The Bookshelf.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVI, Issue 23, 6 December 1911, Page 46

The Bookshelf.

By

DELTA.

BOOKSHELF FEUILLETON. i

Everybody's Book*. CT-r MONO the first ten volumes is- / I sued by Cassell & Co. in their J— i shilling popular series of reprints is Galt’s “Life of Lord Byron.” Curiously enough, both the work of Byron and Galt was diweounted during their lifetime. But both poetand novelist are coming year by year into greater favour —-the one as a great poet, the other as the forerunner of what is known as the "Kailyard” school t)i fiction. John .Galt was peculiarly fitted to write a “life” of Byron. With a breadth of view, and a tolerance 'uncommon in his day, Gait wrote 'his “Life of Byron” more for succeeding generations than the generation he and Byron lived in. “I shall consider him (Byron) if I can, as his character will be estimated when contemporary surmises are forgotten, and when the monument he has raised to himself is contemplated for its beauty and magnificence, without suggesting recollections of the 'eccentricities of the builder.”. . , Now a life of ißyron written by a biographer of Galt’s literary merit on lin-’s that would have titilated and satisfied the appetites of the ravenous (for scandal) reading public of Gait's day would have brought much grist to his mill. And that Galt badly needed it is sufficiently evidenced by a sjrort introductory note to this reprint by Mr. Claude Mortemart, who eaysi “In 1834 Galt wrote his autobiography. He dedicated the book to WilHam IV., who sent the author £2OO. It was the last work Galt did, for, -wearied by hard work gnd by ill-fortune, he Boon after returned to his native land from Canada and shortly afterwards died fit Greenock.” A work written on such tinsel fish lines as this could scarcely fai.l to be impressive. John Gait’s “Life of Byron” la this and more, and we cotdially recommend this reprint, confident that readers will find as we have done inerest and profit in its perusal far beyond ;ts purchase value. The format of thh Jassell shilling classic is beyond cavil, rifteenpence is the Dominion priee asked ( or it by Messrs. Wildman and Arey, Torn whom we have received our copy, Interesting to Humanitarians.

•'The Humanitarian/’ published by the Itb me Humanitarian League, is far from fifeasani reading. Its raison d'etre fa*, to . detajj _ cases <?f cruelty and gratuitously- bestow severe and welldeserved Strictures' upon the perpetrators of brutalities practised in every flfty life in go called civilized countries. The “cat,” the Vagrancy Act misapplied, Jewish methods of slaughter, capital pun-

iphment, otter, hunting, plucking fowls alive and like; cruelties 1 are animadverted upon in the September issue, and will certainly show cruelties in every day perpetration legitimised by vogue and. custom that will astound humanitarians' to whom these things are unknown spectacles. It is to be hoped that the publicity given to these methods will cause either their cessation or their, diminution at least.

A New Historic Novel. Mr. H. €'. Bailey, who will be remembered as the author of that masterly novel, ‘‘.Storm and Treasure,” has had a new novel issued by Methuen’s, entitled "The Lonely Queen.” The lonely Queen in this case is Queen. Elizabeth, the story opening'in the days of Henry VIII., when he was about to marry Katherine Howard, and Elizabeth was “a little unhappy child.” Pictures, graphic, pathetic, exciting, and inspiring in turn, are shown of her as child and girl in peril at the hands of an ambitious, unscrupulous lover, at the court of her brother, the weak-kneed Edward VI., at bay with Alary ami others of her enemies. Elizabeth ie depicted also, as practicing those arts and charms of which she was such a past-mistress on lovers, friends, and enemies alike in her determined efforts to Teach that throne she afterwards occupied with such pregnant resultsLto .the greatness and commercial prosperity of England. - Other lives, ■ contemporaneous and material to the fortunes of Elizabeth are woven in with this chronicle which promises delectable reading, for apart from the interest that ie always evoked by any romance of which “Good Queen Bess’ is the heroine, Mr. Bailey's workmanship is of such high order as to ensure both a cordial welcome and an interested perusal. Methuen’s are the book’s publishers.

Another Notable Methuen Novel. Mrs. Nesbit is an author whose work we think is not very well known in this Dominion. Her "Salome,” published a year or two ago, was talked about not a little in literary and reading circles, and certainly it was not food for babies. Yet Mrs. Nesbit is in the first rank of writers jar children. In a etill higher realm of literature, namely, poetry, she also occupies front rank. As a writer of fiction she has few compeers, and “Dormant,’ 5 her latest novel, is a daring treatment of a theme which has exercised the mind of man einpe Pythagoras, namely, the transmigration of souls. Mrs. Nesbit is known in private life as the .wife, of Mr. Hubert Bland, who, as “Hubert” of the “Sunday Chronicle,” "Letters to a

Daughter,” ete., can truthfully claim to enjoy the attention of the largest audience of readers of any journalist-author in England. “Dormant” should soon reach this Dominion when it may be procured at; 3/6 from Wildman A tArey. A more extended notice of Mrs. Nesbit’s fine novel will appear in due course in our review columns. '. .

Interesting to Lovers of Maeterlinck. " - =t ' : •

In the Belles-Lettres section of MetilHcn’s Ajitumn Announcements, we notice a study of Maurice Maeterlinck, by Edward Thomas, which purports tp give an outline of Maeterlinck’s life and characteristics as a man. It deals with the whole of the craft; as poet, essayist, and dramatist, of this writer, whose mind has so profound an affinity with much that is 'best in English literature. Mr. Thomas’ plan has been to take Maeterlinck's work, from hie early poems to “The Blue Bird” and “Mary Magdalene,” and show the ideas, the beauty, the meaning, and the place in the development of Mae.terlipek and in modern, thought and sentiment that these works minor, Air. Thomas’ book is a sympathetic personal study and estimate, and is besides the first attempt by an English writer to cover the whole work of this sage and poet. Biography and Memoirs.

In the section denoted by our headline we notice two books likely to interest Dominionites. The first is “The Empresses of Rome,” by Joseph McCabe (Methuen);' with 24 illustrations, pub-' Fished in England at 12/C. The work is a continuous story of all that is known of the Roman empresses down to the fall of the Roman empire. It reproduces the most interesting phases of the rise and decline of Roman society, and forms a moving picture show, together with careful character studies of Rome’s most famous empresses. The work, though based on the original authorities, has been written in order to convey to the minds of general readers a picture of Roman life and character before tho fall of that great empire. Mr. McCabe has considerable vogue in this Dominion, both as Rationalistic lecturer and the writer of that masterly defence of Fran'eiseo Ferrer! And we venture to think that any work of his will meet with appreciation here. Auckland is said to be a musical town, and if it is to live up to its reputation, it ought to be interested' in' "Jimmy Glover—His Book,” by James Glover, with 16 illustrations. Home priee, 7/6 net. Mr. Glover, in addition to having been Master 'of Music at Drury Lan6 for the last twenty years," has been associated from the earliest days, with everything prominent in Fenianism and politics down to the present Home Rule movement. He has also done much journalistic work, dabbled in municipal affairs, is a member- of a Board of Guardians, an ex-Overseer, and a Mayor of a South Coast borough. As a French

scholar, he has adapted many playa, wv are told. A versatility of talent joined to of experience should purely make hie ronimaeeneM delight* fully raey and interesting reading.

A Rowtoil House Rhyme. Seme reminiseept feretaste of dig-comforts.-that make li(e-a burden during the sultry days of summer in thia Dominion may be JbOrne with ; mord equanimity on perusal of the appended “Rowton House Rhyme,” on August, in' London, by Mr. W. A. Mackenzie— A fat moon leers in the coppery sky, ; And the fruit's a-rot on the eabb .geleaves; - 1 -- • U A thick Augean stable steam From 'its blistered asphalt Hblborn heaves To the stars that are tired, on an air that is siek; And the water’s warm in the drink-ing-trough. How is it here in Hell? Well, ’ot, And the oldest Rotten’un calls it tough.' For the tiles that look so cool to the eye • r Would grill you holes in a hippo's hide; - • • And the great Unwashed, thaf. hat sworn, off soap, Is lyric and loud in his noisome pride; And the sawdust, spread for the..leaky of lip, , Hops with a small black nimble plague. Whose cannibal methods of waging waif Lack the imprimatur of The Hague; ~ s And the huge coke cOoking-fires that seo The seasons in ■ and the seasons out, And_ never die, are a. searing curse That would make an Andaman Islander shout; And the frizzling bloater's viscous smok# Hauge, a blue net, our heads above! And a million obscene pest-drunk flies Buzz in the acid meshes thereof; > And the tables’ litter, with spilth of grease, . The well-knawed bone and the illgnawed crust, The .stale tea-leaves, and the spatters of milk— Knew Dante a circle called Disgust? .... How the sick gorge dreams of a farback day, Of a. green-bowered . inn by the Thames’ cool blue, '’ Of a cantaloup frappe, a salmon trout, And a bottle of Hock! ' - • i t . And that’s-Hell, too. -'

Story About Gabriel D'Annunzio. . At a reception one eveiUng, D’AmiUi}' zio, the Italian apostle of realism, drop'ped his handkerchief by chance, and' tf, young lady picked it up and handed ta him .with a smile; D'Annunzio, yfiio’ is a noted squire of dames as well as a great author, bowed, and perceiving that the girl was pretty, bade her keep the handkerchief. - Upon which the girl’X smile, disappeared, and holding the ■handkerchief as something unclefill, .walked across the room, and dropped in the lire. '‘Everybody, it is needless, to say, smiled except D’Annunzio. william Clark Russell. Wm. Clarke Russell, whose death took place' recently, was one of-the. .greatest) if tiot the greatest of our sea' writers* .Who of the last generation and the dial criminating of this generation has not read his famous “Wreck of |he Grosvenor,’’ his Dives, of Nelson and Lord Collingwood, and others of his splendid sea-stories that have thrilled, excited charmed, fascinated, in turn, and ministered to the incipient eraving for the that lies deep down in the heart of every, boy of British birth, who burns to emW' late the deeds of derring do, of Clary Russell’s heroes, great or humbly? William Clark Russell, was born j,n New York on February 24, 1844. So that ijd has passed away before the three-scoiq years and ten allotted by Scripture to man. His parentage and early education were English. His' experience of thd sea, which was afterward turned to sueW splendid aloeount, was gained tin tfid British merchant service. His first noveL “ jfohn Holdsworth,”, was published ’JS 1874. His list of novels is a Jong on**) and, we nifty add, of merit as great M the list is long. His latest work w(wj-A book of ballads which was entitled “lb<J Turnpike Sailor.” Of the merit of these verses we cannot speak since we om® know of them by repute. 'W hat Kipling baa done for Thomas Atkins Clark R»MP aeU and the late Samuel FlUpevU

them here done for the Jack Tar of the mercantile uaiy. The writer of Metio” tf whose purpose m to ran a tilt in the cause of humanity may be likened to that good steward who increased the talent entru-ted(to him ten-fold. Clark Russell’s literary life was devoted to the cause of the defenceless mercantile sailor—sent to sea in untrustworthy ships, fed on food that a starving cur would refuse, vilified with language unfit for human expression, and often beaten to death or disfigured for life for asserting his right as a man to protest against diet, discipline and housing unfit for beasts. And Ids reward is bound to follow, as did that of the good steward of parable. New Publications Received. Publications received too late for extended notice in this week’s issue are: “The Common Law,” R. W. Chambers, Melbourne: George Robertson and Co. A Reprint of Mr. Robert Hichen’s “ Barbary Sheep” (Methuen), and “Votes for Women,” from Lady Stout-. REVIEWS. The Glory of Clementina Wing: By W. J. Locke. (London: John Lane. Auckland; Wildman and Arey, 3/6). Think of twice the oddness of the characters in “The Beloved Vagabond” of twice the cleverness, twice the brilliancy of dialogue, twice the genial philosophy, twice tlie fascination, twice the charm, twice the knowledge of life and its lessons, twice the artistic craft, and twice the subtle humour and gay, insouciant badinage of that efer green book, and you may form some conception of the quality of “The Glory of Clementina Wing,” which held us in golden dalliance from page one to page three hundred and seventy-five, when we aw’oke to a prosaic sense that we had returned once More to the world of prosaic fact. Clementina Wing, whether Mr. Loeke means it or no, is a complete answer to those anti-suffragists wlio see in the woman of intellect a creature unsexed. Ephraim Quixtus (did ever any author choose such hybrid nomenclature as Mr. Loeke) is a solicitor by the wish of his forbears, and an enthusiastic student of anthropology by his own wish. Quixtus has everything that is supposed to render life happy save one. He had lost a wife whom he had loved dearly, and whom he had believed loved him dearly. He had wealth, considerable expectations, health, and admiring friends, and lastly a warmly. lovable nephew whom ho meant to make his heir. But Ephraim Quixtus’ sky which had hitherto lacked clouds, save the one before referred to, became Suddenly overcast and a perfect deluge of trouble descended upon his head. Disliking extremely the snug

legal practice that had been left to him by his father, he had welcomed with rapture the proposition of his father’s long trusted head clerk, and had handed the business over to him in perfect confidence. All had gone well for some tune until Quixtu'a had one day wakened to the knowledge that his clerk had fled the country after having depleted his employer’s clients of every share and security he could lay hands on. His cap* ture and subsequent trial brought down upon Quixtus’ head-the aeorn and derision of the whole court and forced him to listen to more plain truths about himself than he had ever before listened to in his life. A summons, from the relative from whom he had great expectations made Quixtus the recipient of much false sympathy as he found to his cost a few months later when, pn the relative dying Quixtus found himself the possessor of a cellar of wine for which he had no palate and minus .the relative's enormous wealth. He made, as he thought, also the crushing discovery, that the wife to whom he had been so devoted; and of whose love he had been so sure had been false to him. And the long and. short of it was that Quixtus lost his head and finding as he. thought that all his world was in league against him, conspired with three villains to pay his world back in its own coin. Here Clementina Wing enters, and we vacate the position of showman leaving the reader to follow their united fortunes at his discretion confident that the quest once entered upon will not cease until he has followed the mazes of this intricate story and learnt like Clementina, “the glory of being a woman.” The suggestion that Mr. Locke has not yet reached his zenith leaves us speechless. The Song of Kenny : By Maurice Hewlett. (London: Macmillan and Co. Auckland: Wildman and Arey. 2/6 and 3/6.) Was ever song more faultlessly rendered we wonder than this “Song of Benny,** which tells of a curse that hung over that famous house of mediaeval days, when murder stalked through the land unchecked, and lust, unworthy ambition and rapine went hand in hand with absolutely unsatisfied desire. There are readers who, having heard that “The Song of Benny” was on the lines of "The Forest Lovers,” will declare theformer to be inferior to the latter. From these readers we differ. More strenuous than that idyll, it pleases us better, Nothing really matters but love s-jys Mr Hewlett, in effect, in this glorious romance of his. And such love, too! It makes a man of the troubadour of those days, a repentant sinner out of a double and treble murderer and robber, a meek saint out of a most arrogant queen, a suppliant out of a rank blasphemer, a hero out of a coward, and, but there,

there's wizardry abroad when Mr Hewlett wields that warn! of Jove that literally mows down the two-headed dragon of lust and hate. “The Song of Renny” leads us to hope that Mr Hewlett will for ever abandon his paganistic attitude, and further inspire us with high human ideal, not so high as to tempt a fall, nor so low as those set up by the aneients, out of the inadequacy of their knowledge. Here is a description of the Renny that turned from that ill-fated house the eurte that had long roosted in the hall, and over the fair demesne of Scaur, which was the ancestral stronghold of the infamous Rennys, whose feuds and murders were fratricidal, and in consequence, unnatural and abnormal: —“In matters of love Donna Mabille was believed impregnable. She was accounted a barbed virgin, a girl of whips and steel, and, though none could deny the charms of her person, suspected amazonry in-will if not in fact. . . She was said to dance happiest when

her partner was a girl. . . . Sometimes she would dub a knight,' giving the aecolade with the flat of a sword. But mostly she roamed faney-free with virgins of her own age and sex, and was least likely to afford a man her friendship when he showed he needed it badly. The real way to her intimacy was not that of devotion. If you could tell her of her ancestors, the Rennys, she always listened; if you went on to boast of your own, she listened until she judged either that you lied or in your own person belied them. If you ignored her, as likely as not she would be your very good friend. The quick of her nature was pride—first of brain, next of birth. You had' needs beware how you touched her. Treat her as an equal on either score, she accepted you; treat her as a sovereign, she was a tyrant; play the man before her, pretend her a luxury or a solace, she would be the bleak Goddess of .the bow, and smile as she slew one after another your treasured pretensions to respect,” which is but .Mr Hewlett's Meredithian way of depicting Mademoiselle de Benny as essentially feminine. “The Song of Renny” is h book that positively must not be missed. Donna Mabille is worth a round dozen of modern Artemis’s. This is truth, if bad grammar. Our copy, which we greatly esteem, has been received through Macmillan and Co. BITS IBOM THE VERY EATEST BOOKS. Napoleon on Love. “Ivy will cling to the first met tree; that, in a few words, is the whole history of love. What is love? The realisation of his weakness that sooner or later pervades the solitary man, a sense

both of his weakness and his limrimi ity.”— “TU Corsican: g av . ings,’ arranged by R. M. Johnson.

“Wisdom Compressed.'’ "The greatest pr ol »l«»> » life is hov, to catch up with our good intentions.” "A genius is merely a person who can make you believe he knows more than you do.” "It is just as well to remember that the fellow who asks yon to lend him a sovereign will usually accept live shillings.” "No woman on her way to buy a now hat was ever known to commit suicide.” "One woman can take in another woman’s hat in two minutes, ami talk about it for two hours without repeating herself.” “A woman who would drop from exhaustion after sweeping a room could shop all day, ami go to a dance the s tine night.” r “A woman who is constantly blushing must be terribly well informed.”—“Wisdom Compressed,” by Mark Over. W. H. Smith. 1A Borrowed Teeth. “Duke Charles of Parma dearly loved a pretty face, and one day he was asked to a dinner party to meet some really beautiful women. The Duke was then quite an old. man, and he was, I regret to say, toothless, for he would never wear artificial teeth. However, the possibility of renewing his conquests so appealed to him that he went to a- dentist and was supplied with a set of false teeth for the eventful banquet. All went well at first; the Duke smiled at the fair ones and rejoiced that he could smile so freely; but suddenly, without any warning, something went wrong with the plate, and he was unable to shut his mouth. He remained in this unenviable position for a few minutes, and the guests began to fear he had been seized with a fit, but when he found he could not close his jaws he wrenched out tho teeth in an access of fury and Hung them to the other side of the room, where they remained until after dinner, when tho servants swept them up.”—“My Own Story,” by Princess lonise of Tuscany. Nash. 10/6 net. An Era’s Birth. "It always seems to me that we — we who live at the present time—are very fortunate because we have seen the fruition of a great discovery. How interesting this will make us in future years! With what delight do we now listen to an old man who tells us how he remembers the first railway trains, and when the third-elass passengers travelled in open carriages like cattle-trucks, and the guard, in a red coat, sat up behind! With equal delight, another day, our grandchildren will listen while we tell them how we recollect when aeroplanes first came into prominent notice, when Beriot Hew the Channel, when ,Paullina flew from London to Manchester, when Grahame-White won the Gordon Bennett Chip.”—"How Men Fly,” by Gertruda Bacon. Cassell. 1/- net.