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BRIEFER MENTION
The Ballad of St Barbara and Other Verses, by Gilbert Keith Chesterton (12mo, 85 pages; Putnams: $2.50) prove that the author has never captivated that subtle thing of melody and magic whose name is poetry. The melody, indeed, he has mastered, but he has none of the magic of the Muse; something prosaic and sodden weighs down the very spirit of his book; and, in spite of all Mr Chesterton's apt rhymes and graceful rhythms, one fails to find any trace of that graphic imagery or of that emotional or imaginative fervour for which a poem may be memorable.
The Sun Chaser, by Jeanette Marks (12mo, 119 pages; Stewart Kidd: $1.75). This play is marked by careful character delineations and by a vague and poetic symbolism that at times seems in danger of losing itself in skeins of imagination, but that for the most part is employed with subtlety and restraint. Occasionally the author appears to be tiptoeing on the verge of melodrama, but she never lets herself quite fall beyond the verge. Her work on the whole is shadow-haunted, but impressive.
Thirteen Worthies, by Llewellyn Powys (16mo, 221 pages; American Library Service: $1.75) is a pleasant echo of the virile voices of Chaucer, Bunyan, William Barnes, Hardy, and other men intimate with the soil, strong and whole-hearted in piety or gaiety. Simple, "earth-bound" spirits they seem to Mr Powys; he disregards the complexities implicit in the very existence of their works. The essays in their unpretentiousness and slimness seem shy; and would seem youthful, but for a quality of gentle melancholy. The author too modestly disavows original thoughts by the frequent use of quotations, but he gives character to names lodged away from every-day memory, and his genuine joy in his subjects is shared by the reader.
Roman Pictures, by Percy Lubbock (12mo, 221 pages; Scribner: $3) is in every sense an exquisite performance—the work of a true stylist to whom the English language is still a temple of matchless masonry, inviting the hand of the craftsman decorator. There is not a careless phrase in the book; the pattern is as intricate as it is beautiful. In mood, these reminiscences have the same tone which was to be found in Earlham, but here there is greater richness, a more abundant ease, and a touch of high humour. Altogether, an accomplishment which the author—as an enlightened disciple—might lay before Henry James and be confident of the verdict.
Some Makers of American Literature, by William Lyon Phelps (12mo, 187 pages; Marshall Jones: $2.50). From this series of lectures, delivered at Dartmouth, one learns that Emerson was an "ardent American," that Mark Twain was "the great American Democrat," that Hawthorne was "a glory to American literature," and as for Jonathan and Benjamin Franklin—"if we could take the best in both, and unite the combination in one person, we should have the ideal American." The lectures must have been delivered from a flag-draped rostrum, or was there a chautauqua at Hanover?
