AMONG BOOKS, AND BOOKMEN.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3315, 6 September 1911, Page 8

AMONG BOOKS, AND BOOKMEN.

By “Scriptoria.”

THE JULY “BOOKMAN.”

This month’s number offers an interesting series of reminiscences of the fate Sir W. S. Gilbert. Most of them are by wall-lcniowni actors and actresses who were associated with him ini the productions of his famous operas, and they throw much light on bis kindly and whimsical: personalitv. It must not be forgotten that Sir W. S. Gilbert’s name will always be as lovingly remembered as that of the autlior of the .delightful “Bab” ballads as that of tho author of ‘Pinafore.’ These, with their their illustrations, form one of our great storehouses of genuine humour. Shall we ever forget “The Yam of the Nanm- Bell,” for instance, whose lugubirous refrain has a persistency in sticking to one’s brain that is sometimes really annoying? Or “The Modest Couple,” or any of them for that matter? They are as haunting as the melodies of Gilbert’s fellow-worker. Sullian. The question as to whether the popularity of the Gilbert and Sullivan operas is due more to the libretto than the music will always form an interesting subject of discussion ; hut undoubtedly the best way to end the argument is to say, and rightly so., that one could not possibly have been successful without the other. This number also contains interesting articles on “Wagner’s Confessions,” by Dr William Barrv. and “Thomas Hardy,” hv Thomas Seecombe. The latter remarks with' regard to Hardy, “There are masters and masters still among_us. To one school, almost a generation, Kipling stands for the Artist, with a capital, some hail Wells, others Slxaw, as It abb i, nor docs Gertrude Atherton probably stand alone in addressing (or even dedicating to) Henry James. as “The Master,” but to most of us mere English, at any rate, since Meredith and Swinburne have passed away, Thos. Hardy is surely the head Master of Letters.” Well spoken, truly! And I, « s one of the “mere English,” hasten to add my humble, though hearty, support to this verdict of one of our greatest critics. The July number is, as usual, beautifullv illustrated, the supplement being an excellent photographic reproduction of Sir W. S. Gilbert in his study. These “Bookmen” supplements are treasures in themselves, and there is not one that does not deserve a frame. What better decoration for library or study than these beautiful presentations of famous men!

“The Silent Rancher”: Gertrude Page. (London: Hurst and Blackett. Gisborne: A. A. Fromm.) “Winding Paths”: Gertrude Page. (Sydney: William Dymcck: Gisborne: A". A. Fromm.) There is probably none among the new authors whose work is being more widely read than Gertrude Page. The fact- of having two new books of hers to roviow onoe speaks mudli for her popularity. It would perhaps be better, however, if she would write less. “The Silent Rancher” is distinctly crood in fact, all her delineations of Rhodesian life are well above the ordinaiv hut “Winding Paths,” which confines itself to a somewhat Bohemian (or would-be Bohemian) section of London societv. falls rather flat. Miss Pa<r e (or is'it Mrs?) thoroughly understands Rhodesian life, and her simple little love-story, most of which has its scene laid within sound and sight ot the famous Victoria Falls, is unfailingly interesting and remarkably well-writ-ten But besides the story, there are man''* interesting sidelights on Rhodesian life and affairs generally. One cannot help wonderin' for instance, whether the portrait (or rather sketch) of Sir Henry Mahon is drawn frm me. It is hoped 'not, but it is almost to be feared that it is, since the author dwells on his character with much force and emphasis. There are of course very weak points in the book, but that is natural in a young author, and Miss Page’s work shows so much promise that it is not hard to overlook them. If she will confine herself to Rhoaesia a country that she knows thoroughly’ ’ there seems no 'reason why she should not identify herself with it as Flora Annie Steel lias become identified with India, and Olive Schreiner with another part of Africa. T\md;v Paths,” though a much longer and more ambitious book, seems rather unreal after “The Silent Rancher and its gaiety is a litle forced. Still it s a very pleasant and readable story and, while it does not add much to its author’s fame, it certainly takes nothing frpm it. ,r j “His Hour”: Elinor Glyn. (London: Duckworth; Gisborne: A. A. Fromm. There are some authors whose v oiks I have solemnly voiced neither to read nor to review. It seems hardly fan to mention names, as who knows but that they may he the idols of many readers’ Wl Still I feel safe in confessing that Mane Corelli is one. Elinor Glyn was another hut I read “His Hour,” hoping to find that she had perhaps amended her ways, hut firmly prepared to be much displeased. However, I must admit that this, her latest hook, is an improvement on some of the others, particularly as she has not written it with the evident intention or shacking as many as possible. in tact it is a really clever little story, though the episode where the very extraordinary young hero tricks the heroine into the marriage is certainly undesirable, and could! surely have been omitted, it was entirely unnecessary, for tlio heroine was already very much in love with him. The descriptions of Russian lire are very good. One needs an occasional versio nof Russia, that is not full ot the gloom and horror of Tolstoy and most other Russian writers. No doubt they are much more realistic and certainly Elinor Glyn treats only ot very “high life,” bu tit is a pity to think of Russia as a country all gloom, Nl- - and--horrors, generally. there is no ned to advertise Elinor Glyn she has already don© that for herself, but it is pleasant to he able to give more .approval to a book of .hers than it has been possible to do for some time.