LIBER'S NOTE BOOK

Dominion, Volume 11, Issue 16, 13 October 1917, Page 11

LIBER'S NOTE BOOK

To Correspondents, "L." (Slungatainoka).—(l) Amongst novels dealing with tho earlier part ol' the INtli century [ ran recommend Thackeray's "Usmoud" and' "Tho Virginians"; Egerton Castle's "Tho Bath Comedy"; Beth Ellis's "Tho Moon of JBnlh"; Booth Tarkington's "Monsieur Bcaucairc"; Stanley Weyman's "Sophia"; Hiiiliwell Siitcliffe's "Ricroft and Witlions"; Stevenson's "Kidnapped" and "(Jatriona"; Charles JieadeV "Peg Woffing.ton"; und. Bernard ' Capc.s's "Jemmy Abereraw" (all of Ihn George IF 'period). Of course, I'iflding mid Smollett arc the classics in early 18th century fiction— "Tom Jones" .and "Humphrey Clinker" represent, earh author at his best—lint laitci'dav taste may object to their coarseness. (2) Compliments appreciated, but reduction of space imperative. "C.F.W.P." (Napier).—Professor J1 organ's "Leaves from a Field Note Book" was reviewed at length in Thk Dominion when it. first-camo out. Copies were then available ut tlw Wellington bookshops. Thanks for letter. I'm Told.. "I'm Told" is the title of a neatlyprinted little book, published by Messrs. Whitcombe and Tombs this week, and 'containing collection of "stories grave and gay" told" by various 'Wellingtonians, and edited by Jliss E. AI. Butts. The book is published in aid of tho Jled Cross fluids. Miss Butts has been successful in securing many interesting stories, sketches, and verses, her list of contributors commencing with His Excellency the Governor-General and the Countess of Liverpool, and including many well-known doctors, lawyers, and leading citizens generally. A few of Hie stories may bo "chestnuts," but the great majority are not only new, but very entertaining. The little publication will, I trust, find many purchasers, who can be assured they will get good value for llio modest eighteenpence which it costs. Stevenson and the Samoan Girls. Mr. Saffroni Middleton's second book, "A Vagabond's Odyssey," is haruly et|i>al in interest to his earlier work, "Sailor and Beachcomber," but it contains 6ome interesting Rtevensoniann. On one occasion, when the wandering "sailor-trouba-doui," as the author calls himself, was in Samoa, he and a companion, <nn Amc-rican sailor, took part in a nativo wedding'festival as violinist and banjoist. "R.L.S." arrived, "with his face wreathed in smiles, and stood just inside the door talking to the natives. Outside the. hall the youths and girls began to caper about. Mr. Middletoil

When we arrived iii the' fresh air Stevenson was standing by tlie doorway smoaing. . . . Several native girls came up to us, and, laughing, seized us and invited -us to dance. The girl who had gripped hold of Stevenson was a very wild but goodlooking maid, and gazing up into his face she started io make eyes at him. Stevensou looked round laughingly, and then accepted the invitation of the Eirl to danco with him. and so off they went!.. . .Stevenson seemed delighted with himself for a little while, and then we cot too hot, and, much to the disgust of the niajds, stopped. Now I am coming to the comical part ot it all, for Stovenson's partner proceeded to make violent love to him, and the look on hiß face made it quite obvious that lie was beginning to feel uncomfortable, for he eventually walked ofT and she at once followed him! He made several attempts to get rid of her by talking to a native who stood bv. but still the girl persisted, till he suddenly walked up lo me and said: "I say, for God's sake, get her away somewhere; dance with her, do anything to attract, her attention." lat once went to tho rescue and asked her to dance. | Stevenson then left, whereupon Mr. Middlelon's partner threw her arms about my neck and began to say loving things about my boaiity . . • several ualivcs standing under the trees shaking with laughter as they watched us. By and by the novelist returned. "Has she gone?" he said. "Yes. I've got rid ot her; she's a bit wrong in her head, I answered. Then, as Stevenson came out into the open, ready to start away home, to our astonishment tho girl . . . ran acoss the grass and embraced him once more! "Well, I'm d—d!" be said, and at that moment two natives came across tho track and collared her. "The Flying Man." Soveral Home papers praise a Mttla book of poems, "Vagabond Verses, by Crosbio Garstin. Tho author has travelled much, and the vagabond spirit jinaa exposition in his verse. He is now, however, a soldier, and.some of his _ soldier «mgs" are amongst the best of ms work. Here, for instance, is a; telling liwo picture, "Tho Klying Man"; When the still shivery dawn uprolls And all the world is standing to. When young lieutenants damn our souls Because they're feeling cold and blue, The bacon's trodden in the slush, . The baecy's wet, the stove gone wrong; Then purring on tho morning's hush Wo hear his cheerful little song.

The shafts of sunshiuo strike bis wings, Tinting tlicm lino a dragon-fly. He blows to tho ghost-moon and swings Flame-coloured up tho rosy sky. Ho dips, ho darts, ho jibes, ho luffe; Like a great bee ho drones aloud; He whirls ahovo the shrapnel puffs And, laughing, ducks behind a cloud. Tho roads wo trudged with feet, of lead Tho shadows of his pinions skim: Tho river where wo piled our dead Is bu.t a silver thread to him. God of the eagle-wiDged machine What se9 you where aloft you roam? Eastward die sclilossen von BerlinWestward tho good white clifla of home." Stray Leaves, Long before America took "the plungo" and entered the Great War as a combatant for Liberty, Truth, and Justice, Great Britain had a Rood friend in Major G. H. Putnam, luad of the great publishing, firm of Putnam's Sons. Last year Major Putnam published a very entertaining book, "The Memoirs of a Publisher," from which I save, at tho time it appeared, several interesting ' quotations. Tho book has now gone into a second edition, to which the author has added a striking series of letters he contributed to the American Press on Germany and her war aims. The letters, he tells us, brought him no little abuse from the gentle "hvphenateds," one of whom denounced luni as "a withered, Englisli-fetling blockhead," and wrote: "Tho hand of a rascal like yourself, which could dare to put into print words so unworthy of the groat German people, should l>e cut off." "Which," as a writer in the English "Bookman" remarks, "is very typical of that ?reat people us we have come to know them." A friend of mine lias a weakness for collecting editions of Fitzgerald's famous version of Omar Khayyam's "liubaiyat." He lias got the costly American edition with Elihu Tedder's famous plates, and he has even a penny edition--and a very tastefully-printed book it is too. I wonder whether his amiable mania extends to the collecting of parodies or adaptations of Fitzgerald's immortal stanzas. There aro now quite a number of these .curious productions, tho first of which, if I remember rightly, was Oliver Herford's "ftubaiyat of a Persian Kitten." The latest is entitled "The Jtubaiyat of an Actor," the author being a Mr. Hugh E. Wright, who neatly adapts the cynical philosophy of Omar in a description of the tragi-comedy of tho theatrical life. Two sample stanzas run as follow:— "Myself, when young, did eaeerly frequent Chorus and Stars, and heard great Argument About it, and about; yet' Evermore Oame out with less of Oaßh than in I went. . • . Then to the Highest Star himself T criea. Asking: 'What Magic Lanip iyis Thou, to guide The struggling Actor, stumbling in tho Dark?' And hut, 'Tho great god, Fortune!' he replied."