The Bookshelf.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVI, Issue 10, 8 March 1911, Page 46

The Bookshelf.

By

DELTA.

BOOKSHELF FEUILLETON.

Scimitar and Broadsword. rna monypenny’s “Life of ill Benjamin Disraeli,” -which is A I F declared to be the most important book of the year, has been flanked by “ John Bright: A Monograph,” by R. Barry O’Brien, with a preface by the Right Hon. Augustine Birrell, M.P. 10/6 net. (Smith Elder). Apropos the two designations, Mr. Walter Sichel, in an appreciative article in the current 11 Bookman,” says: “Such is the rough-and-ready distinction between two remarkable personalities. Mr. Monypenny’s official presentation of the young Disraeli is naturally the most absorbing. Some will differ from some of its perceptions, and hold that he has not always got inside the man. Others may wish for a more literary treatment of a theme so romantic. But on the whole it is a difficult task well performed, revealing clear material for the psychology of its subject. Mr. O’Brien's “ Monograph.” Air. O’Brien’s work is written from the reasonable standpoint of an Irish Nation, alist acquainted with Bright in his later years. Though one-sided, it is intimate, and its familiarity breeds respect. It is a genuine impression. In speeches, recollections, and letters we discern the broadsword that so often dashed with the scimitar. We see the direct and dogged tribune contrasting with the fantastic, far-seeing ruler. One, the “ alien,”,” who, like other great “aliens,” I (Bonaparte included) became identical with the country he loved and exalted;’ the other an insular reformer, who could seldom realise Great Britain. One the cavalier, who impressed and commanded a nation; the other the Puritan who stirred and embodied a .class. Yet both, with separate standards of greatness, were themselves great, and Bright was King and interpreter of the Nonconformist conscience.

Disraeli’s Adaptability. But Disraeli could, when occasion required, wield the broadsword with as good effect as Bright. “Under the arabesques of the Saracenic arch stood a solid keystone, and as his father early wrote of him, though his ideas were vast, they were always based on good sense. He was a dramatic hero, at ones dreamer and doer, relating himself in several affinities to that Chatham whom he was well likened to, ‘a forest tree in a suburban garden.’ ” He was a great divim r. a great.-nationalist, and a great imperialist. Literary to the core, no enacted what he wrote. Bright, on the other hand, save as regards Ireland (and to Ireland he, too, was an “alien”), cannot be called a statesman. He seldom discerned the whole, of the distance; ha had ail the concentration of the nearsighted. Disraeli, the Man of Ideas and Genius. Disraeli was a man of ideas, a genius to whom ideas gravitated. They were his living, company, and environment. He projected them into action, and from ideal) ho derived his mental ideals, jjright was not a man of ideas at all. A few strong ideals of life and conductmoral rather than spiritual—generated <his fervour-—his substitute for ideas. Some of them were prejudices, nor even ■when they were not were those ideals always such as his fame implies. He stood surely more for the small commercialist than for the hewers of wood and t-he drawers of water. Nor was tnere a trace in him of the yeoman spirit. JH« vantage ground was that of transparently, triumphantly sincere antipathies. The constructive elements, the 'facilities for Vision, the imaginative insight, were scanty. Disraeli was a temperament. Bright was not, and on his own political side he was long.dwarfed by the preponderance of Gladstone. But oh One common ground these two extremes met. Each was courageous, and 1n any measure that affected the weal of Britain each could be adament and Isolate from his party, meet on common ground. Tire rent of Mr. SieheVs article (g taken up In describing the frays in which scimitar and broadsword met, conlkis in which eaoh stood distinguished

and sincere, according to his own reading of the situation. We cannot con-, elude’ our partial resume of Mr. Sichel’s. article without quoting a memorable passage from Bright’s speech on the Crimean War, made on February 23, 1855: “The Angel of Death has been abroad throughout the land; you may almost hear the beating of his wings. There is no one, as when the first-born was slain of old, to sprinkle with blood the lintel and the two side posts of our doors, that he may spare and pass; he takes his victims from the castle of the noble, the mansion of the wealthy, and the cottage of the poor and lowly, and it is on behalf of all these classes that I make this solemn appeal.” This passage expresses in essence his motive for entering the parliamentary arena. Though this rechauffe by no means exhausts the matter of Mr. Sichel’s article, it indicates at least the trend of both the books aforementioned, which no one who takes an interest in home or foreign polities can afford to miss. A Novel of Extraordinary Interest. An uncommonly interesting novel is that of Mrs. F. G. Penny’s latest, who will be remembered as the writer of “The. Sanyasi” and other tales. This new novel, which is entitled “.Sacrifice,” has for its main theme Hindu fanaticism in regard to certain ancient customs of religious ritual. Mrs. Penny shows very clearly indeed the strange, compelling impulse .that prompts the Eastern often against his will, and, contrary to modern usage, to indulge in' rites, which, viewed’in the light of mod - ernity, are nothing short of devilish. Inherited traits that may have lain’dormant for a lifetime spring into vigorous life by some chance event which has resuscitated from seeming oblivion, some bygone memory of things that have gone before. In the preface to the book, Mrs. Penny quotes from" Meredith Townsend’s fine work “Asia and Europe.” Indeed, this passage is the argument upon which she has built her grim story. Here it is:—“The will of an Asiatic, once fairly aroused, closes on its purpose with a grip to which nothing in the mind of a European ajan compare, a ’grip which seems too strong for the conscience, the judgment, and even the heart. The man is like one possessed, and cannot, if he would, change his own self-appointed course.” “ Sacrifice ” tells ,of .“a horrible custom that existed among the hillmen in the Eastern Ghats and other districts of India.” There was supposed to be an earth goddess—Tari Pennu—who at times required a human sacrifice. This sacrifice was called ‘ the meriah. The meriah post was set up in a secluded spot in the jungle, and was made out of the trunks of two trees, somewhat in the shape of a cross, whose arm could be swung round and round on a pivot. The human intended for the sacrifice was usually stolen when a child from the dwellers in the plains, and taken the greatest care of, until the hillmen imagined the earth goddess required a fresh sacrifice. “As a rule, the meriah was not sacrificed until young manhood (or womanhood) was reached. The sacrifice was celebrated with elaborate and frenzied ritual.” Garlanded with roses, the victim was tied to the meriah post, and ultimately hacked to death, the onlookers taking away pieces of the victim to bury in their fields and gardens. Thus was Tari Pennu supposed to be appeased, and thereafter she would give forth fruits and crops in abundance, the earth was blessed with showers, the flocks multiplied, and children were born in plenty.

The Revival of Meriah. Under British rule in India sacrifice is sternly prohibited. But Mrs. Penny, in order to sustain her argument, shows how an old meriah post was accidentally discovered in a solitary spot, and there being a drought in the land, the post stirs up the old superstition in the minds of the hillsmen. A pig is sacrificed without success. It becomes noised abroad among the English and native officiate that the hillsmen have had recourse, to sacrifice nnd every effort is used to overcome the craving of the hlillsmen for the human sacrifice. But the reader rriust purchase Mrs. Penny’s book which is not

so revolting as it seems from this outline. For there is* a love affair running through 'it?~an<l_not.a litjJc * tliat is amusing. * ‘‘Sacrifice” is splendidly written, and its pages are simply steeped in the atmosphere of the East. “Incidentally,” says Mr. Champion of the “Book Lover,” “the writer shows that, even among the civilized peoples of the earth, there are too frequent sacrifices that should cease—needless and shameful immolations among the social life of the British and others of to-day.” That Mrs. Penny is a partial convert to Kipling’s views anent the East, is shown in the concluding lines of the book which run thus: — “As long as the Hindu Gods reign in the hearts of the people, the poets words will remain true; that East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet.” “How long, O Lord, how long,” will be the natural ery of every Christian and every Imperialist. A Companion to “Tremendous Trifles.” We have received from Messrs. Wildman and Arey, too late for review this week, Mr. G. K. Chesterton’s “Alarms and Discussions.” It is, we understand, issued as a companion to “Tremendous Trifles,” which we regret to say we have not yet read. Methuen’s are the publishers, and the format is that known as handy pocket size. A “Cornhill” Literary Competition. It is interesting to find “The Cornhill” Magazine encouraging circulation by offering guineas to its readers in the shape of literary competitions. The editor of course does not express his aim exactly in that way. He proposes to offer something of higher literary value than the mere quest of “search passages,” (this is a knock at . *The_ Bookman”) something which shall lie more in the style of Calverley’s famBus’ examination in “Pickwick.” There ought to be a run on Calverley’s collected works. A Macmillan New Publication. Sir Sven Hedin’s “ Overland to India ” is in two volumes of the same size and bulk as his splendid “ Trans-Himalaya, and has over 300 illustrations, including some charming water colours by the author. Even as a picture book it makes a magnificent present, apart from its value as a book of travel. L ■ X , History and Romance Two interesting publications are “The Fate of Henry of Navarre,”, by John Bloundelle Burton (Everett, 10/6.), and “Philippa of Hainault,” by B. C. Hardy; (Long, 10/). The tragic manner of the death of this great Protestant hero is ’the task Mr. Burton has successfully essayed Though Henry’s death was brought about by the agency of an ignorant fanatic, Mr. Burton shows that his death by assassination would have taken place all the same since, in the very street where the murder took place there were assassins waiting for the’ royal carriage where D’Epernon sat by the side of the man whose murder he was plotting. Coming close on the heels of Mr. Francis Biekley’s “ King’s Favourites,” Mr. B. C. Hardy’s book should find many readers since it rounds off, as if were, the history of Edward 111. as husband and ancient lover. “ The times of Edward, ’’ says a writer in “The Literary World,” were exceedingly critical ones. It is to his reign that we may trace the beginings of Perpendicular architecture, the great growth of trade, and luxury that was eventually to lead on to a new world, the beginning of the Hundred Years’ War, the beginning of the Lollard movement, and of the English literature that traces its origin to Chaucer. In almost every one of these movements Queen Philippa was interested, so that her biography proves an interesting avenue toward an interesting period. The “ Windsor.” The “Windsor Magazine” for February is a notably valuable and varied New • Year number, in no way fallling below the remarkable level of importance attained by the preceding Christmas is ■sue. For it contains complete stories in Eden Phillpott’s new series, “At the • Plume of Feathers,” and Robert Barr’s vivacious sequel to “Young Lord Stranleigh,” as well as short stories by writers of such varied talent as Keble Howard, H. B. Marriott Watson, Fred M. White, Cosmo Hamilton, Laurence North, John Barnett and Austin Philips. The articles of the number include a timely study of “Humour in the House

of Commons,” by Sir Henry W. Lucy, (“Toby, M.P.” of. VPunch,”) .yith many, ajaughable anecdote, whimisically illustrated by Harry Furniss. The fine art feature of the number includes no fewer than eighteen reproductions from the pictures and mural paintings of that distinguished artist, Sir William B. Richmond, K-C.8., R.A., including a number of the- frescoes in St? Paul’s Cathedral, of which a most - interesting account is given in the biographical article accompanying the pictures. There is also a. finely printed coloured plate from one of the artist’s most famous pictures. Thai valuable series “England’s Story in Portrait and Picture” is carried a stage further, with seventeen plates illustrating the reign of Richard 11., including certain artists’ renderings of the scenes from Shakespeare, familiarised to playgoers by the revivals of Shakespeare’s eloquent play in the reportolire of Mr and Mrs F. R. Benson and by Sir Herbert Tree at His Majesty’s Theatre, London. Stocking a soologlical garden forms the subject of another lavishly illustrated article by the well-known animal painter Miss Nellie Haddon, F.Z.S. An Admirable Feminist Organ. We are indebted to Lady Stout for a copy of the January number of “Votes for Women,” which is the official organ of the suffragette movement in Great Britain. Lady Stout has always taken an intense interest in womanhood sufrage, and, latterly, she has taken a prominent part in the suffragette movement at Home that is at present distracting the minds of the English Government, and which they seem to be utterly unable to cope with, with any degree of success, owing to the militant methods, and the determined stand taken by the rank and file of the suffragettes. This,’ number is particularly pathetic reading, as it records “In Memoriam” notices of the late Mrs. Mary Clarke and Miss Henria H. L. Williams, both of whom have laid down their lives in the cause of womanhood suffrage. “Mary Clarke,” says Mrs. Emmeline Pethick Lawrence, who is joint editor with Mr. Pethiek Lawrence of “Votes for Women,” “laid down her life for the most deeply-wronged, the most cruelly bound of all the human race. For them she paid (to use her own words) ‘the price of freedom.’ Glad to pay it“glad though , it. brought her to her dearth’.” :Miss Williams, too, was, a victim to “Black Friday.” To say from a journalistic point of view that “Votes for Women” compares favourably with any other party paper run almost exclusively by men, is -almost to be guilty of fbanalism, since • women long ago demonstrated their ability to run successfully journals of undoubted literary merit and repute. But the fact tha£ this is our first acquaintance With “Votes for Women” must constitute our excuse, if excuse be needed. Among the week’s contents of this issue which is of the date of January 6, is a leading article by Mrs. Emm-Jine Pankhurstj which is at once retrospective of the past, Introspective of the present, and optimistic for the future of the suffragette movement. Mrs. Pethick Lawrence’s appreciative “Memoir” of Mrs. Clarke is poignaptly interesting reading, as are the numerous and various tributes, which supplement her article. News from all over the British Isles is given of the progress of the suffragette campaign. A letter from Mrs. Saul Solomon, who is the widow of the late Saul Solomon, of Capetown (“The Gladstone of South Africa’), to Air. Winston Churchill, anent “Black Friday” is written with a lucidity and a t< mperateness which argues well for that lady’s fitness for entering the political arena. In the literary section, a splendid review by Mrs. Pethick Lawrence of Mrs. Sharp’s “Memoir” of the late William Sharp (Fiona Macleod) is the most delicately subtle, as well as the most gracefully appreciative and comprehensive we have come across. A terribly realistic story, which shows the anguish and the depravity of an enforced maternity, under such and equally revolting circumstances, is contributed by Stephen Andrew, author of Dr. Grey. The story is an actual experience gained during the practice of professional duty. Dr. Andrew is a medical practitioner in one of the great cities of the Midlands. Admirable, in design and execution is the “In Memoriam” cartoon, by “A Patriot," which.embellishes the front cover of this journal. It depicts a solitary woman, clad in beautifully flowing draperies and

carrying a laurel wreath, knocking at the iron-bound closed doors of the Free Human Commonwealth. The obverse outer cover contains a list of bibliography on the suffragette question. REVIEWS. The Flint Heart : By Eden Philpotts. (London: George Bell and Sons. Auckland: Wildman and Arey. 3/6.) With Mr. Phillpotts, as eyes, and literary finger post, there is not the slightest need for readers who are desirous of seeing Dartmoor, and becoming acquainted with its various inhabitants, to put themselves to the fatigue and expense of a personal visit. For he so vividly and realistically visualises that grim stretch in winter, so full of life and promise in spring, so prodigal of glory in summer, and so exquisitely beautiful in the rich tints and mellowness of its autumnal decay, that, together with his expert evidence of things seen, heard, and known of the human, animal, bird, and insect life, thought and feeling of that wild country, so far removed from the hurry of life, we are content to feast upon the all-round pictures ho presents to us, and accept them as biblical, or the particular truths any of us pin our faith to. “The Flint Heart,” contrary to our expectations', proved to be a fairy story, one of those fairy tales that could be read by both sexes of any age, with pleasure and profit alike. Elders would revel in it on account of the many hard knocks it aims at personages and things; children, because of its delightful nonsense in prose and verse, and for the inimitably appropriate and whimsical illustrations by Mr. Charles .1. Folkhard. The story tells how one, Phuttphutt, who was a new stoner of Dartmoor, became discontent with his lot, which had not hitherto been an unamiable one, and called upon a certain mystery man, -named Fum, also of Dartmoor, to furnish him with a charm that should make him strong enough to depose the reigning chief of the new stoners, one Brok (this is the diminutive of Brokotocktiek —an awful name, is it not, children?), so that he Phuttphutt, might reign in his stead. Now this new stoner, who was called Phutt for short, was decorated with the order of the G. IT. F. Golden Heron Feather, an order that was bestowed on warriors who had, single-handed, killed fifty, other warriors in battle. Now Bri k, tlie reigning new stoner, had only killed seven men and a boy (we hope it was not Mr. Phillpotts’ “human boy.”) Veil, Finn. being an exceedingly good sort, did not at all like the idea of assisting Phutt to depose the amiable. Brok, whose reign was a popular one in the best sense of the word. But still he was a mystery man, and bound by the law and honour of his craft to serve any client who chose to avail themselves of his services. So, after trying very hard, indeed, to -how Phutt how unwise and dangerous it was to tamper with the powers of mystery, and putting what he thought was a prohibitive price on the charm, he set to work to manufacture it, and the spirit of Thunder gliding in, and, unsolicited, lending a hand, Fum took it as a sign that the powers of my-tery were favourable, which they were for purposes of their own, and the charm being completed he handed the charm to Phutt and received the price. So quickly was the charm made, which, of it* own accord, took the shape of a black flint heart, that Phutt at first thought it would be non-efficacious. But subsequent events proved that it worked only too well. So well, indeed, that all Dartmoor rose in revolt and brought Phutt and the new Stone Age to an end. Afterwards, by ill-luck, one, Bill Jago, a Dartmoor farmer, found the charm again while digging, at the instance of an antiquarian, on Dartmoor, for old stone age relics. Bill Jago changed immediately, as Phutt ha 1 done from a devoted husband, a tender father, a good generous master, and a peaceable citizen to the very opposite of these things. But when it became noised abroad that the flint heart had been resurrected, and that it was working its old deadly effect, every living thing on Dartmoor, including all fairy life, took concerted action, and invoked the help of the Supreme Power. Here we shall leave the reader to sip for himself the eream of this delightful story of which we have

only given him the skim milk. For ourselves we can only say that we trembled more than once at the thought of the fata] charm that so nearly decimated Dartmoor. For if Dartmoor had been decimated there would have been no Eden Phillpotts, so closely is bisfate involved with it, and tethers besides ourselves, would have been inconsolable. For there is only one Eden Phillpotts. Our copy of this delightful story, which every human boy and girl, and every human man and woman should read, has been received through the courtesy o’ Messrs. Wildman and Arey. The Vanishing Smuggler : By-Ste-phen Chalmers. (London: Mills and Boon. Auckland: Wildman and Arey. 3/6.) If this book is, as we suspect it is, nt all events it is our first acquaintance with this writer, and Mills and Boon have rather a reputation as a patron of new authors, it is certainly a book of great promise. It is a story of strenuous love and old-time smuggling, and the time is that of the third George, the year that of 1815, and the book’s stirring, humorous,- and pathetic scenes are

enacted in the Scotch village of Morag, where the Customs officials both of the old and new type, were at their wits ends to discover the identity of one Heather Bloom, who was know n to them as the audaciously daring leading spirit of a band of smugglers in Morag, whose evasions of lI.M. Customs were so considerable, and so hedged about with mystery, as to liave made it a matter of personal piqued interest, as well as a point of official honour and imperative need among these officers to capture the daring fellow who had set them dancing to such provoking and elusive tunes. The characterisations of the book are drawn with a masterly hand, notably those of the joint heroes Smuggle-erie and Lieutenant Ben Larkin, Captain John Grant, alias Heather Bloom, aud master of the trading brig Thistle Down (which eould. in a chase, show a pair of heels as light as her nomenclature) the Domine and Gib s (cry megeou r, the miser of Morag, and the most contemptible of the villains of this story which tells of a villainous murder and an attempt to foist it upon innocent shoulders. But Mr. Chalmers must tell his own story as far as we are concerned. and those who love to read of the ’good old days” cannot afford to miss this capital story, which we like better than any smuggling story that we can remember.

Alarms and Riseursions : By G. K. Chesterton. (London: Methuen and Co. Auckland: Wildman and Arey. 5/.) This book, as we before indicated, is a companion to “Tremendous Trifles,” and does but further demonstrate Mr. Chesterton’s exceeding versatility. And we may as well state at once that we like Mr. Chesterton better in this work than anything we have read of his before. For while there is almost an absence of that oyer exuberant optimism that has so jarred upon us of late, there is no lack of lively interest, variety of outlook, or lack of useful purpose in the matters discussed in the thirty-nine papers that comprise the book. Mr. Chesterton has often been taunted with being a nrediaevalist. In the first essay, which treats of “Gargoyles,” Mr. Chesterton takes the opportunity to confess that he is really and truly a mediaevalist. And he goes further and explains why he is one. We regret that space forbids our including the whole of this explanation, but we can assure our readers that, if only for the sake of this paper, the book is worth the outlay its purchase will entail. Speaking of these 39 papers as a whole, Mr. Chesterton says :—The fragments of futile journal-

i-m or fleeting impression which are here collected are very’ like the wrecks and riven blocks that were piled in a heap round my imaginary’ priest of the sun. They* are very like that grey and gaping head of stone that I found overgrown with the grass. Yet I will venture to make even of these trivial fragments the high boast that I am a mediaevalist ami not a modern. That is, I really have a notion of why I have collected all the nonsensical things there are. I have not the patience nor perhaps the constructive intelligence to state the connecting link between all these chaotic papers. But it could be stated. This row of shapeless and ungainly monsters which I now set before the reader doos not consist of separate idols cut out capriciously in lonely valleys or various i-lands. These monsters are meant for the gargoyles of a definite Cathedral. 1 have to carve the gargoyles, because I ean carve nothing else; 1 leave to others the angels and the arches and the spires. But 1 am very sure of the.style of the architecture and of the consecration of the church.” Mr. Chesterton flits from gargoyles to cockneys, from nightmares to telegraphic poles, from “the man ami his newspaper” (which treats of readymade theories) to “Dukes,” which shows the real causes that arc undermining the •'ability of the House of Lords and th*

power of aristocracy. Tn short, as becomes one of the most cleverly versatile) writers of the day, Mr. Chesterton has flitted from current topic to current cult, and warns, advises, deplores, deprecates, eensures or approves, wholesomely and wholesouledly. Never, in short, have “alarms” been so sincerely sounded, or “disenrsion*” presented so pleasantly and so profitably. We strongly recommend this book, which we have received through Wildman and Arey, to thflu. notice of our readers.