LITERATURE and LIFE

Otago Witness, Issue 4031, 16 June 1931, Page 64

LITERATURE and LIFE

Surely a quaint theme for a poem, but "how much is evoked from it. In Harper’s : . PAVES. By Orrick Johns; I have always an eye for the .paves. And a thought for the -feet that have trod them. The great rose travertine blocks At Pajstum where sun-bitten slaves Who laid them envied the 'flocks At noon on the Apennines. I am touched by the patience of paves, Classical, cloistral, or laic— Tiberius’ royal designs Washed by Tyrrhenian waves. And baths of Caracalla Where the grass grows between the mosaic ; Roofless, battered, betrayed. In 'the long Italian rain They lie where the artisan laid The colours that nothing can stain. I am awed by the durance of paves, Fdotnbo and rosso and granite; Under the dim gold naves Of San "Murco they ripple and roll Like sand on a low-tide shoal Or the wind-blown silk of a pool. I am consoled by the paves In crypts cut out of the stone Older than man on the planet. Forever silent and cool. I dove to walk them alone In temples and chambers and towers, Paves that are whiter than bone Or vivid as flowers; They are the soul of the stone. They are the keepers of powers. They are humility’s own. They are the works that atone, They are the last that is ours. This cry of release from the city is often expressed—-perhaps not more forcefully and simply than in “Whip and Spur (St. Louis) : -

CALL TO THE HILLS.

By Paul Southworth Bliss. You bade me come into the hills . . , Alas, I answer, no, Tor I am fettered here by ills That will not let me go. But bring to me n souvenir. Bring back -earth scent and dust, Bring back the little thrills of fear That ride the evening gust. Bring back to me the country’s might. The confidence of earth. Bright back /to me the country’s light, Its freedom and its -mirth. And one day I will go with you Far out amidst the hills; And ‘tltere by stream and stone renew All things the city kills.

AUTHORS IN CONFLICT.

Literary manners have only changed, not improved. The eighteenth century saw English literary men hurting savage pamphlets at their foes; we of to-day slap their laces, says the Literary Digest. The Dreiser-Lewis bout at a recent dinner to honour a 'visiting Russian novelist is hilarious news for the countryside. Mr Lewis declined to make a speech in the presence of Mr Dreiser who, lie alleges, plagiarised 3000 words from Mrs Lewis’s book on Russia. Two other “ objectionable ” people were present, but they took no part in the fisticuffs. When the informal hour, following the dinner, arrived, the two authors were seen in earnest conversation, which ended it two resounding -smacks delivered by Mr Dreiser on the cheek of Mr-Lewis. "So much the newspapers reported on the following day. No challenge to a duel followed; the two belligerent gentlemen departed soon afterwards for parts distant -from New York. Mr Dreiser -was reported in amiable mood in Kansas city, saying that Lewis is “ really a good fellow.” Mr Lewis, repotted by the Washington Star, said: “ I don’t like scraps—or rather scrapes. I’m just a country *hidk” living on a farm, and every time I leave it I get into trouble.” The news of the fight filtered out rather slowly—noblesse oblige—but the Brooklyn Eagle ironically charges the newspaper men present at the dinner with remissness:

“ Sinclair Lewis is the champion liter ary slapper of the country. “In his numerous books, in articles, on public, platforms, on the dias. at Stockholm, where he received the Nobel award. the red-headed creator of “ Babbitt ” has swatted left and Tight—always landing on the front pages. “Heavier, slower, hut with an even stronger punch, Theodore Dreiser has -also done his share of hitting out, and he, too, frequently lands on the front pages. “In other words, -when Theodore Dreiser slapped Sinclair Lewis, it was a smack obviously destined to be heard round the world. Mr Brisbane and Heywood Broun, who have reported prize fights and other well-known sporting events, never had a better test of their sense of news.

“ Neither of them ever had a more momentous news -story to report. Yet both of them, as well as the other editors and ox-reporters, missed their story completely. It was not until Friday after"

noon that the story reached the front pages. “It does not matter what Mr Pilnyak, the visiting Russian novelist, may think of our taste or manners. “ But what is he to think of newspaper men who could go to sleep with such a story unwritten ? ” As the news went out over the country, the reverberations varied according to local temper. The Cleveland Press read the dis-; patches “ with quickening pulse and crescent hope,” for it has felt that; “ American literary men have been living too tamely. They are out of step with their own literary tendencies.” Decorum has grown an proportion to the indecorousnes of their writing. As the Press progresses, its frenzy rises: ! “He (the literary man) goes to literary- teas in honour of some hippodromed competitor. He turns out for log-rollings. He appears at the culture •orgies of the department store book sec-. 'tions with a docility which must send Red Hanrahan and Dr Samuel Johnson, 'twittering with hysteria up and down the porphyry streets of the New Jerusalem. “ It has been a dispiriting and sometimes even a disgusting spectacle. What we have needed for many a moon is some of the critical high life to which Edgar Allan Poe treated the amiable Brahmins •of New England.

“ We are in favour of more slapping, verbal, literary, and manual. “ We want to see Dorothy- Parker pulling Edna St. Vincent Millay’s hair, and 'Carl Sandburg kicking Sherwood Anderson in the breeches, and Ernest Hemingway trading lefts and rights in the middle of the ring with William Faulkner, and we’re for having anybody in ■armls reach tweak the aristocratic nose of Richard Ilaliburton. “ What shall it profit a nation to bring forth a raw, rough crop'of real-

is'tic literature if .its authors are as nancified as a distich by Praed or Locker Lampson? It’s been getting so you couldn’t tell a game of authors from the game of old -maid. Contrast this with the cold detachment of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch: “ From our remote perch in the gallery the whole scene is a total loss. Lewis, manifestly, had no grievaaice. “To be sure, we do not know Mrs Lewis, but assuming she is a daughter of Eve, -what’s 3000 words to her? Stealing ‘3OOO words from any woman is, we should say, like filching pennies from Uncle Andrew Mellon. Reprehensible., perhaps, but a peccadillo at worst; cer-i tatnly no felony. “ Indeed, if there is one thing abovei another of which we have a; surplus it’s words on Russia. If somebody would ; steal 3,000,000 of them, they would never be missed.

“ And Theodore Dreiser, with the soil of Indiana still cluttering up his sentences, an outraged Hoosier repelling a defamer with a slap. Our prairie-bred Dostoyefsky has lost hi s punch.” Minneapolis reports, through its Tribune, sincere regrets that the fight was stopped: “ If the fight had been allowed to continue it might have developed into something of benefit to the country. “If Mr Dreiser had pulled a lucky punch on Mr Lewis, with sufficient steam behind it to have effected the retirement or the silence of Mr Lewis, his pugilistic prowess would have won him a following very much larger than his literary activities have garnered. “ If, on the other hand, Mr Lewis had crossed a right to the Dreiser jaw, thereby checking for a reasonable period the ponderous lucubrations of Mr Dreiser,

there would have 'been a general acknowledgment of a fortuitous justification of the award of the Nobel prize. “ Here was a rare opportunity, such as perhaps will not recur in a lifetime, and it was the country’s bad luck that there had to be persons present who felt it was their duty to stop the fight. ‘ Sister Carrie ’ and ‘ Elmer Gantry ’ were just starting to hang haymakers on each other, and such misguided pacifists as Heywood Broun and Cobb lumbered in between them and forced them apart, before either suffered any satisfactory damage. “As it is, both retired in perfect health, and what is more discouraging, in perfect voice. “ The world will never know whether or not Dreiser lifted 3000 words from a book written by Mrs Lewis, and we suspect its indifference will be fully equal to its ignorance. “If guilty, there is at least one thing to be said in favour of Mr Dreiser. When he is on the literary prowl, he shows at least a burglarious sense of values in that he steals his stuff from Airs and not from Mr Lewis.” Returning to Washington, we see the Evening Star solicitous for the country good reputation: “ \\ ell, it was altogether a sad situation. “ It will, of course, be reported abroad. “It will be exploited in England, where the writers are avid for evidence of American barbarity. “ It will be noted by the eminent and loquacious Mr Priestley, who is now travelling in this country, basking in the light of publicity due to some remarks of his own anent American letters. “ Perhaps it -wall be turned into literature on the other side, possibly into kinema drama, as a bit of characteristic Americanism. ‘American Authors in Fisticuffs Over Plagiarism,’ ‘Nobel Winner Slapped for Insult.’ ‘ Literary Theft in States Resented by Blow- ’ — what possibilities for head-lines and ‘ titles ’ the case affords! ”

THE NEWEST BOOKS.

TRAGEDIES 0F THE PEACE. “ The Road Back.” By Erich Maria Remarque. Translated from the German by A. W. Whecn. (Cloth; Gs.) London: G. P. Putnam’s Sons. Ltd. This book . . . will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped its shells, were destroyed by the war. Perhaps I shall never be really happy again; perhaps the war has destroyed that, and no doubt I shall always be a little inattentive and nowhere quite at home—-but I shall probably never be wholly unhappy either —for something will always be tliere to sustain me, be it merely my- own hands, or a tree, or the breathing earth.

The first sentence is from the author’s note to “ All Quiet on the Western Front.” The second extract is from the epilogue in “ The Road Back ’’-—the note of hope which adds a silver lining to a book of tragedy. Readers of this page are familiar with Herr Remarque and his widely-read first book. They will remember the shower 'of criticism which it encountered —the measure of praise and censure according to the point of view. It was a powerful book, a story which demanded to be read. “ The Road Back ” is a further -evidence of the author’s power. Like its predecessor, it will annoy some readers—certain expressions will offend sensitive ears—but its frankness and courage lift it far above its faults. It is a book which challenges post-war customs and asks us questions which must be answered—a challenge to the smug contentment ■of those who prospered during the war. It is an inspiration to -aiose who tried to do their duty at home during the war and afterwards.

While it is true that there have been too many war Books and that readers have become wearied by the products of the sensation monger and the inefficient, it is equally true that many of them have fulfilled a useful if not indeed a high purpose. It is a tribute to Herr Remarque to say, in the face of the deluge, that “ The Road Back” has a value distinctly its own. The author introduces us to the remnant of his gallant company -ill the hours when the last shots are being fired on the western front. The great silence hangs over all. “ The war is ended. In an hour we ffiiust pull -out. We need never come back here again! When we go we .go for ever.” In this hour the remnant feels a lonesomcness. It had been a terrible world, and life a burden,” and yet “There we stand, and shout’d laugh and shout for joy—and yet we have now a sick feeling in the pit of our

stomachs.” They begin to recall lost comrades, but that is too poignant. They are many indeed that lie there, though until now we have not thought it so. Hitherto we have just all remained there together, they in their graves, we in the trenches, divided only by a few handfuls of earth. They were but a little before us; daily we became less and they more, and often we have not known whether we already belonged to them or not. And sometimes, too, the shells would bring them back among us again—crumbling bones tossed up, scraps of uniforms, decayed hands, already earthy—to the noise of the drum-fire issuing once more from their buried dugouts and returning to the battle. It did not seem to us terrible; we were too near to them. But now we are going back into life and they must stay there. • • . . Again we stand still, and suddenly we know that all that yonder, that hell of terrors, that desolate corner of shell-hole land, has usurped our hearts—yes, damn it, that it should sound such slush! —it seems almost as if it had become endeared to us, a dreadful homeland, full of torment, and we simply belonged to it. We shake our heads—but whether it be the last years that remain there, or the comrades who lie there, or ail the misery. that this earth covers—there is a grief in our bones, enough to make us howl aloud. And so we march out.

The march on the road back is slow. The men are tired, and they have wounded with them. As the ’ broken army proceeds the landscape changes, and so does "the spirit. “ Suddenly I shiver The weight that nothing eased before now lifts at last. Something strange, something new flies up, a dove, a white dove. Trembling horizon, tremulous expectancy, first glimpse, presentment, hope, exaltation, imminence: Peace.” This elation is almost instantly quelled. Looking behind, comrades he on stretchers, and they cannot come on. “It is peace, yet they must die. But 1, I aln trembling with joy and am not ashamed. And that is odd.” Because none can ever wholly feel what another suffers—is that the reason why wars perpetually .recur? The first awakening to realities is conveyed in the words —“ There’s a revolution in Berlin.” “ The Kaiser’s fled to Holland.” To some this is gall and wormwood; to others a joyous consummation. There are visions of easy posts in the Soldiers’ Councils. Nearing home they come in touch with civilians. The mob assaults a wounded lieutenant because he is wearing shoulder straps. And in a way that is a foretaste of the bitterness to come. The soldiers pledge their comradeship—that they will stick together as nt the front. But inexorable time changes things. They drift apart, swallowed up in diverse interests. Some marry and others die. Civilians do not understand these war-tired men, and the men do not even understand their own mothers, wives, or sweethearts. Poverty stalks abroad. The men try to start where they left off—some even go to school. Many go down in the struggle. It is very harrowing, and the author’s pen makes it liorribly convincing. Noth ing but the book itself can convey the realism of it all to the reader. It grips, repels, and fascinates all at once. Then comes the epilogue—the ray of hope. One part of my life was given over to destruction; it belonged to hate, to enmity, to killing. But life remained in me, And 'that in itself 'is enough, *of itself almost a purpose and a way. I will work in myself and be ready; I will bestir my bands and my thoughts. I will not "take myself very seriously, nor push on_ when sometimes I should like to be still. There are many things to be built and almost everything to repair; it is enough that I work to dig out what was buried during the years of shells and machine-guns. Not everyone need be a pioneer—there is employ- ■ ment for feebler hands, lesser powers. It is there I mean to look for my I place. Then the dead will be silenced; and the past not pursue -me any more—• it will assist me instead. HUMAN HUMOUR. ; “ Honoured Sir—from Babujee.” (Cloth;: 3s 6d net.) London: Philip Allan j and Co., Ltd. De copartnership heretofore reristing between me and Mose is hereby resolved. Dem what owe de firm will settle with me and tern what the firm owes will settle with Mose.

In these letters and trifles from the tropics there is humour, pathos, and tragedy. Here language is not used to conceal thought but to express it, and it is in such expressions that the compiler has found the gems which comprise the book. The compiler vouches for the genuineness of these “ Babu ” extracts. He points, out that everyone who has had experience of native employees, or of business dealings with overseas, knows the wholesome fun to be had from letters. The gems go round a limited circle and are then destroyed. This collection preserves a . choice selection. They are original and varied—letters, intimations, public signs, and advertisements. The following were received by the superintendent of a hospital for Indian women: Dear She. My wife has returned from Hospital cured. Provided males are allowed nt your Bungalow, I would like to do you the honour of presenting myself there this afternoon, but I will not try to repay you. Vengeance -belongeth unto God. Yours noticeably. Dear and Fair Madame, I have much pleasure to inform you that my dearly unfortunate wife irill

no longer be under your kind treatment. She having left this world for the other on the night of the 27th ult. -tor your help in this matter I shall ever remain greatful. Yours reverently. From an Indian native doctor to a', manufacture of roofing felt: T-shall be thankful if yo will kindlysend me the free sample to the following address. If it will be used hard' bottles° r CarS ° f service 1 can g et four .* * * Shop sign in Seoul, Korea: J- K. Blank—Bread Baker. Ihe best loafer, in Town. * * Apology from a Chinese dairy to> clients: X erj sory. No milk. Oxes gone sick. Great Dairy. Cows Milked and re-tailed. * ¥ . e . rti sement of -forwarding agencyin Tokio: o o j Hand your luggage to us. W e willl send it in all directions. V' Report found by doctor who had left, native assistant rn charge of serious case t lion’ 111 ” -Patient in low-degree. a ™; : Patient in the sink. n.: Patient on the flit. 12.5 p.m.: Patient flut. # W q; i j Se - a ‘ e . ? f ew of tlle many gems included m this unique volume. light love. “Go Marry.” By Brendon Williams. (Ciotli; 65.) London: Chatto and V nidus, Ltd. “Many a girl can do with your job who has to keep herself .... “ I know I’m pin-money. But why shouldn’t I be ? The money’s useful to me, even though it isn’t essential. And if I want a career, even a temporary one. I've as much right to sell my services as ( anybody-. Why isn’t the question. “ That's sound. ... If s he can get a job, she’s entitled to take it.”

This and much more, some of which is very different, is an extract from tile conversation between three typists enin a London importing house. Joe, Vera, and Jerry form a trio of adventurous girls who take everything in their Very sweeping stride. *The °book opens with Joe and Jerry in lodgings, generally short of funds on pay day’ Y e F a i 3. nofc compelled to work for a living in the world of working women she is “ pin-money.” Being “ fed up ” with home discipline, she decides to “lay claim to her -individuality,” and with her -allies she indulges in escapades which are foreign to her former method of living. Included in her short experience of seeing life is a week-end at Maidenhead in company with Joe and Jerry and three men, Vera’s allotment being a wealthy business man whose wife is absent on a visit to Le Touquet. The arrangements are unusual and are productive of some surprises. Neither are matters for elaboration here, and those who like this kind of fiction must read for themselves. The only redeeming feature in the book from a literary point of view is Jerry’s narration of frank dialogue. A good deal of that is much too outspoken for average readers, and if this writer was asked wliat is the purpose of such books lie would have to suggest that the answer might be given by those who prefer this kind of book. It is possible, of course, iffiat “Go Marry” has no more purpose as a book than the injunction or even obedience to it has in the lives of some moderns of the hour. TWO DOLPHIN ROOKS. “ The Only Penitent.” By T. F. Powys; “Breast.” By -Samuel Beckett. (Each, cloth,; 2s net.) London.: Chatto and Windus (The Dolphin Books). The above two are ■numbers -5 and 7 respectively of Messrs Chatto and Windus’s interesting Dolphin library, q collection -of books rapidly growing in fame and favour on account of their agreeable format, handy size, and excellent contents. “ The Only Penitent ” is a typical T. F. Powys story. Again we have the parson with his simplicity, innocence, and Christ-like attitude to men; again the rustics with their uncontrolled and yet also innocent appetites. As usual, there is much opep talk of things not generally spoken about, and. as usual, through everything a haunting beauty reminiscent of Arcadia and Eden. The story is short but exquisitely told—a piquant, provocative -thing. The Rev. Hayhoe is -the parson. After watching a frog, a weasel, and a rook, he decides that God has ordained him to hear the confessions of his fellowmen, and hopefully sets up in church a confessional to which nobody comes, Finally, however, a tinker arrives with something to confess. The book ends on a note as bright as the lightning flash which takes place at the close o*f the tinker’s words. “ Proust ” is somewhat disappointing in that it is too clever to be read profitably. Mr Beckett takes it for granted that his readers know not only

all about Proust, but also about what Mr Beckett himself has to say regarding him, the result being a very witty, sparkling, and diverting essay, but one in which there is more icing than cake. This is a pity, for when he chooses to offer cake as well as icing, Mr Beckett’s cake is of a nourishing and fruity consistency worthy of attention. One such slice has to do with Proust’s conception of time, always a diverting subject, and here treated fairly fully. From the layman’s point of view the essay could have been simpler and more concise without losing any of its worth. From the point of view of the connoisseur it is a pleasing piece of writing, amusing rather than instructing. ART IN NEW ZEALAND. With the June number it is possible to feel that Art in New Zealand has now established itself so firmly as a magazine representative not only of the Dominion, but of the Dominion’s best, that its place is absolutely assured. Here is a publication with an aim as high as it is practicable—the presentation of works of art, original stories, play, poems, essays, and articles of general interest written with distinction and authority by New Zealanders both known and unknown. Its reproductions are well done, its prose and poetry are of a very high standard. This the June number brings out prominently. There are four illustrations in colour and 18 in black and white. Among the coloured plates H. M. Gore, Archibald F. Nicoll, d’Auvergne Boxall, and the late Rhona Haszard are represented, the painting of the last being a vivid patchwork-like piece entitled “ The Sea and the Bay.” Of the black and white pictures, seven pages deal with the Canterbury Society of Arts annual exhibition. The literary matter includes an interview with Christopher Perkins on “ The Temple of the Muses,” verses by Dora Hagemeyer and John Dene, articles by Dora Wilcox (“My Valley”), Donald J. Cowie (“Afternoon of an Artist”), William Moore (“Local Drama”), Alan Mulgan (“Edith Searle Grossmann, Pioneer”), Prester John (“Slim Volumes of Verse”), Walter Fell (“Pioneer Work of H. M. Gore”), d’Auvergne Boxall (“The Canterbury Society of Arts Exhibition ”), and Russell Reeve (“London Letter”). “Artificers in Precious Metal ” is another article, and “ The Pearl of Great Price,” a story by Helena Henderson. The magazine gives a general impression of prosperity and well-being, and reflects credit on its publishers—Messrs Harry H. Tombs, Ltd.

BOOKS ANO BOOKMEN

Lady Gwendolen Cecil has completed the third and fourth volumes of her life of Lord Salisbury. These will bring the book up to about 1890.

Mr Benn W. Levy, the author of “ This Woman Business,” ' “Art and Mrs Bottle,” and other popular plays, is going to America to write a .series of scenarios for talking films.

“ The Doctrines of the Christian Faith,” by Dr Sydney Cave, principal of Cheshunt College, Cambridge, is to be published shortly.

Mr J. Wesley Bready’s recentlypublished book on “ Doctor Barnardo ” is being translated into German and Spanish.

Mr Lytton Strachey’s new book of biographical essays, “Portraits in Miniature,” was published last month.

Miss Jane Lindsay is the author of a recently-published novel entitled “ Sweet Virgin.” Her first novel, “ Trip No Further,” appeared about a year ago.

Before she began to write her first novel, “ Fancy’s Followers,” in May. 1930, Miss Jennifer Davies had tried a number of occupations, including that of actress and artist’s model. At present she is learning Russian preparatory to a tour of that country.

The third volume of Demosthenes, edited by W. Rennie, will shortly be issued. This completes the Oxford Demosthenes, the first volume of which appeared in 1903.

Miss Jeanne de Casalis, the actress, is to publish a volume of short stories in the spring. This will be her first book, although two years ago she and her husband, Mr Colin Clive, wrote and produced a play entitled “ Let’s Leave It At That.”

One learns from the Dickensian that the Swiss Chalet in which Dickens wrote many of his books when it stood in his garden at Gad’s Hill has recently been carefully restored. At present it is in the grounds of Cobham Park.

“ A Bibliography of Cervantes,” by J. D. M. Ford, is announced. Running to 546 pages, it includes critical and biographical studies, as well as the works themselves, both in their original text and in translation.

Pocket editions of old favourites are always welcome, especially when thex are slim enough to be slipped comfort ably into the pocket. Stanley Weyman’s

last delightful romance, “ The Lively Peggy?’ is now issued in such a form.

Miss Lucy G. Moberly, who has died in London at the age of 70, was one of the most prolific authors of her day. She wrote nearly 60 novels and many short stories. She completed a new book a few days before her death.

A book entitled “Did Homer Live?” translated by Brian Rhys from the French of M. Victor Berard, a scholar who is also President of the Committee for Foreign Affairs in the French Senate, will shortly appear.

It is reported from Toronto that a library found in the Hudson’s Bay territory contains hundreds of valuable books accumulated by traders during the last 200 years. Among the volumes are said to be first editions of the “ Pickwick Papers ” and of Boswell’s “ Life of Johnson.”

A book by C. V. Deane, entitled “ Dramatic Theory and the Rhymed Heroic Play ” is nearly ready. The author’s purpose has been to determine how far the heroic play observed the neo-classic rules of the drama.

A cheap edition of “The Future of Christianity,” Sir James Marchant’s collection of essays by various prominent theological writers, is announced. The Right Rev. A. C. Headlam, Bishop of Gloucester, writes the introduction. Dean Inge, when the book first appeared, reviewed it enthusiastically.

A diary kept by R. L. Stevenson’s nurse, Alison Cunningham (“Cummy”) has been presented to the Stevenson Museum at Edinburgh. The diary records a Continental tour made with the Stevenson family when “R. L. S.” was 12. He was only 18 months old when she was engaged as his nurse.

A new edition to the Wisdom of the East series is “ The Harvest of Leisure,” a delightful volume of and recollects grave and gay, written 600 years ago by Kenko, the hermit-monk of the Hills of Storm, and translated to-day by Ryukiehi Kurata, himself a Buddhist monk.

Besieged by Arab rebels and rescued at the last moment by aeroplanes, Mr Bertrand Thomas (who has recently made a crossing of the desert of South Arabia) has lived to tell the story. “ Alarms and Excursions in Arabia ” is the record of his experiences while acting as Political Officer in the Near East.

There are to be issued immediately “ Portrait Sculpture in South India,” by T. G. Aravamuthan, with foreword by Dr Ananda K. Comaraswamy; “ Gujarati Painting in the Fifteenth Century,” by N. C. Mehta, 1.C.5.; and “ The Brothers ” (from the Bengali of Taraknath Ganguli), by Edward Thompson.

Captain A. O. Pollard, V.C., who has written a new novel, entitled “Rum Alley,” is a. qualified airman, and lectures on aerial navigation. He won his Victoria Cross in 1917, when with onlv four men with bombs he started a counter-attack after a German advance. Recently he became secretary of the newly-formed Victoria Cross Remembrance Fund.

“ New Discoveries Relating to the Antiquity of Man,” by Sir Arthur Keith will shortly be published. Chrpters are devoted to recent finds in all parts of the world. A special section is devoted to the evolution of the human brain, as revealed by casts made from fossil skulls.

PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED.

Full directions to knit the latest designs in jumpers, pull-overs, tennis soeks, berets, etc., are now made available by the popular woman’s monthly, Everylady’s Journal. Here is the list:—“ Fair Isle ” pull-over, a delightful design supplied exclusively by the leading makers of quality wool; lady’s jumper, beret, and scarf, featured by one of the great city shops; and directions to knit a cosy, and also embroider in wool a pair of gloves. The magazine also has four patterns enclosed, and the beginning of an exciting mystery romance by Joseph Hocking.

The May number of the New Zealand Railways Magazine has the following outstanding articles in its table of contents:—“Control of the Railways,” “ World Affairs,” “ Napier’s Westshore Bridge, ’ “ Unique Model Railway,” “ Sixty-Seven Years of Railway Progress at Auckland,” “Surveying in Relation to Railway Engineering,” “ Enchanting Kororareka,” and “The Railways and the Earthquake.”

“ Chapters from My Hectic Life,” a new series of articles by Francis Birtles, begins in the June number of Life and makes novel reading. “ Pursuit,” a dramatic serial by Roland Pertwee, and “ The Pendulum,” a striking piece of writing by Charles Nuttall, are two other outstanding features in a magazine which prides itself on being absolutely up to date and in which such pride is justified.

“ The Humanitv of Burns,” by the Hon. James Craigie, published under the

auspices of the Wellington Burns Club by the New Zealand Scotsman, contains two pictures of Burns, one of Burns’s mother and one of the author, and is a very pleasing publication, being the substance of a lecture delivered by the author at the inaugural meeting of the Wellington Burns Club. The address is of an informative nature, interestingly told, and interspersed with some of the poet’s most popular verses. It is priced at 6d in a limited edition.

The popular monthly magazine Aussie has just reached us. One big feature entitled “ Are New Zealand Writers Quotable? ” has caused considerable interest, and the second batch of quotations, together with the name of the winner of the one guinea prize, is printed in this month’s issue. Air Victor S. Lloyd, now a regular contributor of humorous reminiscences and original stories, has excelled himself in his article on “An Examination Paper.” Ken Alexander’s page in this issue is full of surprises bursting with brightness. °

Edith Collins’s beautiful cover design of two girls with a dove prepares the reader of the June number of the Home, “the Australian Journal of Quality,” for a veritable galaxy of pretty women, the magazine being devoted to the result of the social photograph competition. The pleasure of looking at the winning, competitors is mingled with admiration for the exquisite wav in which their photographs have been reproduced. This is indeed a “ lovely girl ” number, and one to be honoured on that account. There are in addition to the competition pictures several fashion, film, and social studies, as well as some interesting reading matter. This latter includes a story by Mvra Alorris and articles on theatres, bridge books, houses, jmd gardens, as well as others of an equally diverting type.