The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 28, 1901, Page 4

I L5y s Pt THE SUNDAY CALL OR the reader of modern literature, he who dips a little into the books of the day as well as keeps up a speaking acquaintance with the good 0ld standards of the past, the season thus: far has afforéed many works in whose company a few hours of the midsummer may be spent to advantage. It is not my intention to mention all of these. but to give an idea of the contents of a few that are to be recommended to different classes of reader: The vy has been well taken care of. Two notable instances are *“A Sailor's Log.” by “Fighting” Bob Evans, and the third volume of a “History of the Navy,” by Edgar 8. Maclay “A Saflor's Log” was given a full page in The Call some weeks ago. Robley D. Ev is not enl¥ a good saflor’ but he is a good story-teller and his ‘anecdotes appeal to the Jandsman as well as the lover or follower of the sea. If you are at all interested in such matters it is the one book of the year—or, for that matter, of many years—that you should have. The third volume of Maclay's “History of the Navy” includes all the episodes of the Spanish war—the first opportunity we really had of trying our new ships and guns. As a history of this perfod it is the best on the market. . The adverse criti- cisms of the book all seem to center on the author's treatment of Schley. Mr. Maclay certainly raises his voice against the admiral as far as the Santiago sea fight is concerned, and therefore has been accused of partisanship—an unfortunate accusation in the case of a historian. If you have the time—and money, for the price is $7 50—it would be worth vour while to read “China and the Allies” by - Savage Landor, published by ers. Mr. Landor was there all ing the trouble, camera in hand—wi and taking pictures as fast as mortal could. He is an experienced writer and though the book may seem rather padded at times, it is a pleasant kind of padding. The most unique part of his book 13 the arative study he makes of the sol- of different nationalities at the loot- ing of Tientsin A book on the unique in its way Khakt” by James Boer war that is also is “Blue Shirt and J. Archibald. It may not be generally known, by the wav. though the news has been forth in newspaper circles for some time, that Mr. Archibald witn us on this coast, - managing editorship nthly and Khaki” the author comparison of American and Shirt aistl n over all the that have appeared on English-Boer af- BLUE SHIRT AND KHAKI Xo hono to the, mer who ge out be regulars or volunteers. receive “would ot pay any man at home to undertake half g0 hazardove a tagk. Within two years 1 have had the of unity” of seeing the work of fovr different armies in the field, fghting for what they >ught was right. Ameng thege four. ards, British, Boers and Americans—can be found a curious variety of methods of warfare, and there i& much that has never been told The common soldiers of every land are brave: it is but a question of leaders, methc and numbers that decides which will be vie- torioue, for losing or winning they show much the same valor. Nothing could be more mag- cent nor reflect more credit on the men of pain than the manner in which tiey met defeat at at Santiago and om th> seas in the conflicts with Sampson and Dewer. They n in defeat in a way that won the admiration of ev soldier and satlor in the American army and navy; they were brave, dignified and courteous at all times, even the rank and file fighting methods of the Boers and the Americans are stmilar, and if the Boers were trained in military tactics their military character would be almost identical with that of our troops. They possess the same natural inct of -a hunter to keep under cover that our men have, and their methods during an savance are the same. The British army has Just taken its first lesson in this sort of work, and although it has been a costly one, it will pay in the end, and it is England's great good fortune that she did not have a powerful Buropean foe for a tutor Instcad of the two little republics whces entire male population would not make a good-sized army corps. e A book that possesses the double value of imparting both pleasure and informa- tion is “The Ways of the Service,” by Frederick Palmer. These short stories give fine, strorg pictures of army and navy life and are good for two hours of very enjoyable reading. The drawings, by Christy, make it one of the best illustrated fictions of the year. A collection cf short stories of simiiar vein is one just from the press of Smail, Maynard & Co., Boston, called “Anting- Anting,” by Sargent Kayme. Anting-ant- ing is a term applied by the Filipinos to anything that is considered 2 mascot or charm. Some of the stories turn upon these talismans for their climax: all of them dedl with some phase of life in the Philippines. The following is taken from “Mrs. Hannah Smith, Nurse™: ANTING-ANTING STORIES. “Read it!” she said Thank God!" and “My boy! My boy!" and hid her face very the scrawled mote read. your letter. I'm glad you wrote it. It made things piain 1 hadn't seen before. My chance has come—quicker than T had expected. I wish I might have seen yoy again, but I shan’'t A column of our men are coming up the valley just below here, marching straight into an ambush tried to get word to them, but I can’t, because the Tagalogs watch me so close. They never have trusted me. The only way for me is to rush out when the men et near enough, and shout to them, and that will be the end of it all for mpe. I don't care, only thet 17 wish I could see yow aga! Juan will take this letter to you. Whon you get it, and the men come back, If I save them, I think perhaps they will clear my name. Then ¥ou can go home “The men are almost here. Mother, di good-by. YOUR BOY. “I wish 1 might have seen him,” the woman said, a little later. ““But T won't complain. What I most pr me.’ ed God for has been granted let the charge against him drop, Dom't you think he has now, I think he surely has, Xo braver deed has beep done in this war. “Pon’t try to come, sow, Mrs. Smith,” as the nurse rose to her fept. *‘Stay here, and I will send one of the women to you When he had done this the officer went back 10 where the men were still holding Juan be- tween them. “Your journey is shorter than you thought,” the officer sald to the Tagalog. “'Mrs. Smith % n this camp, and 1 have glven the letter 10 her.”" “May 1 see her?” exclagimed the man, “Not mow. In the morning you may, Have you seen this man, her som, since he was shot ? “No, senor. He gave me the note and told me to #lip into the forest as woon as the fight be- gan, #0 as to get away without any one seeing me. Then 1 was to stay out of the way until 1 could get into this camp.’” “Do you know where he stood when he was shot ™ “Can you take a party of men there to- night “‘Yes, senor; most gladly.” . Afterward, when it came to be known that Heber Smith would live, in spite of his wounds and the hours that he had lain there in the bushes unconsclous and uncared for, there was the greatest diversity of opinion as to what had really saved his life. The surgeons said it was partly their skill and partly the superb constitution that years work on'a New England farm had given to the young man. His mother belleved that he had been spared for her sake. Heber'Smith himselt always sald it was his mother's care that saved his life, while Juan never had the least doubt that the young soldier had been protected sole- Iy by a marvelous “anting anting”’ which he himself had slipped unsuspected into the Amer- fran soldier's blouse that day, before he had left him. As soon as she knew that her son would ifve, Mrs. Smith started for Warhington, carrying with hér papers which made it pos- sible for her to be allowed to plead her case there as she had pleaded it in Manila. A par- don was sent back, as fast as wire and steamer ) wire again could convey it. Heber Smith ears the uniform of a second lieutenant now, won for bravery in action since he went back into the service; and every one who knew her of in the Philippines cherishes the memory Mrs. Hannah Smith, nurse. ’a . e For humor get “Starboard Lights,” by’ A. B. Hawser; Master. ,“Hawser’’ {s really J. W. Muller, who has written much for the New York dailies. His short stories will do as well to drive away the blues as any book of the season. Another of the cheerful order is “The Abandoned Farmer,” by Preston. It was reviewed at length last week, but deserves mention in this connection, for it is too good to miss. If you wish to change from the humor- ous to the weirdly horrible. get a copy of zra Caine”—written to be a short psy chological study of a maniac by himself. It enough to occupy a place on your library shelves next to Poe. For novels of dash and adventure “The Puppet Crown,” by Harold MacGrath, leads them all. Tts popularity is already immense, anfl !f you are ‘a library sub- scriber you will probably have to walt. There is an American, Carewe, in the bjok that by the time you have finished read- ing about you feel as if you had known him all your life. Here is a little of what he sees and hears at a meeting of the students: THE PUPPET CROWN. *Have we no rights as students? Must we give way to a handful of beggarly mercenar- ies? Must we submit to the outlawing of our customs and observances? What! We must not parade because the King does not like to disturbed! And who are the culrassters?” obody apswered. Nobody was expected to answer. ‘“They are Frenchmen of hated mem- ory—-Swiss, Prussians, with Austrian officers. Are we or are we not an Independent state? 1f independent, shall we stand by and see our personal liberties restricted? not Let us petition to oust these vampirss, who not only rob us of our innocent amusements, but who are fed by our taxes. What right had Austria to dictate our politics? What right had she to disavow the blood and give us these O. my brothers, where are the d ht IIT of glorious memory?. He ae- ot 1 say knowledged our rights. He was our lawful eovereign, He understood and loved us."” This burst of sentiment was slightly exaggerative, of that monarch is to be relied was mightily pleased if the history on; but the audience with this recollection. Tt served to add to thelr dietemper and wrath against the Oslan pup- pet. ““And where are our own soldiers, the soldiers of the kingdom? Moldering away in the barracks, unnoticed and” fgrgotten. For the firet time in the history of the country foreigners patrol the palaces. Our soldiers are nobodies. They hold no office at court save that of marshal, and his voice is naught. Yet the brunt of the soldiers’ life falls on them. They wateh at the frontiers, tireless and vigi- lant Brothers, while the mercenaries riot and play. the e has come for us to act. ts with us and so are the citizens. be the glory of touching the match. are brave and competent. We are drilled. We lack not courage. Let us secretly arm and watch for the opportunity to strike a blow fe: our rights. Confusion to the Ogians, and ¥ the Duchess soon come into her own!" He jumped from the stage and’another took is place: the heranguing wént on. The ora- they believed tore were serfous and earnest; themselves to be patriots, pure and simple, when in truth they were experiencing th= same spirit of revolt as the boy whose mother had whipped him for making an unnecessary noise, or stealing into the buttery. . s e Another novel on this order is ‘The Helmet of Navarre,” by Bertha Runkle. This is Miss Runkle's first book. It was first run serially in the Century. There is plenty of plotting and fighting and a cer- tain freshness and vigor that make it one of the most marked successes of the year. The stery is told by Felix, a lad who leaves the country place at St. Quentin to serve his master in Paris. The vision of that first night in Paris is.the initial step in the complications that are to follow. It will give an idea of the author's versa- tility in description: THE HELMET OF NAVARRE. “Do you still wish to join M. le Duc?” he faid. Father!”' was all T could gasp. ““Then you shall go,”" he answered. That was not bad for an old man who had lost two sons for Monsieur! 1 set out in the morning, light of baggage, purse and heart. 1 can tell naught of the jourmey, for 1 heeded only that at the end of it lay Paris. 1 reached the city one day at sundown, and entered without a passport &t the St Denis gate, the warders being hardly €0 strict as Mavenne supposed. 1 was dusty, footsore and hungry, in no guise to present myself before Monsieur; wherefore 1 went no farther that night ‘than the inn of the Amour de Dieu. in the Rue des Coupejarrets. Far below my garret window lay the street— a trench between the high houses. Scarce eight feet off loomed the dark wall of the house opposite. To me, fresh from the wide woods of S£t. Quent'n, it seemed the desire of Paris folk to outhuddie in closeness the rabbits in a warren. o Ingenious were they at con- triving to waste no inch of open space that the houses, standing at the bage but a scant street’s width apart, ever jutted out farther at each story till they looked to be fairly toppling together. I could see into the win- dows up and down the way; see the people moving about within; hear opposite nelghbors cell to each other. But across from my aery were no lights and no people, for that house was shuttered tight from attic to cellar, its dark front as expressioniess a blind face. I marveled how it came to stand empty in that teeming quarter. Too tired, however, to wonder long, I blew out the candle and was asleep before 1 could chut my eyes. Crash! Crash! Crash! 1 sprang out of bed in a panic, thinking Henry of Navarre was bombarding Paris. Then, being fully roused, I percelved that the noite was thunder. From the window T peered Into floods of rain, The peals dled away. Suddenly came a ter- rific lightning flash, and I cried out in aston- ishment. For the shutter cpposite was open, and 1 had & vivid vision of three men in the window. Then all was dark again, and the thunder thook the roof, 1 stood straining my eyes Into the night, walting for the next flash. When it came it showed me the window barred as. before, Flash followed flash; 1 winked the rain from my eyes and peered in vain. The shutter re- mained closed as if it had never been opened. Sleep rolled over me in a great wave as I groped my way back to bed. CEr Gwendolen Overton has also a work to her credit that is rising every day on the wave of popularity—*“The Heritage of Un- rest.” The heroine has part Apache blood in her veins, and it is this ‘‘heritage of unrest’” about which Miss Overton has so skillfully woven her story. As a strong picture of the Southwest and a powerful character study it is the best that has appeared for many a day. There may be readers who would prefer a different sub- Ject or a change in the ending of the stery, but all must admit that it is a work of considerable literary genius. Another book of this season that is out of the ordinary is “The White Cottage,” by Gwendoline Keats. Miss Keats has done what only genius can do—taken her characters from the most lowly and weaved a tragedy about them that makes 2 lasting impression. There are very few writers now living who could use:this seme material and even approximate the impellent interest of this tale of poor English fisher folk life. “The Octopus,” by Frank Norris, 1s an- other book that should be read.” In this Mr. Notris has really dohe a great work. It is heavy reading; there are many char- acters, an involved plot, or rather plots, and plenty: of -material for thought, but it is a work that will live for many sea- sons. It Is ‘one of those whose popularity does not come at first but grows steadily and ses that lasting quality that ndard novels.' is,” by Winston Churchill, is have seen you to-day. I think—I think fhat scme of thelr bitterncss might be taken away.’" Abraham Lincoln lald his hands upon the girl. And Stephen, watching, kney that he was looking upon a benediction. “Virginia,” sald Mr. Lincoln, I have not suffered by the South, T have suffered with the South. Your sorrow has bsen my sorrow, and your pain has been my pa'n. What you have lost, T have lost. And what you have galned," he added sublimely, I have gained!" He led her gently to the window. The clouds were flylng before the wind and a patch of blue sky shone above the Potomac. With his long arm he pointed across the river to the south- cast, and as if by a miracle a shaft of sun- light fell on the white houses of Alexandria. “In the first days of the war,” he said, ‘a flag_ flew there In sight of the place where George Washington lived and died. I used to watch that flag, and thank God that Wash- ington had not lived to see it. And sometimes —sometimes 1 wondered if God had allowed it to be put in frony just there.”” His volce seemed to catch. ‘That was wrong," he con- tinued. should have known that this was our punishment—that the sight of it was my punishment. Before we could becomie the great nation he has destined us to be our sins must be wiped out in blood. You loved that flag, Virginia. You love it still. I say in all sin- cerity may you always love it. May the day .,.l*..*'.1:7.””“”.,.,.H++H++H+H.H-H+W>:%+H-O LEIGH H. TRVINE. EIGH H. IRVINE is already weil known in this 'State as a man of letters through Ivis works on social problems and also as a writer for the daily press. Seas,"” Mr. Irvine has just published another book, “‘An Affair in the South a story of romantic adventure on one of the South Sea islands. Questions in sociclogy appeal to a limited audience, but this last book by Mr. Irvine has the world fot its readers. ity. It is entitled to a high degree of popular- The author has evidently made a long and personal study of these South Sea countries and their peoples, for his hook affords a charming opportunity of acquiring information and at the same time entertainment as a capital story of adventure ashore and afloat. Mr. Irvine is a graduate of the State University at Columbia, Mo., and has also had the advantage of a legal education. Blair wooed the fickle goddess of law at Kansas City. For three years he and Frank P. Irvine had already donec some newspaper work in different cities of the East, and during that time made a personal friend of Eugene Field. Field advised him to devote his best efforts to work outside of the newspaper offices, so in 1886 he wrote *The Problem of Distressed Labor.” It was in 1857 that he came to San Francisco and began work on the dally papers here, while at the same time he put in all his spare moments on his second book—a series of essays on social questions called ‘“The It had the distinction of requiring four editions. Bread.” Struggle for In 1893 he went to the islands and spent many months in traveling and writing storfes and sketches. This last book, “An Affair in the South Seas,” tells of the life of a colony on the South Sea island Atollia. The discussions on the political and social forma- tion of this small state are interesting and contain many points that offer food for thought, but this is not the real charm of the book—at least not for the gen- eral reader. You feel too fascinated by the descriptions of the wondrous coun- try, where everything grows wild for the support of man; you are too keen in following the customs of the picturesque and superstitious natives; you find far, too great an interest in the c nerete life itself to pay more than passing tribute to the abstract theories of government that arise. - Mr. Irvine has evidently ap- preciated this fact and has cut down all sociological discussion to a minimum— he gives just enough of it to make the story consistent. This colony that sets out from the United States to make a home on a far- away tropieal isle is the scheme of Captaln Swanscn, an old sea captain who has made a fortune and now proposes to spend it in trying a philanthropical idea. The vovage of many weeks on a sailing vessel is not made without many ad- ventures. The author gives their sea cxperierces in good swinging style. His de- scription of the storm and attack by pirates has the ring of Cooper. The natives give the prospective home builders hearty greeting, and as Swan- son speaks their language all goes well. more supplies and the colonists go to home building. The ship is sent back to America for Their pleasant round of daily life and the step by step progress made toward an ideal community in an ideal spot will make any reader envy these people; for the scenes that Mr. Ir- ne depicts are to be duplicated in reality in these distant fairylike islands. He certainly deserves credit that he can draw his pictures with so sure a hand. The tragic element is introduced in the character of Bill Banks, beachcomber. This man, through a few feats of sleight of hand and ventriloquism so works on the superstitious savages that they take his word for law and are begin- ning to look upon the colonists with suspiclous eves. Swanson is equal to the occasion and arranges an incantation scene in the depths of the forest that out- rivals anything that Banks ever could attempt. He so wins over the natives that they make an example of the beachcomber, This realistic bit of tragedy sets out the more strongly the idyllic passages that have preceded it. In this book Mr. Irvine shows great versatilitv. It is said that he is soon to publigh another novel—a romance of Hawali called “The Old Editor.” L I B B e B e ST R S S R S Y ) another of this class. It is already on the selling lists as going by the thousands. This instantaneous success is partially due to the fact that its author wrote “Richard Carvel,” but it has enough merit of its own to warrant it all. As a study of Lincoln it is unequaled in fiction, THE CRISIS. Mr. Lincoln was speaking again. . “He put In a plea, & Jawyer's plea, wholly unworthy of him, Miss Virginia. He asked ma to let your cousin off on a technicality. What do you think of that?" “Gh!" sald Virginia. Just the exclamation escaped her—nothing more, The crimson that had betrayed her deepened on her cheeks. Slowly the eyes she had ylelded to Stephen came back agein and rested on the President. And now her wonder was that an ugly man could be g0 beautiful, “I wish it understood, Mr. Lawysr the President continued, “‘that I am not letting oft Colanel Colfax on a technicality. I am spar- ing his life,”” he sald slowly, ‘“‘because the time for which we have been waiting and long- ing for four years is now at hand—the time to be merciful. Let us all thank God for ft."" Virginia had rieen now. She crossed the room, her head lifted, her heart lifted, to ‘where this man of sorrows stood smiling down, “Mr. Lincoln," she faltered, “I did not know you when I came here. I should have known you, for I had heard him—I had heard Major Brice praige you, Oh,” she cried, ‘how I wish that every man and woman and child in the South might come here and see you as I come when this natlon, North and South, may look back upon it with reverence. Thousands upon thousands of brave Americans have died under it «for what they believed was right. But may the day come again when you will love that flag you see there now—Washington's flag—better still,"" He stopped, and the tears were wet upon Virginia's lashes. She could not have spoken then, Mr. Lincoln went over to his desk and sat down before it. Then he began to write, slouched forward, one knee resting on the floor, his lips moving at the same time. When he got up again he seemed taller than ever. ‘“There!" he sald, “I guess that will fix it. I'll have that sent to Sherman. I have al- ready epoken to him:about the matter.” They did not thank him. It was beyond them both. He turned to Stephen with that quizzi- cal look on his face he had so often seen him ve,” he gaid, “I'll tell you a story. The other night Harlan was here making a speech to a crowd out of the window, and my boy Tad was sftting behind him. ‘What shall we do with the rebels?’ Harlan to the crowd. ** ‘Hang 'em!' cried the people, ‘* ‘No,' says Tad; ‘hang on to 'em.’ ““And the boy was right. That is what we intend to do—hang on to 'em. And, Steve,” sald Mr. Lincoln, putting his hand again on Virginia's shoulder, “If you have the sense I think you have, you'll hang on, too.” For an Instant he stood smiling at their blushee—he to whom the power was given to set apart his cares and his troubles and par- sald take of the happiness of others. For of such was his happiness. . s . Letters seem to have become quite the vegue since the success of those semi- ‘maudlin - epistles, “‘An Englishwoman's Love Letters.” Two noteworthy books that have been put/forth in the corre- spondence form and possess real merit are “The Visits of Elizabeth” and ‘“The Aristocrats.”” Both are published by John Lare and both make excellent reading. “The Aristocrats”” appeals more especial- 1y to residents of New York familiar with the club life of city and ecountry, as it 1s an English woman'’s Impressions gathered by a sojourn in the Adirondacks. “The Visits of Elizabeth” are letters written by the fair Elizabeth to her mother. They recount her experiences and impressions as she visits with her English and then with her French cousins, Neither of these books can be particularly recommended for seminary girls—but then these fair majds should be too busy with the class- ics'for indulgence in such frivolities any- way. B. G. LATHROP. ——— ' In Search of Mademoiselle. “In Search of Mademoiselle,”” by George Gihbs, is a ratiling historical novel, well abiove the average. Mr. Gibbs is a clever artist as well as a writer; In fact, the il- lustrations in the book are all his own. Perhaps it is this artistic sense that gives him such eloquent powers of description and accounts for his presenting his char- acters in such picturesque lights. Even his villain is a devil that attracts atten- tion for his points of physical beauty. This De Bacan is a Spaniard who would have been an adornment as an inquisitor at any inquisition party of the ancient days and a man with whom none other than the hero could cope. Killigrew, that Mr. Gibbs sets against this doughty don, is a glant Englishman and a foeman worthy of his steel. Mademoiselle, who figures as the hero- ine, is Interesting in a quiet way, but it is in painting men and braye deeds that the author is at his best. She wins the heart of Killigrew, of De Bacan and then of an Indian called Olotoraca. Every one who sees her falls in love, and that gives the motif of the story. Killigrew meets her first when he saves her fromi De Ba- can on a captured Spanish ship, and with him it 1s love at first sight. Thelr lives seem thrown together, and later they find themselves on the same ship bound for the wilds of America. The Spaniards massacte the French colonists, and Made- molselle is lost sight of until near the end of the story, when the gallant Killigrew finally finds her in an Indian village, pro- tected by the ycung chief Olotoraca. De Bacan and Killigrew are enemies from the fizst page, and both wish to win Mademoiselle. The lady hates the Span- jard, but he has made up his mind to have her love nlm whether or no. Both these men are glants among men and ex- yert in the use of arms. They meet many times through the story, and in the de- scription of these encounters the author is at his best. The book is published by Henry T. Coates & Co., Philadelphia; price $150. The publishers have also is- sued a very swell poster as an advertise- ment for Mr. Gibbs' story. It s a col- ored print of the hero *“‘on guard.” Here is an extract from the last en- counter of Killigrew with De Bacan, which Is characteristic of Mr. Gibbs' virile style: “Again! Senor Plrato,” he eneered, with a kind of a laugh. “For the last time—Senor Spanfard!" 1 eald a roaching. For the last time? Ah! then you do grant I am the better skilled at sword-play “Let us settle the matter at once,” said I, bringing my point into line. “One moment!"” he said craftily. ‘‘When I Kill you what will become of mademolselle 1 saw his object. He sought to unsteady my nerves. But I only laughed at him. “‘Mademolselle is in the hands of her friends, senor. Come now! Enough! You have ybur wind. Fall to, or T will run you through!™* 1 threw off my morion to keep my brow cool. And while in the very act of tossing it aside he leaped for me, engaging with such incom- parable swiftness that I broke ground and gave back ten—twenty—paces under his flerce as- sault. But we fought on, our eyes looking into each other’s, glittering and more piercing even than the swords we wielded. Shouting was now most plainly to be heard in the direction from which we had come. I heard Job God- dard’s whistle and a cheery cry. “Keep him at work, sir! We are with you in a minut Diego's eyes looked over my shoulder. 2 “Unless you hurry, Don Diego,” T said cooly bantering him, “‘there will be little time for this exhibition of sword-play you have prom- ised me."” 1 knew could I get him angry that I might ve the better advantage. “Bah!" he cried, furious. cannot fight your battles for y “I am holding my own!" I smiled. —_— The Way of' a Man With a Maid. In “The Way of a Man With a Maid. by Frances Gordon Fane, the scene is laid in New York, where Dorothy Tremaine, a beautiful young artist, falls in love and marries John Barrington. a young English auther, who fraundulently obtains a di- vorce from his first wife that he may win her. Dorothy. believing the divorce to be legal, lives with him for more than a vear, when, on a visit to Paris, she en- counters the deserted wife, now a hopeless invalid, who, burning with jealous rage, denounces Dorothy and divulges to her the true state of affairs. But Darothy, in her exalted attachment, believing that love sanctifies the relations exlsting between them. does not leave Barrington, and relying on a faithful promise, that when he is free he will marry her. remains to the end the tender loving, ideal wife and companion. Barrington, however, a prey to remorse and wretchedness, gradually loses interest in his domestic relations, and In a fu- tile search for happiness, changes from an ideal lover and husband into a low order Bohemian, seeking amusement and solace in the soclety of Gemma, an un- conventional and charming little model, for whom be daily and nightly neglects Dorothy. The final climax s reached when Dorothy discovers a newspaper clip- ping, telling of the death of his first wife a year previous. After a passlonate ap- *peal to him, in which she learns that he has now no intention of marrying her, and feeling that life henceforth can hold noth- ing for her, she takes morphine and thus dies. (Published by G. W, Dillingham Company, New York. Price §150,) 4 G h: Sonnets of Heredia. The sonnets of Jose Marla de Heredia, translated by Frank Sewall and pub- lished under the title, “The Trophie: have already been reviewed in thesa columns. Since that time another trans- lation has been recelved; a translation from the pen of Edward R. Taylor and published, he writes, some two years be- fore Sewall's volume. Taylor says in his preface: ‘The sonnets here presented are ver- slong of all those contained in ‘Les Tra- phies.’ That such art as De Heredia's can best be exemvlified in the French may be conceded, but at the same time It must lkewise be conceded that in ne langvage has the sonnet reached greater varlety or force, or beauty for the matter of that, than in the Fnglish. That the task of representing De Heredia's son- nets acceptably in the English iIs truly Herculean may also be conceded, but the ,trated with reproductions very difficulty 1s a challenge to those who love the sonnet form and delight to work in it, and even partial success in such an endeavor is almost a victory. “In the versions here presented the form of ‘the originals, including the rhyme arrangement, has been strictly fol- lowed.” & Hereln lies a radical difference between the two translations. Sewall arranged his fourteen-line poems in blank versa, maintaining that in that form he could adhere to a more literal translation. Tay- lor rhymes carefully according to the abba-abba scheme followed in the original, Whether he gains or loses the poet’s spentanéous ardor is a matter of taste. 1t is interesting to compare the two trans- lations in one of their tropical pictures. Sewall translates thus: FIRE FLOWERS. Long ages from the time when Chaos was, The fire in torrents spouted from this mouth; And then the lone volcano’s burning plume Flamed higher still than Chimborazo's crest. No echo more doth wake the suramit’s sleep, The bird doth drink where once the cinders rained, The ground no longer moves and the earth’'s blood, The lava, stiffening, leaves it in repose. And yet, last effort of the ancient flame Around the crater's rim forever chilled, Flashing across the pulverized rocks, Like clap of thunder in the silence’s midst, Powdered with gold by their own pollen shed, Open the ‘flowers of burning cactuses. Taylor's form is this: FLOWERS OF FIRE. In ages past since Chaos’ mighty rhroes, This crater loosed volcano’s flaming brood, And grandly lone its plume of fire stood At loftier height than Chimborazo's snows. The summit echoless no murmur knows; The bird now drfnks where cinders poured their flodd; i And bound im Earth's congealed lava-blood The soil has found inviolate repose. Yet, act supreme of fire In time of old— In orb of crater's mouth forever cold, Shedding o'er comminuted rocks its light, Iike peal of thunder in the silence rolled, Standing in pollen dust of powdered gold. The flame-born cactus spreads its petals bright. (Published by Willtam Doxey. Price, $1.25.) —_———— From a Swedish Homestead. Although Selma Lagerlof’s masterplece, in the oplnion of her countrymen, is “Gosta Berlings Saga,” her more general reputation as the best exponent of the “new mysticlsm’” in Sweden rests upon her short stories rather than upon her so- called novel. In this long work of fiction the reader’'s intercst flags, owing to the fact that the chapters are not thoroughly welded together. But the short storles hold the attention from beginning to end. This is particularly true of the young writer's latest volume, “From a Swedish Homestead"" (McClure, Phillips & Co.) In this collection of short stories, which Jes- sle Brochner has rendered into English so charmingly, there is a wide range of sub- jects, trom Icelandic #aga to biographies of the saints. The volume contains a number of sketches of modern Swedish life, which suggest. the Hawthorne type of the story of refined mysticism. (Price L) et gl o Transfiguration of Miss Philura. 'The Transfiguration of Miss Philura” 1s « novelette by Florence Morse Kings- ley. This sprightly little story is woven round the “New Thought,” which is find- ing expression in Christian Sciernce, Divine Healing, ete. In the course of the story Miss Philura makes drafts upon the All- Encircling Good for a husband and vari- ous other things, and the All-Encircling Good does not disappoint her. Some who have seen the story have said it is a satire. Others are sure it is not, but that the author deals in a fefendly and sincere way with the belief which supplies the motif of her story. The first class find amusement, at least, in the adventures of the demure little heroine. The second class see in them also an acceptable illus- tration of the practical workings of their belfef. (Published by Funk & Wagnalls Company, New York. Price, 60 cents). Among the Redwoods. The verses of Lilian H. Shuey that have appeared in various perlodica's of the United States have been gathered to- gether and published in dainty form un- der the title ‘“Among the Rp2dwoods.” The collection should be prized by Cali- fornians on account of the author's evi- dent appreciation of the natural beautles of the State. The verses all have a pleas- ing metrical swing and best of all ring so true of the beautiful scenes and life among the redwoods. This little book will make a pleasant souvenir for Eastern cousins. (Published by the Whitaker & Ray Company, San Francisco. In paper, 25 cents.) Al P it Literary Notes. Emile Zola will be 61 years of age in August. His father was an engineer, ho*died when Emile was a small boy. My mother, a most excellent woman,” he says in the July Literary Era, “was of a Beauceron family, and, like Sarcey, was born at Dourdan. She had the very best intentions, hut she understood rothing of business, and her want of experience brought us to penury. ““To go back to my earliest recollections, I was 3 years old when my family left Paris to take up its residence at Aix. During my boyhood I made two visits to the capital, one when I was 7, the other when I was nearly 12\ Though I look strong now, I was small and sickly at that age. I had my first schooling at the Col- lege of Aix, ard I did not get into the eighth form till I was 12 years old. It was rofher late to begin Latin. So that when I was 18 and my mother placed me at the Lycee Saint Louis, in Paris, I was congidered extremely backward. T had been a good boy at Aix, though never a brilliant pupll; at Paris I became a very ldle and troublesome one. I had already caught the literary fever, and I felt myself body and soul a part of the great literary world. I neglected my clas- sic authors to pore with avidity over Montaigne, Rabelals, Diderot and Victor Hugo. Ah! Victor Hugo! I was mad about him in those days! “So now you understand why (though I have heard other explanafionsw I have never taken a college degree. ' Daudet never did either. Was it for the same rea- son? I do not know. At any rate it seems strange that two very prominent novelists have been found unworthy to assume the academic badge.” The August number of The Critic will contain eight-page portraits of distin- gulshed men and women by the Marchlon- ess of Granby. These will include a por- trait of Lady Granby by herself. Tne work of this genuine artist is not as well known in this country as it should be. and the editors of The Critic take great pleasure in introducing it to thelr readers. No pains have been spared in the repro- duction of these drawings, so that (hey have all the delicacy of the originals. An account of “A Pligrimags to Wessex,™ by Clive Holland, author of “My Japanese Wife,” will appear in this number, illu from photo- graphs taken by the author. Among these fllustrations is the latest portrait of Thomas Hardy, and the one that he considers the best. The letterpress of the article has been read and approved by Mr. Hardy_ under whose instruction a map of the Wessex country, which is also reproduced, was made. Mrs. Ella Stryker Mapes has written a most comprehensiva article on Balzag novels, and a critical and appreciative sketch of the late R. om de Campoamore. the most distin- xplshed of modern Spanish poets, will be given by Mrs. Mary J. Serrano, the well- known translator, of Marie Bashkirtseff's Journal. ‘Within one month of its publication 200,- 000 copies of “The Crisis” have been pub- lished. It cannot be said that the prophet is without hoacr in his own country .n Mr._Churchill's case. The glimpse which he gives in “The Crisis” of the German colony of St. Louis is something new in our literature. Americans with a kind of na- tionai fee’ing lump thelr German feilow citizens together in speakirg or writing of them. With keen discernment Mr. Churchill has drawn a picture of the life and devotion of the men who fought fer the Unior: because it represented to them the struggle against a class tyranny which had driven them into exile. Down there in the German suburb were to be found gentlemen and scholars, men of whom Germany should have been proud but whom she drove harshly from her frontier. This !s but one of the phases of manifold American life that are to ba found in “The Crisis,” but it is an im- portant one—a tribute to German Ameri- cans such as no American novelist has vet offered. Beautiful editions of standard authors are the order of the day. The “‘Outward Bound,” Kipling, and the “Thistle,” Stev- enson, are about to have two rivals. Messrs. D. Appleton & Co. announce rich subscription editlons of the works of Dr. A. Conan Doyle and Anthony Hope Haw- kins. In the case of Dr. Doyle the set will number twelve volumes, and in that of Mr. Hawkins thirteen; both sets to be in- creased as new books are written. Each volume will be embellished with finely executed photogravures. The sets will be prepared with cvery device that will com- bine sumptuousness and good taste. Commune, Thirty ‘“The Parls Years After,” will be one of the more striking features of the August Cenfury. The author, Willlam Trant, was an eye-wit- ness of the events described, but some of his statements are questioned in a note by Archibald Forbes, to which Mr. Trant offers a rejoinder. He denles that the communards tried to burn the city. In view of the great attention now being given to the subject of frrigation, both by the daily press and by members of Congress, it is Interesting to note that Messrs. Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. have in preparation a book on this subject by Dr. F. H. Newell (United States Geolog- fcal Survey), who is the best authority on irrigation In the country. Another artistic poster has been lssued by D. Appleton & Co. This one adver- tises" Mills of God,” by Eliner Macart- ney Lane. The decorative design is printed in black. A medallion silhoustte in rich bronze occuples the center of the poster. The simplicity of the color scheme has resulted in making a most effective and artistic production. Maxwell Gray, the author of ‘““The Si- lence of Dean Maitland,” has recently finished a new novel, “Four-leaved Clov- er,” which is described as an exceptional- ly vivid and entertaining story. It gwill be published shortly by D. Appleton & Co. Six short stories, besides the instali- ments of two serial stories, make the August Atlantic a notable fiction number. The authors represented are Mary John- ston, Sarah Orne Jewett, Duffield Osborne, P. H. Coggins, R. E. Young, A. Cahan, Ellen Duvall and Arthur Colton. Books Received. THE ROAD TO RIDGEBY'S—By Frank Bur- lingame Harris. Small, Maynard & Co., Bos- tén. $150. s DOWDEN SHAKESPEARE—HAMLET —ROMEO AND JULIET—Edited by Edward Dowden. The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indian- apolis, Indiana. $125 per volume. BRIDGE WHIST—By Leonard Leigh. Henry T. Coates & Co., Philadelphia. 31 THAT SWEET ENEMY-—By Katherina Tynan. J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadel- phia. In paper, 50 cents. DEIRDRE WED AND OTHER POEMS By Herbert French. John Lane, New York. CRANKISMS—By Lisle de Vaux Matthew- man. Henry T. Coates & Co., Philadelphia. $1. L'ENFANT ESPION AND OTHER STORIES —FEdited by Reginald R. Goodell, M. A. Ameri- can Book Company, New York. 4 cents. LA NEUVAINE DE COLETTE—By Jeanne Schuitz. American Book Company, New York. . cents. . A NARRAGANSETT PEER—By George Ap- pleton. The Abbey Press, New York. S$L A NEW VERSION OF AN OLD STORY-By Flizabeth Milroy. The Abbey Press, New York. 25 cents. OUR CHOIR—By George A. Stockweil. The Abbey Press, New York. THE EGYPTIAN RING—By Nellle Tolman Sawyer. The Abbey Press, New York. SONGS FROM NATURE—By Dantel M. Peters. The Abbey Press, New York. ON THE THRESHOLD—By Mary A. Hart- shorn. The Abbey Press, New York. WEDDING BELLS—By Nat Prune. Thé Ab- bey Press, New York. SOME QUESTIONS OF LARGER POLITICS —By Professor Edwin Maxey. The Abbey Press, New York. LIKE THE LILIES—By Lucy Abbey Press, New York. 25 cents. CORDELIA AND OTHER POEMS—By N. B, Ripley. The Abbey Press, New York. 50 centa. A NEW THEORY OF EVOLUTION—By Al fred Ward Smith. The Abbey Press, New York. THE STONER FAMILY—By Samuel Fulten, The Abbey Press, New York. THE LETTERS OF HER MOTHER TO ELIZABETH—By Elinor, Glyn. John Lane, New York. The Books Reviewed ON THIS PAGE Lan Be Obtained at ROBERTSON’S, 126 POST STREET, SAN FRANCISCO. Tracy. The Prices are always in the Reading Notices, A. M. ROBERTSON. i