoroughly enjoy. Sailor's Knots: W. W. Jacobs. (London: Methuen and Co. Auckland: Wildman and Arey.) It may be that our mood is to blame, but it seems to us that the flashes of humour in ".Sailors Knots’* are not quite

so frequent or as spontaneous as those which usually characterise this breezy author’s works. In the dozen samples of Sailor's Knots demonstrated, we single out “Matrimonial Opening;-" a- being most original, “Peter's Pence" as being most cute, and “Head of the Family" as best illustrating the true Jacobean humour, and the proper spirit that has eo endeared Mr. Jacobs to the hearts of thousands upon thousands of readers. The title is felicitious. each knot being tied and untied with the exp it nautiw.il knowledge and skill that has made this author’s name On the title page of a book a guarantee of its inner excellence. Our copy has lieen received through the courtesy of Wildman and Arey. Northern Lights: Gilbert Parker. (London: Methuen and Co. Auckland: Wildman and Arey.) In “Northern Lights,” Sir Gilliert Parker has returned to the fields of former conquest, and has given us stirring, pathetic and powerfully vital p’etures of the primitive, yet strenuous, life of the fat west, Gf the seventeen tales that com- ’ prise the book five are reminiscent oi "border days and deeds" of da\ - tie fore the great railway was built which change ed a waste into a fertile field of civilization. The remaining stories cover th*

period passed since the royal north-west mounted police and the Pullman ear first startled the early pioneer, and sent him into the land of the farther north, or drew him into the quiet circle of eivie routine and humdrum occupation. Of the former epoch we best like the talo entitled. "A Lodge in the Wilderness,” which we take it. strongly advocates the white man remaining true, once eapoused, to the red woman. We are no advocate of mixed marriages, but w'heit once the white man has crossed “the forbidden boundary" every law. iwtM human, moral, and politic, should -re to it that he stays there. Much has be n said and written as to the rapidity with which the white man travels the road to Avertins once the "forbidden boundary'' is crossed. But we are of opinion that, though the road travelled might lie different, the same goal would be leaehed somehow', and sometime, by the while man that could not keep faith with the coloured. “In ‘'The Stroke of the Hour," and “Buckmaster's Boy." we think the sentiment over strained. "The Stake and the Plumbline," we have made acquaintance with before. and strongly approve of. "A Man, a Famine, and a Heathen Boy," is an exceedingly splendid argument in favour of muscular Christianity, as against theoretic. Indeed, all the stories arc worthy of the reputation of the author of “When Valmond came to Pontiac,” and we strongly recommend them as a whole to lovers of the wholesome, the. natural, the primitive, and the atrenumu in literature. We are indebted to Wiki man and Arey for our copy.