The Bookshelf.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVII, Issue 14, 3 April 1912, Page 45

The Bookshelf.

By

DELTA.

FEUILLETON. Beautiful England. bit N' exquisite colour book which y I has reached us is “The Peak DisJ JL trict,” whieh is tenth of the ‘’Beautiful England" series being published by Blackie and Sons, London. No fitter writer than Air. Murray Gilchrist, who has supplied the text, could have been chosen, since he is not only well-known in England as .1 novelist, but has lived in and studied the history of the people and districts depicted. Mr. Gilchrist is fortunate in having secured the talented services of Mr. E. W. Haslehurst in this descriptive work, pince to ensure the complete success of a book of this kind author and colour artist must be in happy collaboration. The Peak of Derbyshire has been immortalised by >Sir Walter Scott in his “Peveril of the Peak.” But, aided by the splendid art of the modern colour illustration, even sir Walter Scott’s exquisite or vivid descriptions of what is most weird or most beautiful in the ■Peak takes on an enhanced value. The hook’s admirable text dilates on all that is most beautiful, picturesque or interestingly historic about Chatsworth, Haddon, and Bakewell—famous for its church, in whose chancel lie the remains of Dorothy Vernon, who will be remembered so long as romance exists, and famous also for its “God’s acre,” where are to be found the quaintest epitaphs in the world. Next come the Matlocks and the Spas of the Peak. There are lovely illustrations, too, of these beauty spots, and among the most beautiful are those that depict the Monsal Miller’s, Dove, and Lathkil dales. Much of historic interest is related of the famous Buxton Spa. As early as 1572, men of note took the waters of this spa, for, in the Harleian MSS., one may see a letter to the Earl of Essex from Lord Burleigh, who writes that he “took five pynts at six draughts in one day” of the Buxton Spa waters, which he found “potable” when “nrixt with sugar." Space forbids further mention of a book whieh should delight lovers of and exiles from beautiful England.

“ More Jacobs.” It is little short of marvellous that Mr. W. W. Jacobs should still be writing stories about a type of seamen that is rapidly disappearing, and yet providing the same interest and entertainment, if not more, than he did with the publication of the inimitable “Many Cargoes,” published in 1890. “Ship’s Company” is the latest Jacobs novel, and consists of twelve distinct stories, each of which is better than the preceding. In “Good Intentions” Mr. Jacobs puts the following remarks on jealousy in the mouth of a character who is a nightwatchman by profession: “You can’t argufy with jealous people, and you can’t shame ’em. When I told my missus once that I should never dream of being jealous of her, instead of up and thanking me for

it she spoilt the best frying-pan we ever had.” The same character, dilating on the shortness of woman's temper, in the story entitled "Skilled Assistance,” says: “The way she talked to me just now you’d think I was paid a-purpose to wait on her. I asked 'er at la«t what she thought I was here for. and she said she didn’t know, and nobody else either.

And afore she went otT she told the potman from the Albion, that was listening, that I was known all over Wapping as 'the Sleeping Beauty. She ain’t the first I've had words with, not by a lot. They are all the same—they all start in a nice, kind, soapy sort of way. and as soon as they don't get wot they want, fly in , a temper and ask me who I think 1 am. I told one woman once not to be silly, and I shall never forget it as long as I live, never. For all I know, she’s wearing a bit of my ’air in a locket to this day, and very likely boasting that I gnve it to her.” Tn “Fine Featherd” is shown an amusing example of how a grocer’s wife and family are hoist with their own petard. This wife and family having social aspirations which the head of the family does not share, worry him Marly out of existence, by forcing Turn

to wear stiff collars and tall hats and smart suits when off duty. He, however, turns 'the tables by prescribing a certain rigid etiquette 'indoors, which becomes so unbearable that they are glad to let him return to the old ways. But all the stories are good, and sparkle with the same shrewd wit, the same farcial quality, a-nd the never-failing human interest that has always characterised thi/ sterling writer’s stories. Get it by all means, whether you beg, borrow, steal or buy it from your booksellers, or whether you have to get it direct from Hodder and Stoughton (London), who are in this instance Mr. Jacobs’ publishers.

A Book About “ Bargains." Those who are familiar with the M ir maduke of ‘‘Truth” will need no assurance that a book, in the making of which Mr. Charles Edward Jerningham has colaborated with Mr. Lewis Bettany, will be worth reading. “The Bargain Book,”

is the title of this work, and it tells “tales of bargain-hunts, of the ignorance of dealers <and ■collectors, of famous thefts in the art world, customs of the sale-room, and tricks of the dealers, and is varied and delightful reading.’’ “A cynic has said," write the authors, “some steal for profit—they are criminals; some for pleasure—they are kleptomaniacs; others for profit and pleasui * combined—they are collectors.” In addi tion to the information supplied, serious and humorous, the book overflows with good anecdotes, tales of astonishing finds, the ignorance or cunning shrew Iness of curio buyers about their wares, etc. In short, the reader who likes a book out of the common should not miss the ‘ Bargain Book,” which, published by C hatto and Windus, may be pur chased at 7/6 net. From “ A Navvy’s Scrapbook.” By P. Mac Gill, 6.1. P. Mac Gill, 8. Jamaicaafreet, Greenock. Mr. Patrick Mac Gill would seem to have been his own puldisher when issuing his first literary work, to which he bis given the above title. Mr. P. Mac Gill, the eldest of ten children, is the eon of a Donegal crofter, who, at the age of twelve, had to turn out and earn hi.s own living as a navvy. Yet so strong w;u this lad’s love for books that we hear of him sitting in a dark corner of a navvy’s hut full of “men shaggy as bears, dressed in moleskin and leather.

reeking of beer aw 1 tobacco,” scribbling down his fancies and experiences in a grimy notebook, hearing “on one side a trio of experts discuss the Johnson Jeffries match, and on the other a dozen gamblers argue and curse over a game of banker.” Yet he has managed to feast on and assimilate much good reading, but like many young authors, writes of what he has read rather than what lie thinks or has experienced. Yet these ‘“gleanings” show a great deal of merit and much will be expected from another book he has under way. Of what Mr. Mac Gill is capable when his experiences inspire him the following extract from ‘Have You?” will show: —

‘Have you tramped about in winter when your boots were minus soles? Have you wandered deuced unhappy with your pocket full of holes? Have you wondered which was better when your capital was light — A plate of fish and taters, or a hammock for the night ? Have you ever smelt the odour from some swell refreshment shop. And would exchange your very soul for just one single chop? When every one was happy as the week drew near an end. Have you wandered through the city without a cent to spend? Through some wealthy person’s window have you seen the fire glow. While shiv* ring ’neath a ragged hedge, you sheltered from the snow.”

Politer language, surely, than drops from the usual out-of work navvy’s lips. And this boy is only just out of his teenrt. We shall look forward with great interest to Mr. MacGilPs next publication. Re Immoral Fiction. We are glad to s?e Mr. ( himpion, of the Melbourne “Book Lover,’’ enteiing a. protest against the growing tide of immoral fiction. Mr. Champion says: - ‘‘l think it time to protest strongly against the const mt repetition amongst venal writers of (he day, of subjects which are never talked about by decent men ami women. If they must speak about those subjects, and they shou’d be spoken about plainly, books which profess to be amusing or entertaining are the last places in which they should be dealt with. It seems to us ’th it the dilllculty could Im* well avoided. Look at the swarms of novels that reach us from the I’nited states, full of interest and y«l absolutely lacking in objeeti.illable matter. I could point out dozens of hopelessly improper books which have been pushed into fame among the people of Australia in the last few yeara. It is very little use denouncing them, as that simply gets for them pnbll itv. Ono day some publishers will make it a hard and fast rule to publish nothing which will, by too great insistence on the unpleasant facts of life, be tiuw hob some reading.”

REVIEWS. Hieronymus Rides By Aauna Coleman Ixidd. Macmillan and Co. Auckland: Wildman and Arey. 2/6 and 3/6.) To read this heroic story is pure joy from beginning to end. Airs. Ladd has captured and depicted right worthily the atmosphere and .spirit of her period, the latter part of the fifteenth century, when men’s hopes were high and ardent, warriors bold, and the Catholic religion the greatest power in Europe; a time, also, when Europe was broken up into large or small principalities, each of which was a menace to the other; when murder, intrigue, loot, and lust were rife; when armies were composed of foreign mercenaries, and private purses and public exchequers were depleted by long war with Anti-Christ. 'The real interest of the story l>egin.s w here Hieronymus, the hero, is told by his gipsy nurse at the bedside of his grandfather, the alchcmiist Zycho, that he is the natural and eldest son of the reigning King of the Romans, Frederick. At the death of Zycho, which taken place shortly after, Hieronymus, who is destined for the Chur h. is handed over to the clerical authorities and admitted to probation. But at the age of twenty Hieronymus, in accordance with his own wish and having kept vigil, sets out for the court of his natural brother, the Archduke Maxi milian. and, possessing powerful friends and the necessary qualifications. soon becomes a trusted emissary of the Archduke’s. At Maximilian’s court he falls in love with the Archduchess. But it is a lofty love and lie is quite unaware that his zealously-guarded secret is a matter of comment at court. Sent on a perilous mission by Max. he manages to incur the enmity of the I. >rd of Ghistelle, an enmity which for a long time loses him Imtli the Archduke and the Archduchcris’s favour, and his own per sonal freedom, lie escapes from prison, only to see his beloved mistress die. We next find Ilieronvmus among the Knights of Rhodes defending the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. But enough I never was knight more foiillv assailed and betrayed than our Hieronymus, and never did knight emerge from sin. difficulty and danger with such distinction as he. It is not possible in the limits of a re view to do justice to thes superbly-told story, which is worthv of the highest commendation. Outside its superlative value as a human document of the highest order, its lit era rv and artistic vaTuo are out of the ord in a rv, while as an historic depiction of the stirring yet troublous days of the Wars of the Crusades if is .inimitable. lh?oiiled]y, “TTier onymous Rules” is a book that must on no account lie passed over. We arc in-

debted to Macmillan and Co. for our copy of this ideal romance. The thro** wonvn whose influence moulds Hieronymus into the ideal knight he Pvontimßy becomes are three of the finest feminine ch va<f erisatiojis in modern fiction—con sistent throughout and truly womanlv.

Vagabond City: By Winifred Boggs (London and New York, George Putmann and Sons. Auckland, Wildman and Arey. 3/6). A more brilliant yet a more poignant story was never told than this ‘‘Vagabond City," of which Miss Winifred Boggs writes. Michael Talbot, a born vagabond, who is also a writer on wild nature of some reputation, conceives himself obliged to marry a woman whom ten years before he had broken a sixpence with. To the million, as they were seen starling on their wedding trip, they were just a “honeymoon couple” To the one keen observer in that million they were a pair ill matched, something like tragedy .’-talking at their heels. “'rhe bridegroom, a man in a trap with desperate eyes, a primitive jesting mouth. The bri 10, just a woman in her be-»t clot lies." To Miss Bogg’s tense description, we need only add that the woman was hopelessly middle-class, pretty, with the prettiness of a doll, sterile, a .stickler for convention, an aspirant to social position, and absolutely devoid of imagination, and the experienced reader will understand that no more promising material for the fash inning of a verv sordid trugedv could |M»ssildy lw» devised And the story, unfortunately, is so true to life and hap pening. lhat the readers can only road on hoping that some miracle wHI happen end reconcile these two irreconcilable*. ( Miss Bogg is far to< much a mistress of her craft not M know that the tragic note in her atofj

must not be too long sustained. So she has created a* charwoman who over tops any charwoman of fiction that we can remember. Mrs. Hobbs, when sober, is a domestic genius. Drunk, she is almost beyond portrayal. Mrs. Hobbs is a mine we shall exploit later. In the meantime we counsel all our~readers to invest in Miss Bogg’s book, which we have received through Messrs, George Robertson and Co., 107 to 113, Klizabeth-street, Melbourne.

Laura: By Caroline Grosvenor. (London* WMliam Heinemann; Melbourne, George Robertson and Co.; Auckland. Wildman and Arey, 3/6). To readers acquainted with that strata of society at Home known as the plebeian rich, this hook will be a itreasure trove. David Cumming, a rich manufacturer, had bought “Coleby,” the ancestral seat of the Cardew’s. Laura Cardew, the heroine of the story, 5s a niece of Lady Cardew, the late Chatelaine of Coleby, and David, who •adores blue blood, intends to disinherit Ihis eldest son’s son, if only Laura will marry his seeond'son, Laurence. Laura, though she liked David Cumming’s real (heir very much, having met him in Egypt, where his regiment was then stationed, consents to David's plan, conditionally, we may say. How eventually, Laura does marry David Cumming’s second son, minus his father’s immense wealth, must be discovered by readers themselves, ’rhe plot and narrative go with a swing from beginning to end, the delightful uncertainty as to how the story will end. adding not a little, to the (book’s interest, which is admirably sustained to its finish. We liked Laurence Cumming from the beginning. Me liked Laura throughout, faults and all. This is a thoroughly wholesome story, besides 'being premonitory of the force or medium by which the gulf which separates the worthy rich from the aristocratic poor is being bridged. M e have received our copy of “Laura ’ from (Messrs George Robertson and Co., Melbourne. bits from the new books. Sensible Nonsense. “A woman does not mind a man being dull if he makes love the right way." e *A kiss is remembered when kisses are forgotten.” “Married life is easier after twenty years, if vou can bear with it till then. “Marriage is all right if a woman’s got a grain of sense, and leaves all the thinking part of it to the man.” “Frights may step in where beamy must not tread."—"Kisses and Other Nonsense.”

New Whistler Stories. “Sickert and Whistler were once printing etchings together, when the former dropperl a copper plate. ’How like you,’ said Whistler. Five minutes -afterwards Whistler dropped one himselt. There was a pause. ‘How unlike me, was his remark. “Whistler painted the portrait of Miss Kinsella, holding an iris in her hand. As the real Hower was always fading, M lustier went to a famous firm to get some stuff of the purple-violet tone he wanted, out of which to make a Hower. lie explained what he needed to the simp man, who solemnly informed him that thev only kept ‘art colours’.’’—“The Lite of .lames McNeil Whistler,” by E. R- and J. Vennell.

From tlie Orient. No needle has a point at both ends. Everything fears the earnest man. You can crush people by the weight of the tongue. The money-maker is never weary, the weary man never makes money. “Chinese Proverbs." Life—A New Definition.

“The great thing is to express oneself —that’s life. Everyone must express himself in some way. ’I he artist, the ißuthor. the musician, the commercial man, all express themselves in their work; give to something the stamp of their individuality, make a material image of themselves. ’’- "A Woman id' Impulse,” by Joseph. Prague. The Cold Englishman.

‘The bachelor party, which is a common feature in English social life, is unthinkable in ’France. How can men enjoy -themselves without women? M oinan is their enjoyment. It is the only cold Englishman wlio wants to leave his wile •t home,'' whilst he bauquets or plays

golf. The Frenchman’s first essays in the royal and ancient game are always accompanied by a feminine retinue; his wife, his aunt, and his mother-in-law.” — ‘•France and the French,” by Charles Dawbarn. The War Correspondent. “The war correspondent to-day, working in the interests of a great newspaper, is perhaps 'the nearest modern equivalent of the mediaeval soldier of fortune—with the added virture of being a respectable and useful member of society. Fame, money, and reputation are all secondary considerations to the real journalist, and what he does he does for his paper and for the pure joy of the game that lie plays.”—“The Cable Game,” by Stanley Washburn. How French and English Women Differ. “Homage to women of the two nations is differently expressed. To an Englishwoman of respectable upbringing there is something frightening in being followed in the street; she lias a horror of the overture. It seems to her to show a lack of resipeet, to place her on the level of the faeile, the too easily approached. It is an insult to her womanly pride, a detraction from her virtues. Not so the Frenchwoman. Homage is homage, and, though she will equally repel the stranger, she will not feel her armour propre injured thereby; on the

contrary, site will experience a secret glow of pleasure at the thought that her charms have been sufficient to evoke this unsolicited tribute of the street. To be ‘respected’ in 'the English sense would, to the Frenchwoman, appear to symbolise a want of love.”—“France and the French,” by Charles Dawbarn. Some Shaw-isms. “Gambling promises the poor what Property performs for the rich; something for nothing. That is why the bishops dare not denounce it fundamentally. “He who can, does; he who cannot, teaches.” “Beauty is all very well at first sight; but who ever looks at it when it has been in the house three days?” “People always exaggerate the value of the things they haven't got- The man with toothache 'thinks he will l>e happy when he is out of pain.” “A man’s mouth may be.shut .and his mind closed much more effectually by his knowing all about a subject than by his knowing nothing about it.” “The liar's punishment is not in the

least that he is not believed, but that he cannot believe anyone else.”

“Love is the gross exaggeration of the difference between one person and ah the resrt.”

“Each person thinks the world is progressing because it is always moving. But a pendulum moves.” “The most popular method of distributing wealth is the method of the roulette table, because it always distributes it unfairly, and we all want more than our share.”

“The British churchgoer prefers a severe preacher because he thinks a few home truths will do his neighbours no harm.”—“The G. Bernard Shaw Calendar.”

Hope as an “ Also Ran." “'Hope is an emotion one should be chary of giving way to. It is so often beaten on the post by disappointment.” “Chicane,” by Oliver Sandys. Her Raison d’Etre. “Women are just an afterthought of the Almighty. They were just stuck in to keep man in good humour- to feed him, and fetch and carry and do all the footy little things that would bother him.”-—“The Spindle.” by Elizabeth Harden. Indian Modesty. “Fifty years ago the ( liipewyans commonly went half naked. How they stood the insects I do not know, and when asked they merely grinned significantly; probably they doped themselves with grease. Their religious training, however, has had one bad effect. Inspired with horror of being ‘naked’ savages, they do not run any -sinful risks, even to take a bath. Tn all the six months I was among them I never saw an Indian’s bare arms, much less his legs.”— “The Arctic. Prairies,” by Finest Thompson Seton. Memories of Eton. “Amusing is a favourite threat of 'the famous Dr. Keate, who used to say: ‘Remembers, boys, you are to be pure in heart, or I’ll Hog yon till you are?’* —“Tloreat Fiona: Anecdotes and Memories of Eton College,” by Ralph Xevill. Leaves of Myrtle Reed. “It seems to be a settled thing that men shall do the courting before marriage, and women afterwards. Nobody writes articles on/How to Make a Wife Happy,’ and the innumerable cook-books, like an army of grasshoppers, consume and devastate the land. “To one distinct class of women men

tell all their troubles; the other class sees to it that they have plenty io ted. It'is better to be in the second category than in the first. “It saves trouble to l»<* conventio nil for you’re not always explaining thing'! Most of the startling items wv read in the newspapers are serious lajksCs fro n conventionality and good manners. “A woman may be a mystery to n man and to herself, but never 'to another woman. Then* is no concealment which is effectual when the eyes «»f another woman are fixed upon one’s small and harmless schemes. “There is no virtue in women whi h men cultivate so assiduously as forgiveness. They’ make one think that it i» very pretty and charming to forgive. It is not hygienic, however, tor the wo man who forgives easily has a great dcil of it to do. “Before marriage, a woman spends all her lite waiting for her husband. After marriage, she spends three-quarters of it in the same way. “At twenty, mon love woman: at th r ty. a woman; and at forty, women. “When we speak of a ‘Helical e sit uation’ we usually mean indelicate.” “The Myrtle Reed \ear Book.” Lost Gold Mines. “Of all the romantic tales heard if. Mexico, none are more fascinating than the stories of lost mines: of mines that were known, long before the War of Independence, to have been fabulously rich; but which have since disappeared, to gether with their Spanish owners, as. completely’ as 'though they’ never existed It is said by some that when these mines were abandoned by the Spaniards, they were effectually’ covered up; and that in many’ instances the owners died without divulging their whereabouts. Others say that to this day there are Indians living in remote places in the mountains, whose fathers worked in these very mines, and who could show them up il they’ would. There was an old super stition among the Indians. doubtless founded on the threats of their masters, that to betray’ the locality of an ancient mine would bring certain death; and in some, instances this belief still exists. Mexico abounds in old mines that were worked centuries ago; and it is not im probable that many more exist, to be discovered in the future.” -“Wandering? in Mexico,” by Wallace Gillpat rick. A Play Prophecy. The farces of the future will deal more with intellectual than with physical absurdities. F. A. Baughaif in “Th( Stage Year Book,” 1912.