LIBER'S NOTEBOOK.

Dominion, Volume 7, Issue 2150, 16 May 1914, Page 9

LIBER'S NOTEBOOK.

The ovcr-iiicrc t>ing estimation in which The Dominion's literary page is held by English and . American publishers is proved by the increasing number of books sent to this journal for review. This week, besides several works of fiction, I have to acknowledge copies of Caton Woodville's "Random Recollections," and "Melton and Homespun," by J. M. Durham ("Marshman"), and It. J. Richardson (both from G. Bell and Sons, per' Whitcombe and Tombs); "Tho Speaker of the House," by Michael Maedonagh, and "Minute Animal Parasites," by H. B. Fantham and A. Porter (Methuoii and Co.), and "The Life of C'esare Borgia," by Rafael Sabatini (Stanley, Paul and Co.). 'Reviews will follow in due course.

\ A well-meaning correspondent ("K.S.W.") mildly reprimands me for certain misprints wliich have, it appears, crept into recent contributions by "Liber." When, however, I tell "K.S.W." that the Literary Page articles for the last three Saturdays have been written on railway trainsj steamers, and in noisy hotel smoking-rooms, and that even the most patient compositor or most capable reader is often baffled by . "Liber's" eccentric calligraphy, -:he will understand. Comprendre; e'est tout pardouner! This week's articles have been written mainly in bed. To fight the bronchitis fiend, arid keep faith with one's editor is not so easy as it may seem, and I apologise in advance for any errors of omission or< commission which "K.S.W." or other readers may detect in this week's page. lam rather proud of having ''muddled through," as the latter-day Englishman is wont to remark, when his country gets into and out of a tight cornery and having kept faith with ,my editor, and my regular readers. I confess to absolute indifference to any captious criticism of trumpery mistakes or misprints.

Those who can road French should note the appearance, in the Collection Nelson, of another volume, ".La Cagnotte et Autres Comedies," by that witty French playwright, Eugene Labiefce. The onl.y grumble 1 have against the series is the delicate (cream) coloured binding. The volumes cot'so speedily soiled. Also, some , of tho volumes "come undone," as children say, of their dolls..

Do you read in bed? I don't mean when you arc laid up with the "flue," or aimilar abomination, which involves a 'temporary sojourn in blanketland, but regularly?.. In my far-away bachelor days I read every night—aye, alas, and smoked ■■■ withal —but although I have long ago given up both habits, • I know that the-, bedreading brigade is fairly numerous. Even some of my married friends boldly avow ,the practice . I'"or their benefit, I:signal the appearance of "The BedBook of Happiness," which the- author, ' : bf'■compiler, Mr;. Begbioy, : d.e-i us a "Colligation or' , Assemblage ! of Cheerful Writings" brought together from many quarters into'this one com-' Dass for the diversion of thoso who lie :&bed. a friend to ;tha invalid, a comuauioii to tho sleepless, an excuse to. the tired." 1 could wish I had Mr. Begbie's compilation by mo this iveek,: but perhaps I should have been disappointed, for Mr. Begbie is,'as a rule, far too much of a professional moralist' for me; and, in any case, a book of "snippets," .however well done, rarely appeals to me.' Personally,- were I; condemned by some horribly conscientious medico to a fortnight in bed, I think 1 should seriously tackle some such "SQfld solid" stuff, such 'as Gibbon or Boswell's Johnson, sandwiching in between big doses of either work some such i-light and airy and amusing—if not exactly edifying book as a volume of Casanova's Memoirs, one of tho most amusing of Mrs. Grundy-dcfying books ever written. Just recently, my bed-reading experience has been in accordance with the call of a reviewer's duty. But as a spell from "duty-reading," I found small doses of Stevenson's "Virginibus Pucrisque," and, oh, what a contrast!—Wilkie Collins's "Woman in White"—to afford delightful solace. Somo of these days we must have- a long gossip on bed-side books. Thackeray, if you remember, swore by "Howell's Letters." I possess a copy, but as Mr. Silas Wegg said of the "Decline and Fall": "I haven't been right through him lately.'' But enough for to-day on this alluring subject. When I see Mr. Begbie's book I will tell you his particular "tips."

Local booksellers have received tho second batch of Messrs. Dent and Co.'s "Wayfarer's Library." Tho most attractive of tho dozen titles are: Conrad's "Twixt Land and Sea," Hardy's "Und6r the Greenwood Tree,".A. G. Gardner's lino studies in contemporary biography ("Prophets, Priests, and Kings"), .and Richard Jefferios' "The Open Air." In tho third series, duo in July, I notice Richard Whiting's "No. 5 John Street," Hugh. Walpole's '"Tho Wooden Horse," Frank Stockton's "Rudder. Grange," "Selected Essays," by Austin Dobson, and "The Brontes and Their Circle," by Clement Shorter. Wiso bookmen will order early from this "feast of fifteenpennies." .

To most Englishmen, even to many who are fairly well versed in French litorature, the namo of Frederic Mistral,, tho Provencal poet, who died late in March last, at tho ripo old age of eight-four, may not mean very much. For Mistral wrote in.the patois of Provence, which is a. corruption of'.the. Low Latin or Lingua Romana, spoken generally in Gaul, at tho time of the barbarian invasion. Those who liavo mastered' tho l'rovencial tongue, and liavo read Mistral's work, speak in high praiso of its' graceful beauty. The "Times" reviewer is right when he says that Mistral's fame is as inseparable from his own country as that of Ronsard or Joachim du Bollay from the Valley of tho Loire. "Liber" can'well remember, when, , being then a youth living in a Northern French town, a companion—from the Midi —kept him up half the , night alternately reciting , "bits" from "Mireio," and translating tho same into present-day French for the benefit of a curious son or Albion. Some years ago Fisher Unwin published an English version of Mistral's greatest poem, "Mireio," by a lady named, I think, Harriett Preston. I fancy tho book is now out of print.

Writing in tho "Cornhiil Magazine" upon some'of tho departed members of Hid ".Punch" staff, Sir Henry Lucy refers to Phil May as follows:—"A flood of light is .thrown on his constitutional habits by a cynical remark of an old frioml present at the funeral. 'Phil,' he saicl, 'with nil his faults, was too good a fellow to go 'anywhere but to heaven. All the same, it'll be a bitter disappointment'to the other place. Tho first thing ho would hare done- oil arrival would have been to stand' drinks all round. ■ And you knew they ■ 6orely ■need the-refreshment. , "'