THE READERS' COLUMN.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LVII, Issue 154, 5 December 1914, Page 6

THE READERS' COLUMN.

(By James Wortley.) j THE DAILY TELEGRAPH WAR i BOOKS. "'The Fleets at War,"' by .Archibald Hurd. •"How the War Began," by J. M. Kennedy, London: Hoddcr and' Stoughton. Keenly as many feel about tile war,, it is difficult to avoid reading wearisome repetitions of news, and of opinions scattered amongst the mass of reading matter in newspapers, magazines, text books, and general literature. It Is a re-" lief, therefore, to find a series of little works like the "Daily Telegraph" warbooks, which assemble and classify for us, practically everything that can be known to date of the war's progress. In my last reader's column, I referred to Jack's little volume on the navy, In "Tho l' ieoti_ at War,' much of 111;- information's tabulated in a concise manner. To this is added chapters contrasting the relative strength of the opposing fleets, ror instance, it gives detail description of each class of boat, the displacement, gnu strength, and engine power of the British, French, German, jluitrian and Japanese fleets. Other chapters cover the British Navy, the German Navy, Admiral Jellicoe, the Kiel Canal, Gorman naval bases,, etc., and f.how clearly, the extensive grip the English naval authorities have ' of the forces arrayed with and against them. In "How the War Began," is embodied the official communications between the various governments concerned in the the berajevo tragedy—the peg upon wjyicn the whole German machinations were hung—we are led through a, mass of diplomatic "situations" to the culminating declaration of war. THE NOVEL OF THE HOT*;;. "Tile Clean Hwfc," bv A. R, y cbinson, author of "The * %>mv ' Warrior." ~ 1 Mr Hutchinson's books might be cali od "The Happy Warrior" series, for lie lias created a type of character which, his novel proceeds, is in process of being tried and refined, and purified, tinhave in th® hero a thoroughly i!" selfish and undeniably purified man. who illuminates the page. Such wc have in Mr Wriford. To begin, he is "Mr" right through. We never get into that intimate footing, whereon we mi«ht say Bill, or Jack, or Harry. ° It is not altogether a new idea that in all his wanderings, Mr Wriford should have that other .and better self following at his elbow, to mock at his evil, and endeavour to ahame hi 3 back to that truer sciif. Now to the at.ory/ Mr AVriford is suffering from a general nervous breakdown, due to brtun fag by long and arduous work on a newspaper, grinding out smart and catchy articles with time-table exactitude

from loss or Winery, lie escapes suicide to become $ countrv tramp like Puddlcbox.

Puddlebox 'is of that genua gaum;, and is described a3 a pear-shaped gentleman of tattered appearance. Ho is agile for one of his girth, and we meet him nrst in jolly mood by the roadside enjoying a large jiiece of bread and cold sausage. The wandering Wriford wandera many a mile with tJio professional tramp Puddlebox, and they enjoy life together for montli3. At last Mr V/rilord co;r.(is to settle down as ail assistant in a country school and lodges with a homely family of Bicker's. Elsie, the daughter, is altogether desirable, and in her simple way is frankly pleased when tjie new lodger walks out with her for the first time.

Here, in the homely family of the village plumber, tne orilliant writer coinc3 to himself. Iu a condescending manner he first makes love to Elsie, but the Genuine nature of her- fine character," refuses to be moulded to his wav, and it is by coming to a knowledge of himself as he really is, that Wriford finds his .letter self. Elsie suffers in the transition but readers will nevertheless find the finale quite Satisfactory. LONDON HUMOPi. '' •"Night Watches," by W. W. Jacobs, London, Hodder and Stoughtou. Mr Jacobs' fertile brain is surely a porrenial fountain of laughter producing stories. The waterside humour of London, which the writer has made his own particular domain, is rich in possibilities for making much merriment. In this Ins latest book of stories, 3F- Jacobs shows no falling off from the h%h standard set by his earlier works. "The Understudy" is a particularly line dog story. _ "Easy Money" and the "Weaker » are among the best of many very good tales which fill a book of some 250 pages. "The War Mother," by James J. Montague. This beautiful poem will strike many an answering chord in the ftrtiast of mothers of every land. Do the wouldbe war lords of the earth take council with these when proposing the death and destruction that is laying waste tlio spring of life at this time?

I hear the bands go marching by; I hear the marching feet; All day they drown their dreadful dirge along the dusty street. I hear the crowd give cheer on cheer or fierce delirious joy; Aiid wonder if they, sec him there, my little, little boy. A baby only yesterday, with soft and sunny hair, So helpless and so inocent, so fragile and so fair! So helpless and so innocent, so fragile sheltered in my arm, So strong, I felt to shield him then, safe

|it seemed to mc the 1 whole wide world ■ could never do him harm. > And oh! The long, long nights I watch - i ed beside his trundle bed, . 1 To fight away the pain that racked his \ little fevered head! I fought his battles for him then; he leaves my side to-day, I To light far greater ones alone, and oh! ! bo far away.

The dimpled hand that lay so trustingly in mine, iMust grasp a' rifle barrel soon along the firing line. My baby boy I held so close I felt his fluttering breath, Has left mc empty armed, and gone \. to see the face of death. | And never mother'-.! voice to soothe, nor mother's arm to shield, ' From all the direful perils of the smokej hung battlefield!

Oh! Why must mothers stay behind? Is not a mother's place Beside the baby that must look in death's remorseless face ? • The years have wrought a change in him that only others see— For all Ilia soldier's uniform, he's still I a boy to me. Sent forth to kill, nor reason why, grim war's insensate toy, While I must wait and pray at home—my baby, baby boy. —Nash's Magazine. , *Books supplied for review by A. S. Brooker, B.K. Bookshop, Devon street.