THE BOOKMAN

Evening Post, Volume LXXXV, Issue 27, 1 February 1913, Page 13

THE BOOKMAN

NEW PUBLICATIONS

"The Red Hand of Ulster." By George A. Birmingham. London : G. Bell and Sons. Ltd. (Whitombe and Tombs.) To the purely disinterested observer — the nentral witness — all the pother in. Ulster over the Home Rule Bill seems a trifle farcical. In these tolerant days intolerance bespeaks an imperfect seriee of humour— a faculty, by the way. which by its comparative rarity in Ulster distinguishes that rebellions province from the rest of Ireland. But the present situation in Ulster is so charged with unconscious humour that the keen wits of other Irishmen could not be expected to let the opportunity pass without turning it to some lit-erarv account or other. Hence Mr. Bii'mingham's amusing skit, "The Red Hand of Ulster," which, if it does not rice to the possibilities of a permanent masterpiece of satire such as a Swift- might have found in the attitude of , Ulster, m, at any rate, a very clever burlesque, calculated to meet the present needs of the occasion. The story is put in the mouth of one Lord Kilmore of Errigal, who is writing a "History of Irish Rebellion," and includes the Rebellion of Ulster in 191 — as the last on the list.' Conroy, an American millionaire of Irish parentage, just for a bit of fun to start with and alterwards ostensibly to wreak vengeance on England for the eviction of his grandparents, supplies the riflos and the guns for the Ulstermen, who talk today of civil war, if Home Rule becomes law. The leaders of the "rebellion" ' are well sketched. There is- M'Neill, the mili-' tant don of Trinity College; Cahoon, the wealthy Belfast manufacturer, whose reiterated last word on everything is : "That's all very well, but it won't do in Belfast. We're business men" ; the Dean, who is grand chaphin to the Black Preceptory of the Orange Order ; Colonel Malcolmson. who,, with great zest, organises the pins for the military 6ide of the rebellion; and M'Cnnkey. the foreman of the Green Loaney Scutching mill, who neither drinks nor smokes, but puts all his hard-earned money into buying a machine-gun, to mow down the military trying to enforce Home Rule. The plot thickens as Conroy's rifles are distributed all over Ulster. The Government decides to proclaim the "Review" in. Belfast, and eends over a regiment of soldiers to keep the peace. At this time Babberley, the great Unionist orator, who has been talking big and urging strong measures to bluff the Government, finds that he has been taken seriously by the men of Ulster, and endeavours to counsel peace. It is too late. The "Review" is held, and the police are overpowered. The Belfast Volunteers shoot at the Regulars in the principal streets of Belfast, but their aim is so bad that nobody is hurt ,but a. woman in a side street, who is killed by a stray bullet. The regulars, by order, fire in the air. The conflict i 3 bloodless, and M'Conkey's machine gun, after wrecking two tramcars, jams. The Regulars retire in order to avoid bloodshed, but the Channel Fleet is despatched to Belfast Lough and demands the surrender of the rebels. "No surrender !" is the watchword, and one of Conroy's big guns fires at a battleship from the top of a hill. The battleship replies, and the shot knocks down Queen Victoria's statue opposite the City Hall. Then the leaders of the rebellion, after the fleet withdraws — only one shot fired — dictate terms to the representative of the Government, which Cabinet accepts, and the eptertaining extravagance of "The Red Hand of Ulster*' comes to an end. It can be recommended as a pleasant relief from the study of more orthodox Home Rule and Anti-Home Rule literature. "Confessions of Perpetua." By Alice M. Diehl. London: Stanley Paul. Perpetua is a winsome maid — somewhat hoydenish, however — who keeps a diary. The diary constitutes the book. It makes pleasant reading, and tells much in a bright attractive fashion of the life of Perpetua. She comes into the Divorce Court, poor thing, but, as she knows herself, it was inevitable, and she was in no way to blame. How she figured before that tribunal and what brought her there must be left to the authoress to tell. There are several bright passages in the "Confessions" of this sort of tiling: — "Henry, makes love exquisitely. We spent the whole afternoon in the picture gallery — I can't accustom myself to being embraced out of doors. His kisses seem to make me like people who are drunk— nicely drunk ■—oY mesmerised, or stupefied with sulphonal or chloral, or any of those things which they give you when you are pretty well mad with toothache. To be in his arms and be kissed so gently but with such a suppressed frenzy is the most delightful thing in the world. I had no idea there was anything like it anywhere, and I told him so, adding 'Will you kiss me like this after we are married?' " They are eventually married, but are soon parted by a decree nisi being made absolute, leaving Perpetua free to marry one she describes as "the beloved of my soul." The story is brightly told. " The Eecort" : a Farcical Comedy. By Gertie De S. Wentworth-James. London : G. Bells and Sons. (S. and W. Mackay). Mrs. Wentworth-Jamee, it is one of hei saving graces, iB never dull. She wields a pen with a discreet flippancy that is not exaggerated to the point of boring the- reader. Dealing with the more pronounced types of society men and women, she is amusingly cynical, and, one feels, mercilessly accurate in her delineations. This holds true for her last performance, "The Eecort." Grass widows, widows running to seed, and just plain widows, demand (tor the authoress's purpose) a well-groomed and scented elegant (male) as a substitute fo- a husband at glittering functions. Daringly, Mrs. Wentworth-James provides for Eva Shulesmith— grass widow, merely— Pauline Vaubro, an out-of-work actress, who certainly acts well and faithfully on many nerve-racking occasions. . . Each reader may provide his or her own ellipsis. A lisque subject is handled with quite excellent taste and a deftness of touch tha.t should draw patrons of light reading. The dialogue is bright and snappy, and the denouement cleverly achieved. "Pike and Carronade." By Major G. F. MacMunn, D.5.0., R.F.A. William Blackwood and Sons : Edinburgh and London. The author of "Pike and Carronade" obviously knows his India well and intimately. This volume is a collection of short stories, which have appeared from time to time in Blackwood's Magazine, the Cornhill, Temple Bar, and other monthlies. Major MacMunn posßesses a straight, vivid, and picturesque style, just a little reminiscent of Kipling. One of the most effective of an even lot of narratives is tho one- entitled " The Keys of all the Creeds," which tells how "Jowand Singh, Subahdar of Artillery, n. Sikh of the Sikhs," who had attained much honour and solid position in the Army oC India, at the end goes back to old India, to the placid wife and his milk and chapaties, with this explanation :—: — "Mankind belongs to God; And the land to the Sirkar, And power to the mighty sahibs." As far back as the encrimsoned Mutiny, Ho lar noith as the Inllmen-pcopled frontier, uud aa far down ua the bjoody

Modder. where Mothueii baffled Piet Cronjp, the author lias gone for his materials, which ho handled like a craftsman. He has a strong line in delineation, and models and locales of unusual appeal. As befit Hie work of a major of the R.F.A. , most of the stories are redolent of the atmosphere of barrack life and battle. Comment on the British administration of the great peninsula, bused on a first-hand knowledge, is pertinent, and to be remembered. IS KIPLING A POET? What are we to say of Mr. Kipling as a poet? (asks the London Spectator in a sympathetic review of his collected verse). We who love almost every verse he has sung, and love them for their faults as well as theii virtues. "But is Mr. Kipling really a poet?" bland pedantry will ask us, peering over its pince-nez. We will tell him what we think. When the question of Mr. Kipling's canonisation comes on before the special commission named by Apollo and the Muses we foresee a most telling speech from the Devil's advocate. He will be able to make point after point against the poet's claim, and in a sense all his points will be good points. Yet we are certain that when all is said and done, counsel for the aspirant will have no difficulty whatever in disposing of every one of them. He will not, we take it, trouble the Court with long argument. He will simply call Mr. William Shakespeare. After asking him in true professional form whether he is not the author of "King Lear and "Twelfth Night," he will request him to express his views on Mr. Kipling's claim. Shakespeare will, of course, "make good." We can imagine him with his native sweetness and light suggesting that possibly he ought not himself to have been canonised, but will add that, granted his canonisation was just, he does not see how Mr. Kipling's application can be refused. He will tell the Court that the aspirant, like himself, was rather a student of men and things than of books, though he will probably add that both of them tried to study words as carefully as they could. In the last resort they have this also in common — they both liked the plain man as much as the hero The Court will then interrupt the proceedings, say it does not require any more evidence, and order the immediate issue of a certificate of canonisation to "Rudyard Kipling, late of the parish of Burwash, in the county of Sussex." In a word, you can give a dozen good arguments to show that Mr. Kipling is not a poet, but only a versifier of amazing cleverness : but all the same, he is a poet, and he knows it himself, as every true poet must, and the public knows it also — when it is not puzzled by the refinements of superfine critics.