The Bookshelf.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVII, Issue 26, 26 June 1912, Page 49

The Bookshelf.

By

DELTA,

REVIEWS. The Ox and Its Kindred : G. R. Lydekker. (Methuen and Co., Ltd., London.) TOO many of us in the present century are perhaps prone to accept what the gradual evolution of time has brought us without troubling to inquire as to the origin and various influences which have been sueh important factors in development and to those interested in evolution of our domestic cattle, “The Ox and Its Kindred” must strongly appeal. After an introductory dissertation on the English name of “ox,” the book proceeds to deal with the general structure and zoological position of the species. Then follow interesting chapters on the British wild eattle and the domesticated breeds, British and Continental. The concluding chapters are devoted to describing the various species of wild cattle found in different parts of the world, hybrid eattle, ar J extinet species. The book is excellently illustrated, and should be read by every student and cattle owner who l-.sires a thorough knowledge of the sources from wkxli our present-day breeds have sprung. BITS FROM THE NEW BOOKS. Words. "There is great power in words. All the things that ever get dene in the world, good or bad, are done by words-” —“The Terrible Meek,” by diaries Rann Kennedy. Harper and Brothers. From " The Girl With the Blue Eyes.” ’'No one who is in love could ever be bored for a moment.” ■'Women rarely feel at home with each other until they have had a good' long talk about chiffons.”—-“The Girl with the Blue Eyes,” by Lady Troubridge. Mills and Boon. Shakespeare's “ Dark Lady.'” “The immortal significance of Shakespeare’s life to me, the history of his soul, is the story of his love for Mary Fitton. Till he met her at thirty-two, ! e knew little of life and less of women; through her he came to knowledge of both and to much self-knowledge. . . The conception of passion as a forcinghouse of genius is new to literature, and altogether foreign to the English mind; yet Shakespeare himself is one of the best examples of the truth. . . For twelve years he lived intensely, now in the seventh heaven of delight, now in the lowest hell of jealousy, rage and humiliation. All the experiences of joy and sorrow he turned to soul-profit.— “The Women of Shakespeare,” by Frank Ila rris. Methuen. A Love Margin. "A woman usually has a ‘love-margin.’ I.ven though she’s hurt, even though she’s heart-broken, even though, worst of all, she’s a tiny bit bored’, all her little, natural love courtesies go on just the same of their own momentum, for a day, or a week, or a month, or half n lifetime, till the love flame kindles a/am —or else goes out altogether. Love has to be like that.”—“The Sick-a-Bed Lady,” by Eleanor Abbot. Hodder and •Stoughton. The Modern Banger. If the women of the past were sometimes engrossed in trivialities, through the lack of a wide intellectual outlook, the women of to-day may be in danger of shallowness through the very multiplicity of their interests and cares, or, on the other hand, through their selfsatisfied absorption in the one person who is the centre of their lives.”— Leaves of Prose,” by Annie Matheson •with two studies by May Sinclair). •Stephen .Swift. Mt omen’s Mfays. "It is no wonder women believe in God easier than anyone else does. They can believe with so little reason in men.” A woman is a very poor creature. I think she hankers more for just love than she does for heaven. I don’t know iiow she will get on in a place where there i» neither marrying nor giving iu marriage. It’s bound to be hard on her lf the I-ord does not give her something more than a harp and a golden crown

with which to fill the aching void she is sure to have somewhere under her breast feathers.” —“A Circus Rider’s Wife,” by Corra Harris. Constable.

No Happy Medium. “ It’s so hard for a woman to become ■well known without becoming too well known.”—•” Austin’s Career,” by Violet Tweedale. Long.

Eve’s Experience. “ Every woman is as old as Eve, though some, thank heaven! are equipped wtith modern impitrvements.”—■“ Agnes of Edinburgh,’’ by M. Armour. Advice to a Lover.

“ H you want to lose your heart over a woman, or even lose your money, do it! But never lose your head.”—“Felix Christie,” by Peggy Webling. Methuen. The Necessary Bescent.

“ No woman can live on a mountaintop for more than ten minutes at a time, even with the man who loves her: she wants to-go down to the valley to shop.” —“ A Lady of Spain,” by G. B. Burgin.

From “ The New Sin.” “Folks with the gift of expression are not generally given to thinking overmuch.” " Blessed are they that owe, for they invariably live in luxury.” “ The business man is told that musical comedies are good for him. Just the thing for his poor, tired brain. It flatters him. He doesn’t in the least know what a poor, tired brain is, but it is so splendidly British to believe you have one. People simply adore being told that they are tired and weary. They feel, oh, so interesting. And off they go to the Gaiety to be cheered up. It is true that they have been in a condition of semi-hy-terical cheerfulness all dav, but that must never be admitted.” “ Envy is the easiest pain in the world to assuage if you have imagination.”— ’’The New Sin,” (a play in three acts), by Basil Macdonald Hastings. Sidgwick and Jackson. Human Labels. ” There are just three sorts of women, counting girls: Perfect deal’s, Poor dears and Persons. Men, of course, are still easier to classify, because there are only two kinds of them—nice and horrid.” — “The Guests of Hercules,” by Ci N. and A. M. Williamson. Methuen. •'There’s two kirtds of men tn this world, the men that can do things and

the men that can't —what things not particularly mattering, it’s the can that matters.”—“ Success,” by Una L. Eilberrad. Constable.

Sayings of An Alleged Snperman. _ “ Every intelligent man is an enigma to himself, and insuring that he shall be so to others is a constant delight to him.”

“ That opinions and events are either serious or humorous is a crude notion. They are both. Our lives are not either eomic or tragic, but both, at one and the same time.”

“ All strong personalities want to do something to distinguish themselves from the vulgar herd; but, unfortunately, if they go outside the limitations of their epoch, they are put under restraint as madmen. Diekens could wear bright greea trousers, because in his days doing so was not considered a proof of downright madness. But things have degenerated since then.” — “ A Superhuman in Being,” by Litchfield Woods. Stephen Swift.

Love, the Lavish. “ Love is a bold giver, when it is sure of itself and its reception.”—■“ Queen of the Guarded Mounts,” by John Cxenham. Hodder and Stoughton.

A Goad Sportsman. “ What is a sportsman? He is one who has not merely braced his muscles

and developed his endurance by the exercise of some great sport, but has in the pursuit of that exercise learnt to control his anger, to be considerate to his fellowmen, to take no mean advantage, to resent as a dishonour the very suspicion of trickery, to bear aloft a cheerful countenance under disappointment, and never to own himself defeated until the last breath is out of his body.”—“ Sportsmen and Others,” by R. C. Lehmann. Kegan Paul. Eve, the Uneducated. ” It’s a frightful handicap being born grown up, as Eve was. Any girl would have seen through that old serpent—any modern girl, anyhow. Poor Eve had no chanee; she’d had no education for her pant.”—“ Patricia Pendragon,” by E. Ward. Her Bait. “ Almost any woman who drapes herself effectively in ninon, crepe, silk, muslin or limp laee, and sits alone with a man for more than an hour, may reasonably expect a certain amount of amorous adulation.” —“ Barter,” by de fi. Wentworth James. Everett. Marriage. “Matrimony in one result of that unsatisfied longing for perfection, which in the origiu of ail religions, aud the great

majority of divorce ensee.”—“Letter* from China,” by Jay Denby. Murray ani Evenden. Genesis of a Classic. “Hardy told me that his first conception of "Tess’ was derived from a glimpse he had of a comely country lass sitting in the tail end ol a cart which rumbled past him as he was strolling along the road. Her pretty face was so sad and appealing, as it slowly disappeared from view, th.ut it haunted him many a day, and he evolved from this transient vision the story which has become an English elassie.” —‘The House of Harper,” by J. H. Harper. Idiosyncrasies of An Artist

“I never knew Henner—the French Artist —to be embarrassed. We treated him like a member of the family, and one day, wishing to make him understand that his nails were really too grimy, I asked him whether he wishe.l to wash his hands before dinner. “lie looked at his nails, understood, and quietly said: ‘I am in mourning for Alsace and Lorraine.’ ‘ißut if he were never embarrassed, he had embarrassing habits, the worst of ■which was that of examining the shoulders and arms of ladies in decollete with unperturbed insistence. And not infrequently he would say; “Allow me just one second; I want to feel the grain, the quality of your skin.' And, before the victim had time to move, he would press down his rairy and grimy forefinger on her bare arm, or even on her neck.

“Countess S., a handsome lady of the Hungarian aristocracy, who had come to Paris on her honeymoon, raved about Henncr’s art. Meeting him one day in my house, she offered to sit for the painter. Iler French was not fluent, and she meant, of course, that Henner should paint her portrait. He readily accepted, for her complexion was milky and transparent, and her hair had that glowing copper tint which he loved so mu’etu “A few days later 1 met the fair Hungarian Countess. “How is the portrait?” “ ’Don’t speak about it,’ she replied. ’Your Henner is a wretch. 1 went to his studio with my husband. Henner said to me quickly t- “Please undress.” 'Then, as if he were talking to himself, he added: “Her body stretched on the black velvet of this couth, her hair loose . . . and a dark background . . . It’s going to be a masterpiece!” My husband was mad with rage - . . At last M. Henner saw his mistake, lie had only seen n>y hair and my complexion, and hadn’t stopped to think whether 1 were a fcidy or a model.’”—“My Memoirs,” by Marguerite Steinheil. Eveleigh Nash