The Bookshelf.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 16, 19 October 1910, Page 45

The Bookshelf.

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DELTA.

, BOOKSHELF FEniLETON. fkree New Books. SOOKS that have reached- us toe late for review this week from Messrs. Wildman and Arey and Methuen and Co. are: ‘‘The Peer and the Woman,” by that everJpopular author, E. Phillips Oppenheim '(Ward, Lock and Co.) ; “The Lost Halo,” by that writer of infinite variety, Percy White, who never stales, and “The [Little Company of Ruth,” by Annie Houldsworth; a tale of rustic courtship and deferred marriage, both of which Sve have received from Methuen and Co. direct, and which can be obtained at (Wildman and Arey’s at 2/6 each. The Romance of Motherhood. At a time when the expedients for avoiding motherhood have almost attained the dignity of a fine art (we use the term in the debased sense used by Thomas de Quincey, who wrote an essay on “Murder as a Fine Art”), it is refreshing to find an author dilating on the romance of motherhood. The book is best described as “a delicate experiment,” and takes the form of a series Of letters indited by a mother to her unborn son. But there is nothing to jar bn the most fastidious, k’>e writer, who is anonymous, showing that it is possible to exercise due restraint without lapsing into ineffective timidity. Beginning With an unashamed expression of the joy of prospective motherhood without any undue lifting of ths. veil, it proceeds to dole out advice ana warning—“all in view of the possibility that the mother may not live to see the child she is addressing.” The letters are in turn grave and gay—now in the sunshine, now an the shadow, and all are pervaded by a tenderness that never travels very far from, strength and whtwesomeness. In a letter on “Religion,” the prospective mother says:—“lf the God of Churches or the God of Reason fails you, go out to that other God, the God of the Open .World.” Day-dreams and Cricket. The chapter with the above heading twill set boys wondering how a mere woman could know so much about the inwardness of the national game. “Love and His Understanding” is the title of

another delectable chapter. A chapter on “fathers and mothers” trys to break down that barrier of reticence which rears itself, stonewall-like, between parents and children. “I believe, honey,” says this prospective mother, “that as the world grows older we will grow wiser and less self-conseious about the things that matter We are finding that there is nothing really beautiful that is not built upon truth, and that the plainest truth is beautiful because it is truth.” The book, while a worthy expression of the poetry of motherhood, keeps touch with the prosaic facts of every-day life. It is entitled “Letters to My Son,” and has been published by Chapman’s, at 5/ net. A Few Extracts from “ The Way Up.” IA woman lays her old love-story to rest in lavender, where a man uses his as the spice in pot-pourri—to flavour his next emotional banquet. The ‘Woman "With the Scales. “My dear, they did not make the figure with the scales a woman merely because a skirt drapes better than a pair of -trousers. I look forward to the time when half the judges in the land will be women, and their balances will be, I believe, the more justly held.” Sensitiveness to Atmospheres. There are many disadvantages in being a man without sensitiveness to atmosphere, though at first one is apt to consider it an unknown blessing to escape the vague sensations of discomfort that arise from the perception of other people’s varying moods. Yet it is this same delicate -sense that saves us all from many awkward mistakes. An Interesting Second Novel. Those of our readers who read Miss J. A. R. tYylie’s “The Rajah’s People,” will be pleased to hear that Mills and Boon‘are publishing a new novel of hers, entitled “My German Year.” It contains the experience gained during six years in Germany, and depicts people and places from an inside point of view. Miss Wylie, who at one time lived in Yietoria, is at present taking a holiday in a little Blaek Forest village, and making notes “on the spot.” Miss Wylie is quite a beginner in literature, and a very young beginner, She, at the -age of 11,

and was much encouraged by the editor's sent a short story to “T.P.’s Weekly," prediction that she would one day “write extremely -well”; but was slightly cast down by his taking exception to her spelling, which was, and is still, she confesses, somewhat eccentric. The underlying purpose of “The Rajah’s People,” ■which has achieved a great success, -both in England and America, was to drive home the immense responsibility which rests upon the individual English man and woman in India, and among foreigners generally, as representatives of the British raee. A capital portrait of Miss Wylie, in the August “Bookman,” shows her as thoughtful-looking beyond her years. Japan and Japanese Art. Yoshio Markino, who will be remembered as the author and illustrator of a work on Oxford, has a delightfully naive yet expert criticism on three books illustrative of the art of Japan. Quoting from Mencious and other philosophers, Markino says:—lf you believe every word in the books, you had better not read any book at all.” “If you don't believe any word in the books, you had better not read the books at all.” Indeed, if we believe every word in all the books that exist in the world we may be carried away by a tide-current of fraud, and wo shall be lost in a vast monstrous ocean. And if we don't believe any book at all, we shall never become wise. The books we all ought to believe are arithmetic and grammar books. All other books are left to our judgment. You may become wis - er a fool, just according to the books you read and judge! Speaking for him self, Markino says: “I never read English books, whether good or bad.” But on the morning that the parcel of three books reached him with a request “ to kindly review,” Markino confesses that he had “a little fox in his head,” which, freely translated, means that he was a bit miserable about some matter or other. And so he set to work, like the wise man he is, to chase away his vapours bv that best of all tonics, work. And he confesses that the perusal of these three books delighted, and did him good. The titles of these three books are, “In Jjotus-Land. Japan,” by 11. G. Ponting. 21/ net (Macmillan); “A History of Japanese Colour-Prints,” by W. von Seidlitz, 25/ net (Heinemann); and “The Japanese Dance,” by Mareelle A. Hineks, 2/6 (Heinemann). We regret that space forbids our giving this sound, but quaintly phrased review in full. But it will prove educative to the authors and readers alike showing as it does a fuller knowledge of the subject dealt with than that possessed by the writers. Nor has Markino given unstinted praise where praise was deserved.

An Appreciation of Mr. W. De Morgan. Very interesting reading, indeed, i» Mr. St. John Adcock’s article in the current “Bookman,” on the author of "Joseph Vanee,” and “ Alice for Short.” Space forbids a resume in this issue, but next week we shall endeavour to give a condensation of this article, which is an exhaustive, and a highly appreciative one. Mr. Henry Murray on ‘ What's Wrong With the World 7 ’ Apropos Mr. McCabe’s strictures on the Spanish, whieh we mentioned in our notice last week of “The Martyrdom of Ferrer,” it was interesting to read Mr. Henry Murray’s criticism on Mr. Chesterton's mueh-diseussed book “What's Wrong With the World?” Mr. Chesterton, says Mr. Henry Murray, in one of those bits of pure unreason, of whieh he seems so especially fond, declares that “people say that Spain has entered on final senility: they might as well say that Spain is losing all her teeth.” “Spain has lost all her teeth” responds Mr. Murray, “not by any process of decay, as has happened to innumerable other nations in the world, but by tiie simpler process of drawing them, by whieh I mean that for several genera tions Spain made it her most pressing business to burn every Spaniard v. li > possessed an extra spoonful of brains or an extra grain of intellectual or mor.i. pluck. And she has recently proved h ■: rooted distaste for a second crop of grinders by shooting Francisco Ferrer. REVIEWS. The Empire Annual for Nee? Zealand Boys and the Empire Annual for New Zealand Girls : Edited by A. 11. Buckland, M. A. (London: The Religious Tract Society. Price 3/6.) We have been frequently asked by intending donors at the gift season to mention a good boy or girl’s book, and last year, after an exhaustive perusal of the Empire Annuals for New Zealand Boys and Girls, we unreservedly recommended these volumes, which literally overflowed with bright, wholesome, interesting reading, and were dirt cheap at three and sixpence. And this year we shall again warmly recommend these two handsome annuals, copies of which for the Christmas season of 1910 have just reached us from the Religious Tract Society. The “Empire Annua! for New Zealand Boys” contains, besides 3SJ pages of excellent reading, six splendidlycoloured and sixteen black and white.

illustrations. The book’s foreword is written by the Rev. J. McCormick, D.D., who gives some capital hints on cricket. When we mention that Mr. McCormick was a great Cambridge athlete, and was known as a "double blue,” it may be confidently assumed that these “hints” will prove “0.K.” There •re papers on nearly every legitimate form of home and wild sport, tales,of exciting adventure by land, air and sea. •lories of peril by fire and water, articles on Antarctic discovery, tales that are true, and tales of fiction; in short, the “Boys’ Empire Annual” for 1910 contains such a variety of interesting matters that the most voracious boy reader could not fail to be satisfied with it. The “New Zealand Girls’ Empire Annual,” as regards general attractiveness, is fully equal to the boys. The Bishop of Durham in this case has written the book’s foreword, and dilates inimitably and seasonably on “True Womanhood and Home Life.” A splendid account, which we wouldn’t divulge for world’s, is given by that well-known writer for girls, Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey, of a certain “Secret Endeavour Society,” which contains suggestions that ought to be of public value. Lilian Turner, beloved of Australasian youth, charmingly explains “how the lyre-bird won his tail.” There are tales of real life and tales of fiction, papers on photography by an F.R.P.S., tales of heroism and self-sacrifice, tales of home, school and college life, articles on cyaling, first aid, stamp collecting, and, indeed, there is scarcely an amusement or feminine pursuit that is not dealt with. We may add, in conclusion, that these

volumes having been compiled expressly for New Zealand boys and girls, due regard has been paid to their suitability; so that boys will not be tantalised-by reading of real ice-skating at the cricket season, or girls, by raeding of parlour tennis or croquet at a time when these games furnish a perfectly legitimate and delightful excuse for being out of doors. A Shanty Entertainment: By S. C. Emerson. (Melbourne: George Robertson and Co., 107 to 113, Elizabet h-st. 1/ net.) If this little book, which belongs to the railway bookstall class, had no merit beyond its novelty of presentation, it would still lie worthy of commendation, though it must be eleaiiy understood that it is not drawing-room entertainment. The book embodies an imperative plea for a more charitable view of those pariahs of society who drift out to the backblocks of Australia, where, unless they meet with some saving influence in the shape of friend or lover, drift into drunkenness, crime, insanity, or brutishness, and die miserable or violent deaths at the hands of lawless men made desperate by the adverse eiremnst’ances of, or indifferent to, the value of life. Not that all the actors in this shanty entertainment belong to this class, but the plea has been entered mostly for them. It embodies, too, a plea for a White Australia, on grounds that redound to the credit of its advocate. “A Slranty Entertainment” tells the history, in narrative form, interspersed with recitation and

of a certain company assembled one night at a drinking shanty in tlie Australian baekblocks. From a humorous, and interesting, and a melodramatic point of view, it is more than worth the shilling required for its investment. Our copy has been received through the courtesy of George Robertson and Co. Lauristons : By John Oxenham. (London: Methuen and Co. Auckland: Wildman and Arey. 2/6 and 3/6.) A pronouncement of Lamartine’s—which points out that “there are deeds of which men are no judges, and which mount without appeal direct to the Tribunal of God, and that there are human actions so strange a mixture of weakness and strength, pure intent and culpable means, error and truth, that we know not whether to term them crime or virtue”—has furnished Mr Oxenham with the motif for this very human document, which bears the title of “Lauristons.” The book’s various scenes are set in England and France, soon after the great tragedy of the French Revolution, and during the rise and fall of the First Empire and the restoration of the Bourbon dynasty. Lauristons were a firm of great bankers, whose operations were so huge and so extended as to make them a power, not only in financial, but in political and court circles. And this ehronicle, whose intense interest begins with the sudden death of Sir- George Lauriston, head of this famous banking

house, tells of the tremendous legacy of disgrace and financial trouble left to his only son, Captain ( harles Lauriston, who had but lately resigned His Majesty’s commission in order to fill the vacancy in the bank caused by, the death of his brother, eldest son. John Sax, the late Sir George’s right hand (it is impossible to imagine a Lauriston without a Sax after reading this story), it was that disclosed to Sir Charles the brink of financial ruin on which Lauristons had been standing for some time, the precipitation only being averted by repeated fraud. John Sax, however, counselled holding on, hoping that by a series of successful coups Lauristons would again become financially sound. Indeed, by a coup that had just been brought off the bank had cleared £50,000. On the one hand, if he failed, there was the gallows for himself and John Sax, and everlasting disgrace for all he loved. On the other, and this was the more terrible path to tread, was the chance of redeeming the losses, and of saving thousands of innocent victims from utter ruin. Lauristons and all it stood for from dishonour, the knowledge of his father's criminality from his family, and his own life and that of John Sax’s from the gallows, for fraud was a capital offence in those days. And so Sir ( harles Lauriston deliberately chose the path of dishonour, and eventually won out. For the account of what it cost Sir Charles Lauriston, and of the toll which Nemesis took, we must refer readers to the book, which is superbly written. Like Mr Oxenham, we do not defend Charles Lauriston—that were impossible; neither do we palliate his offence—that is unnecessary. But since

his offence was committed with pure motive and in sacrificial spirit, we unhesitatingly subscribe to Lamartine’s contention: “That there are 'deeds of whieh men are no judges, and which mount without appeal direet to the Tribunal of God.” Charming, deeply-interesting, exciting, uplifting, impressive, informative, sentimental, pathetic, sorrowful and tragic in'turn is this narrative, in which Mr Oxenham recreates eighteenth and nine-teenth-century scenes, and in which “the first gentleman of Europe,” Napoleon the “little” Great, and that prince of diplomatists, Talleyrand, and the various personages of this chronicle make their exits and their entrances with dignity or ignominy, according to their various roles. To take up a book by Mr Oxenham is to lay aside our critical faculty, and to fill us with the satisfied sense of work nobly planned and nobly executed. “Lauristons,” whieh we have received from Messrs Methuen, is a book no one ean afford to miss. Eros ! Eros Wins : By F. Agar. (Sydney: New South Wales Bookstall Co. Price, 1/.) We are not as a rule inclined to place much faith in the puffs with which publishers nowadays label their novel publications. But the outside announcement of the inner contents, which declares this work to be “a rattling racing yarn, showing both sides of the game as played in Australia, and indeed all the racing w'orld over,” though it exactly fits the sporting part of this story, does not adequately describe its full scope or

merit. In the love story, which winds its tortuous way side by side with the racing narrative, Mr. Emerson shows no small knowledge of the ways of women with men. of women with women, and of men with men. Indeed, a more tantalising game of love and intrigue at cross purposes than the one depicted in this story we do not remember ever to have come across, though Mr. Emerson has a fault of obscurity. We are indebted to the N.S.W. Railway Bookstall Co. for our copy of this booklet. The Hoar and the Woman : By Constance Nic-klin. (London: Methuen and Co. Auckland: Wildman and Arey. 2/6 and 3/6.) Except by students of the mysterious forces of Nature, of which hypnotism is least obscure, this book is likely to be unappreciated, by reason of its unpleasant subject, and the feebleness of its characterisation. Nevertheless, it is valuable as showing the extreme menace hypnotism is likely to prove to weak or upon highly-eensitive temperaments, when exercised by individuals of low morality and unsympathetic feeling. However, hypnotism is a force that will have to be largely reckoned with in the future, and it behoves the strong to battle for. the weak in the repelling, and exorcising such hypnotic influence as can lie shown to be inimical to public or private weal. Therefore, we commend this book to all students of psychology. We are indebted for our copy of “The Hour and the Womaa” to Messrs. Methuen and Co.