HEADERS' COLUMN.

Taranaki Daily News, 6 November 1915, Page 6

HEADERS' COLUMN.

(By James Wortley). THE SOI/DIER. ('Being one. of five sonnets collectively called "1914," by Rupert Brooke, a promising poet recently killed in action at the Dardanelles, at the early age of

27 years). If I should die, think only this of me: That there' 3 some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich dust a richer dust concealed: A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts of England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day, And laughter learnt of friends, and gentleness, For hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

NEW FICTION. "The Chronicles of the Imp," by Jeffrey Farnol, author of '"Die Amateur Gentleman," etc. London: Sampson, Low, Marston and Co., Ltd. (Per A. S. Brooker, Devon street).

"Well," he answered gravely, "my real name is Reginald Augustus, but they call me 'The Imp."' In such manner does the little "bedraggled urchin, fresh from a ducking in the river, introduce himself to our friend Dick idling at the riverside and to the reader. Mr, Farnol has given us already two masterpieces of modern fiction —"The Amateur Gentleman" and "The Money Moon," each entirely dissimilar from the other. To these he has now added a third, equally good if not better. "The Imp" is a masterly creation, which is destined, if I mistake not, to take a classic place among the child characters of English literature. This book reveals another side of the versatile author, and only in one noticeable particular, does it display kinship to his other books. This is seen in the way reference is made to the days of chivalry through "The Imp's" impersonation of the favorite characters of romance. Reginald Augustus can make lightning changes from Robin Hood to Scarlet Sam, the scourge of the South Seas. Mr. Farnol in all his writing has shown a keen regard for and interest in the fabled knights of old. For the rest "The Imp" is a delightful boy who upsets the gravity of his elders on many an occasion. As a match-maker, or shall we call it an "un:le"-maker, he is a past master. Not the least charm of the book is the very enthusiastic way in which "Uncle" Dick, with a readiness born of a love for Elizabeth, enters into the gambols of the boy. But perhaps the finest chapter in the book relates the passing of old jasper Trent, the Crimean veteran, and the return of his convict boy. "The bye Jarge," as old Jasper called him, had been sent to gaol by some unholy law that had thus marked him for a felon's career. The convict bad escaped and was in hiding near the village, and was being secretly fed by "The Imp" at the time Jasper was dying. Dick aßßists "The Imp," and the escapee is sent in to his dying father. "At last the cottage door opened and the convict came out. He did not join us at once, but remained staring away towards the river, though I saw him jerk his sleeve across his eyes more than once in his furtive, stealthy fashion, but when at last lie came up to us his face was firm and resolute. 'lb he any better?' 'Much better; he died in my arms, sir. An' now I am ready to go back. There's a police station in the village. . . . Master, I don't know who you be ) but I'm grateful to ye. . . Ye see, he died in my arms, called me 'is "bye Jarge," and said he were proud o' me, 'e did ! A man can live straight an' fair wi' a memory like .to help 'im,'" And the upshot is that "the bye Jarge" goes off to keep the old garden down in Kent and get it ready for Elizabeth's coming, counting himself passing rich upon a pound a week. We are deeply indebted to Jeffrey Farad for such a book at any time, and more especially when days are dark in this year of struggle. "Beyond the Shadow," by Joan Sutherland (Mills and Boon, per A. S. Brooker), is an account of an actor who lost his memory through an accident, and it came back again after five years. During this interval of forgetfulness he marries the wrong woman, and a whole series of untoward events take place, a very remarkable happening upon which to hang a remarkable and well-told tale, which does not end entirely to the reader's satisfaction.

NOTES. Thus the New York Times' Book Review: "One hearj very little of what is being done just now in the publishing of books in the countries of Europe oatside England." Very significant of England's effective blockade.

The selections made by twenty-eight novelists of the six best novels in the English language, and which has been conducted by a leading American paper, resulted in "Vanity Fair" being placed fiirst. No absolute majority was secured, for Thackeray's novel only got fourteen votes; "Tom Jones," by Henry Fielding, came second with eleven votes, while it is instructive to note that "David Copperfield" and "The Scarlet Letter'' tie for third place with seren votes each, or only of the total opinions secured. It is doubtful if a selection made by writers will even approximate in the slightest degree to a popular vote, just as artists frequently select pictures.from personal devotion to some pet theory of color or perspective, and entirely at variance with public taste.

Miss L. M. Montgomery, the popular Canadian author of "Anne of Green Gables," is very appreciatively noticed in the Bookman gallery for September. The Bookman, by the way, serves very admirably to clothe the names with which readers are familiar with some of the same human nature that our neighbors and townsmen hold, for we are thus able to place the various authors in their proper setting. California, the Eldorado of the roamer of fifty years since, has now got a fullsized adult history of its own. Completely eclipsing in bulk Gertrude Atherton's book of last year, the Century Company have published a five-volume work by Z. S. Eldvedge. It will be a useful authority, evidently carefully compiled, ~ the treat Pacific Stat*.