The Bookshelf.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVIII, Issue 14, 2 October 1912, Page 47

The Bookshelf.

By

DELTA,

FEUILLETON. New Methuen Publications. Gif MONG the Messrs. Methuen’s / I autumn announcements we notice the following:—‘‘The *■” "*■ Shadows, or The House of Terror,” by Miss I*'. M. Hutchinson (a capital detective yarn); ‘'Nance of Manchester,” by that holiday ' writer Orme Agnus; and “A Kingdom Divided,” by David Lisle. Those readers who remember the wealth of characterisation and graphic description put into Mr. Lisle’s ‘Fainter of Souls" will be delighted to hoar that his new novel will soon reach this Dominion; indeed, will have arrived here by the time these notes appear. "A Kingdom Divided" deals largely with the life of a young clergyman, and in its pages will be found an array of startling facts connected with the march of Ritualism and the future of England. Methuen Reprints. . To. Methuen’s Popular Shilling Library lias been lately added "The Tyrant,” by Mrs. Henry de la Pasture, in which the writer presents a very realistic picture of a whole household groaning under the despotic sway of an ill-tempered tyrant, who is as weak as he is ill-tempered, and as despicable as he is both. Happily for everyone concerned, an opportunity occurs for the wife to turn the tables upon her tyrannous partner, ami the rest is placid sailing. "The Demon," by Mr. and Mrs. Williamson, the scenes of which are laid in Corsica, has also been added to this exceedingly popular selection. which contains nothing but works of standard merit. leaves from Lady Shelley's Diary. Prances, Lady Shelley, whose "Diary” lias but lately been edited by her grandson, Mr. llii-hard Edgcumbe, and issued by Mr. John Murray, was the only daughter and heiress of Thomas Winckley, of Preston, a wealthy Lancashire landowner, was born in 1787, and lived to reach the venerable age of eighty-three. She was six years old when her father died, who long before his death resented the factories-that rendered foul the air of Preston, which was largely used as a n inf ering place by many of the nobility and the leading families of that county. An anecdote illustrating his grand sense of dignity (it would be called by another name in these days) is quoted by his daughter. Due morning, on going to the fishmonger as usual to select his fish, for dinner, he found himself forestalled in the purchase of the finest turbot by a Mr. Horrocks, a cottonspinner. Whereupon Mr. Winckley vowed Preston to be no longer a place for a gentleman to live, and left that place never Io return. Mrs. Winckley was a beautiful, worldly woman, wholly devoted to pleasure, who alternately spoiled or neglected the little daughter who was to grow into such a brilliant sqciety woman. Many were the offers for Miss Winckley's hand, but Sir John Shelley, only distantly related to the poet, carried off the prize. Sir John, it is said, was a fascinating rake, a votary of the Turf and card-table, and seventeen years Miss Winckley’s senior. Lady Shelley, in her diary, refers to him as "her warm-hearted husband," and it speaks much for her innate goodness of heart that she learned to manage this wild creature, to whom she was much devoted. .'Many weary nights she sat up for him, only to learn when ho returned home that he had lost thousands of pounds during her dreary vigil. Meeting with the Dnke of Wellington. Most interesting is that -portion of Lady Shelley’s diary which describes her ineeting and her friendship with Wellington. lie was far from insensible to the attractions of a pretty woman, anil he paid her marked attention from the first. Her admiration for the Duke was very sincere, and. as Mr Edgeumbe says, "her portrait of him in 1815, as he appeared in private life, is an especially valuable contribufion to our knowledge of that, great man, of whom, in his private capacity, so little has been written.” Lady- Shelley first met the Duke in the heyday of his fame, and though nho describes his manner as formal and imposing, maintains that in essence bis

character was principally distinguishable for its simplicity. Immediately after the battle of Waterloo, the Shelleys went to Paris, where Sir John rallied upon theDuke, who returned the call “within half an hour." Lady Shelley, describing this meeting, says: “Even in thdse days Wellington, in London, was treated almost as a sovereign prince. 11 is conversations conferred distinction, his wish was law. And yet what were his former triumphs by comparison with Waterloo? Here was a man, in the very midst of his camp, only a fortnight after that battle walking unattended from his palace to call upon me the moment that he heard of my arrival in Paris! Wellington entered the room looking as simple and as obtrusive as usual. 1 must admit that my enthusiasm for this great soldier was so great that I could not utter one word; and it was with the greatest difficulty that I refrained from tears." Lady Shelley was also privileged to ride the famous Copenhagen.

Some of Wellington’s “ Sayings Many of Wellington’s sayings are recorded’ in Lady Shelley's diary. Speaking of the losses at Waterloo, the Duke said: “1 hope to Cod 1 have fought my last battle. It is a bad thing to be always fighting. While in the thick of it- I am too much occupied to think anything; but it is wretched just affei. Jt is quite impossible to think of glory. Both mind and feelings are exhausted. I am wretched even at the moment of victory, ami I always say that next to a battle lost the greatest misery is a battle gained." Wellington, as is wellknown, thought himself specially protected by Providence, but attributed his great‘success in war to his superior experience, which gave him the advantage over every other officer." “Nothing, new can happen to me," he said, ‘and 1 always feel confident that I shall succeed. The troops feel the same confidence in me. For that reason T believe that if anything had happened to me at Waterloo the battle was lost." Just before that fateful battle, Wellington was declaring this belief io Lord Uxbridge, who was soon after *‘ll it by a ball. Said fhe Duke afterwards, “It must have passed over me or my horse. But the linger of Clod was upon me.” Interesting to Lovers of Byron. Says the “Literary World”: — “ It is just a hundred years since T\vron woke up ■ to find hjinself famous, and Scott in self-defence abandoned verse for prose; and still, in the collective opinion of the European

continent, Byron ranks next to Shakespeare as an English poet. We in England do not take him quite so seriously. The Byronic pose is a thing of the past, and we cannot steadily believe that a man with a broken heart could attune his deathless despair to measures as liltingly joyous as a Mayday dance. But it is more than possible that the swing of the pendulum has taken us too far, and that we are blind to his real merits as our Continental friends are over-zeal-ous in their admiration. The Philological Society’s meetings in Bavaria furnish us with ft bibliography—‘Byroniana und Anderes’ (Erlangen: Max Mencke) —always a praiseworthy and acceptable addition to a working library, and with textual notes almost absurd in their scrupulous minuteness. An essay on Byron’s fame would be a chapter towards the psychology of nations." There are. we think, many English Byronians who will give this “Byroniana und Anderes" a cordial welcome. To rank Byron with Shakespeare is pure nonsense. But Byron lias, nevertheless, a high place in English literature, a place, it is true, grudgingly enough conceded to him by his countrymen, but which is nevertheless his right. Realism in Fiction. To hear that Jane Austen of ‘Sense and Sensibility" and "Pride and Preju-

dice" fame was the first to strike the realistic note in fiction is somewhat of a surprise to us, a feeling that may well be forgiven us since it is well over three decades since we saw those very improving novels. So that Mr. A. (*. Benson’s essay on “Realism in Fiction," which appears in a recent “CornhiH" should have constituted very interesting reading for those readers who love what may be termed the dissection of literary styles. Mere is the gist of the essay as summarised by a “Literary World" writer: Miss Austen is the fust instance in the literature of the century of the realistiu method being applied to fiction. . . . But after Miss Austen the waters of romance closed in over the head of real ism. George Eliot did. indeed, attempt a more or less realistic treatment of romantic subjects, notably in “Middlemarch." But in Mr. Thomas I lardy the pendulum swung even further back into a kind of epical solemnity and magnificence. Jn the art at least oLMr. George Moore. Mr. Wells, and Mr. Arnold Bennett, to mention but three outstanding figures, the new realism substantially develops, and seems certain to transmute our native fiction. Mr. Pierpont Morgan Again. With customary indifference, the Eng lish nation has allowed Bunyan’s copy of Foxc’s “Book of Martyrs." the sale of which was prohibited last year by the Attorney-General until he had nseer tain<*d whether the owners, the Bedford General Library, had the right of its disposal, to fall to the bid of Mr. J. Pier-

pout Morgan, who secured it for £2,000. Side by side with .this disturbing item of news conies the very pleasing announcement that “Bleak House," Broadstairs. where Dickens wrote “David Copperfield," and other novels, has been purchased by a Surrey dcK'tor for £3,000. A New Phillpotts Novel. Admirers of “The Human Boy," who were many, will be delighted to hear that Mr. Phillpotts’ latest novel is a sequel, and details the “Human Boy views of his experiences after his advent to the business world. Mr. Juhn Murray is to publish this novel, which is entitled “From the Angle of Seventeen." A New Karradeu Story. Miss Harraden writes so little and writes that little so excellently . that anything of hers receives a respectful. if not the absorbing attention won by the inimitable “Ships (hat Pass in the Night.” About her latest work, which is entitled “(hit of the Wreck I pise," there seems to be a considerable eonflirl of opinion among the critics. \ -Literary World” critic thinks that while there is an air of unreality about (his novel, it is, however, an intellectual tour de force, so much so as almost to inlluenco his view of ethical values. But that “almost" is detractory, since the said critic thinks it an attempt to whitewash a dishonour-

able and unworthy man. who makes a wreck of his own career quite gratuitously from a constitutional ability to run straight. Faithless in hive and fraudulent in business, he is supposed to atone for his evil qualities by a superficial charm of manner, peculiarly seductive to the gentler sex, and by his sympathetic attitude to the sweated classes of industrial life. More of this engaging scoundrel’s charms and fortunes we shall not disclose until we have read the book, which is shortly to reach u s . REVIEWS. Amor Vincit, A Romance of the Staffordshire Moorlands: By Nirs. K. S. Garnett. (London: Duckworth and Co. Auckland: W ildman and Arey.) Those of our readers who read “The Infamous John Friend," will not need to be reminded that Mrs. Garnett absolutely excels in characterisation over every living English novelist. “Amor Vincit " is supremely a novel of charac terisation, ami is dedicated to Swainsley, in Staffordshire, where, we presume, tho material for this very powerful story was found. The farther it would secin from th<‘ world’s metropolis the more priini tivc the passions, and the more strenuous (he life. 'I hat a woman, and usually a wmlhlcss woman, is at the bottom of most of the tragedies of lii\*. would seem to be the moral of I his profoundly moxing, human s(or a y. Richard Hollingsehmgli, of Water’s Head, Endoiu in North St rtffordshire, till- in love with

Lizzie Lomas the daughter of a retired shopkeeper, who has ventured a sufficient competency in the establishment of a silk factory in which the experiment of aniline dyeing is to be put to the test. But insufficient capital swamps Lizzie’s father, and Lizzie is forced by her parents into a marriage with Richard, while liking another man, in order to prevent the ruin of the family. Now, Rieliard is a complex character, too difficult for the butterfly Lizzie to read, and Tragedy stalks ahead from the moment of their meeting. The retaining in his house of Hannah Bonsall, Richard’s foster-mother, does but hasten the tragedy, which is played out in a year or so as regards poor Lizzie. One of the finest characterisations oif the book is Jack Beresford, Richard’s rival, in Lizzie’s affections. Blameless at first, Richard antagonises Beresford, who proves himself an arrant ruffian and a murderer in design, if not in personal execution. Another splendid characterisation is Ellen Brindley, Jack Beresford’s half-sister, and the woman who eventually makes Richard happy. But the story, which is in turn strenuous, painful, uplifting and tragic, must positively be read to be appreciated. No better novel has been published this year, and no more powerful reading of the North Staffordshire character is on record.

The Anglo-Indians : By Alice Perrin. (London: Methuen and Co. Auckland: Wildman and Arey.)

Mrs Perrin is thoroughly at home in her very realistic depiction of AngloIndian society at “Home’’ and East of Suez. Mrs Perrin is a daughter of the late General John Innes Robinson, of the Bengal Cavalry, and sister of Sir Ernest Robinson, fifth baronet of that house; married to Mr Charles Perrin, M.1.C.G., in 1880. Mr Perrin was then of the Indian Public Works service, but now holds a similar appointment under the “Home” Local Government Board. Mrs Perrin is a writer, we are Sony to say, whose work is little known out here,.though she is highly esteemed at "Home” as a writer of Anglo-Indian stories and a capable critic of anything that deals with India. "Anglo-Indians” is conspicuous by its perfect proportion, its correct atmosphere and local colour—the smartness of its dialogue and the natural realism of its incident and happening. A more finished picture of the globe-trotting bounder, who makes a lightning tour of India and then goes “Home” and abuses its Government and its society, has

rarely been presented than in the Bir Roland Curtice of this story. After accepting the boundless hospitality of the English Commissioner, whose fortunes, prosperous and otherwise, are the theme of "The Anglo-Indians,” and after paying attentions that might reasonably have been supposed to end in a proposal for the Commissioner’s eldest daughter, he seeks her with a view to paying her a final adieu. Sir Roland finds the lady in a favourite nook, and after several sentimental passages sighs profoundly and delivers himself thusly: “All the way home on board ship I shall be thinking of you, and you will be laughing and talking and riding and dancing with other men. I don't make friends very easily, and when I do the friendship means a great deal to me.” “So it does to me,” said Marion, lamely. He eaught her hand. “ Then we really are fristids

—you won’t forget me. Marion?” he said with fervour. “ No.” Marion spoke slowly, and. hating herself, returned the pressure of his hand. “ 1 won’t forget you unless you wish it.” Then this bounder, after-expatiating on the glorious times he will give her in London, to Which she responds as a girl of spirit should, places the crowning act upon his insulting behaviour by saying: " Dearest girl! Say good-bye to me kindly here, now’—Maison, give me a kiss to take with me, to remember.” To Marion’s eternal credit, she reverted to primal instinct and slapped Sir Roland’s face with vigour. Needless to say, she finally married Sir Roland to the betterment of his soul. We heartily commend "AngloIndians” to ail our readers who like natural depiction and wholesome sentiment.

Exit Eliza : By Barry Pain. ( London, New York, Toronto, and Melbourne: Cassell and Co. Auckland: Wildniun and Arey.) This, Mr Pain assures his readers, is to be the last of "Eliza,” the reason being, we assume, that Eliza henceforth is to be swallowed up in that upper-middle class limbo where humour ami humorists are not tolerated. For, says Eliza’s hus-

band, after informing his readers that he is about to be taken into partnership by his firm, “ ambition no longer has anything to offer me. In future my interests and activities will be concentrated entirely in the firm, and I shall have no time for any further record of those scenes from my domestic life on which 1 have hitherto been engaged. I can only hope, in conclusion, that the advice which they contain, and the example which they offer, may be of service in their upward career.” Which only means that Mr Pain’s irrepressible humour will break out in a new form.