THE KIWI Vol. XXV

AUGUST MCMXXX

Editor - - P. L. SOLJAK, M.A Craccum Sub-Editor - J. A. E. MULGAN. Committee ' - - J. H. MURDOCH, R. M. CLELAND.

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4 THE COLLEGE TOWER. Near a Growing Town

h, I shall pluck the wildrose sweet O That blooms here in the grass, And tramp this way my wandering feet Must some day cease to pass.

For stars and ivind and grass will fade Like the first wreath Helen wore, And soon I'll crumble and be laid Where Beauty cries no more.

And some far day this magic gloom Will gild a city street, And the rose of steel, black-petalled, bloom W/here now the night is sweet.

—A. R. D. FAIRBURN. Contents:

FRONTISPIECE—The College Tower. G. K. CHESTERTON 31

(Prize Literary Article) NEAR A GROWING TOWN 2

EDITORIAL—WHY NOT EDUCATION? 7 REPAIR 35

THE LOVER SPEAKS 8 GRADUATION GROUP, 1930 37 GRADUATES OF THE YEAR ..... 39 MUSIC TO-DAY 9 THE GENTLE ART OF BEING "SO MUCH TO DO" 10 ORIGINAL 43

NEW ZEALAND LITERATURE 11 "A FOOL THERE WAS" 44

KIWI COMPETITIONS 12 FOUNTAIN 45

INTERNATIONAL SPORT 13 THE UNIVERSITY AND THE COMMUNITY 46 TO A SAFETY PIN 14 "DOLEAMUS IGITUR" 47 THE MOTH 15 COLLEGE BLUES 48 STATESMANSHIP 17 (Prize Topical Article) FILMS AND THEIR FUTURE 49

A GREAT DOUBT 18 ADVERTISING A.U.C 50

STUDENTS' EXECUTIVE, 1929-30 19 DISILLUSIONMENT 51

NOCTURNAL, ALBERT PARK 20 NATIONAL UNION OF STUDENTS 52

"THE FOUR SONS OF EVE" 21 WOODCUT 53

SONG 23 VALE - 54

ROBERT BRIDGES 24 P. C. MINNS, RHODES SCHOLAR 55

THE RUNNER 27 POLITICS AND THE UNIVERSITY 57 (Prize Poem) RONA 58 "THE UNCELESTIAL CITY" 28 (Prize Short Story) GRADUATES OVERSEAS 29 EASTER TOURNAMENT 63 RELEASE 30 "THE POET'S PROGRESS" 67

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6 VOL. XXV. THE MAGAZINE OF THE AUCKLAND UNIVERSITY COLLEGE. AUGUST, 1930.

Why Not Education ?

t is a truism that a country gets as good a lectual, as public expenditure on education government as it deserves; and a cursory might warrant. Defects in departmental or- review of the records of successive local admin- ganisation—over-centralisation, the problem of istrations within the past twenty years is suffi- large classes, the faulty training of our teaching cient to convince the observer that the public staffs and the faulty methods by which their of New Zealand cannot be a very deserving pupils are instructed in a hundred and one ill- one. A national love of racing and Rugby assorted subjects—all these have been frequently football may be a very wholesome thing in pointed out, and freely admitted. itself, but when such enthusiasm becomes a The university system, too, has come in for grande passion to the exclusion of a real civic its meed of criticism, in spite of the complaint pride and an intelligent national interest in pub- made by one official that "it was not good lic affairs, one begins to wonder whether a true policy to belabour it in public." For he must sense of values is being inculcated in the surely know that nothing has ever come from national mind, and whether our much-vaunted criticism made in private. The defects already democracy is as enlightened as we suppose it mentioned are, indeed, repeated in the univer- to be. sity, and on a much larger scale. The institu- The crux of the problem, it seems, lies in our tion of the lecture system, whereby a university educational system, or rather, in a general lack education becomes a nightmare of stenographic of it. In spite of the fact that we have hun- rhapsodies, is an inevitable result of the general dreds of free primary schools, and scores of quest for "useful" knowledge, to be assimilated free secondary schools distributed throughout within as brief a period as possible. The the country, capped by a University which laziness of the student is thus cloaked by the offers further facilities to those who so desire, air of false virtue with which he records his the average New Zealander is not as discerning regular attendance at lectures, as the easiest towards his true interests, material and intel- way out of an irksome apprenticeship.

7 8 WHY NOT EDUCATION?

The tendency of the modern university has fession." This is sufficient to show how hope- been to substitute a "useful" for a "liberal" lessly our system falls short of the general ideal education. Dependent as it is on local support, of education. It has been said that whereas it must supply what its patrons desire—good "useful" knowledge may make a man a good chemists, good engineers, good surgeons, and engineer or a good stockbroker, it will never good schoolmasters. Undue prominence has make him a gentleman. But it is equally true thereby been given to mechanical tests of know- that the academic pedant does not make a ledge, and to this end the student is put in gentleman either, distinguished as he often is blinkers and driven along a narrow track with by a rude and scornful personal manner, and a high obstacle at the end of it. The result, a jaundiced, contankerous outlook on life in as we see, is disastrous; success comes only by general. limitation. The product of such a system is a The university, as we see it to-day is, in short, lop-sided individual with a single-track mind, not an instrument for promoting a general co- with no comprehensiveness or versatility, and herent ideal, but a chaotic attempt to synthe- therefore with no steady judgment of affairs, size two incompatible attitudes to experience, no general culture. producing on the one hand the classical type, which is pedantic, and a scientific type with an "Liberal Education," as Newman has re- outlook that is narrow and mercenary. The marked, "is simply the cultivation of the intel- real romance of the intellect, the realisation lect as such, and its object is nothing more or of artistic and scientific understanding as a less than intellectual excellence In great mental adventure, will only be achieved all, it will be a faculty of entering with compar- when our system of education is based to a itive ease into any subject of thought, and of vastly greater extent on a wide and unselfish taking up with aptitude any science or pro- outlook, and an appreciation of true culture.

The Lover Speaks

\Tow death has come to you before your time, -L ' And beauty will go under the green mould. Soon, with the passing hour, the clock's next chime Will strike eternity—time will be old For you then, dear, and life itself not long; But, where the golden-haired planets run, again Part of you will be rhyming like a song, Though earth has heard only the first refrain. What though the blind worm pasture on your cheek To glut the rotting ransom of the flesh ? Though o'er your grave grow violets, that seek With clinging roots to bind a broken mesh?

Somewhere, I know, your soul finds other flowers. While I am left alone to count the hours. —J.B. Music To-day

et us have no misunderstandings. Let me And then, more important still, there is that L warn you quite plainly at the outset that subtle psychological bond between the perform- this article is going to be exactly what you are er and the listener, which exists in a concert- anticipating and dreading. I am going to talk hall or a room, but which cannot be established about mechanical music, briefly but sternly. I by a gramophone. When a man plays a violin am going to pass half-a-dozen really unpleasant to you, he is, in a sense, talking to you. He is remarks about radio and the gramophone, and communicating a message, of a very intimate then, before they have time to answer back, and personal sort. He can only achieve that in- slip away and have a bite of breakfast. timacy—can only establish contact between his mind and the mind of the audience—if he is First allow me to soften the blow by saying, conscious of them as a particular group of in- in simple terms, that the gramophone has its dividuals. The great artist who records on a uses. To us especially, living as we do in these gramophone is not communicating with any par- remote islands, it is almost indispensable. With- ticular person or persons. He is playing to X, out it we should never hear much of the world's the unknown listener. His performance will still best music played by the world's best musicians. have value, but the personal element, which is That is about all there is to be said for it, and all but essential in interpretative art, will be the fact remains that when you listen to a lacking. When you talk to a man, the relation- gramophone, the barrier set up by the ship that exists temporarily between the two of mechanical instrument between you and the you extends beyond the mere "meanings" you performer makes the experience, aesthetically are conveying to each other with you tongues. speaking, as unsatisfactory as a proposal of There is a more subtle link between you—a sort marriage over the telephone, though the after- of electric arc which carries all manner of un- effects are not quite so unpleasant. As for radio spoken messages, and makes you feel uncom- —perhaps a little of that is necessary, if the fortable, soothed, charmed, attracted or repelled. music broadcast is of a reasonably high stan- So it is when a musician plays to an audience. dard. As regards quality, we could get along If he is a genuine interpretative artist, he first very nicely without nine-tenths of the stuff we establishes that contact—or becomes aware of hear from New Zealand stations; and as for it—and then the impressions he receives in this quantity, I am sure the enormous doses of way react on his playing, and he is able to radio entertainment consumed night after night "talk" to the audience through his music. by the average listener can only have a corro- sive effect on the nerves and brain, perhaps on The worst effect of mechanical music is the soul. its tendency to encourage sloth. It removes The disadvantages of mechanical music, and the desire for personal participation in music. the evil effects resulting from too much of it, The basis of a sound musical culture must are the material for a book, not for a short always be what is called, in the idiom of the article. But let us consider one or two of them. butcher's shop, "flesh-and-blood" music. One must listen as much as possible to actual per- What constitutes "hearing" an orchestra? formers, and accept the indirect and impersonal The question involves more than mere acoustics, music of the gramophone and the radio only for we listen (whether we like it or not) with as an occasional substitute for the real stuff; our eyes as well as our ears, and, to a lesser and one must do a certain amount of playing or degree, with our senses. The "atmosphere" of singing oneself. Too much listening and not the hall, the lighting (with its emotional effect), enough playing dries the marrow in the bones the gestures of the conductor, the rhythmic of art. movement of the violin bows, these and a thou- sand lesser impressions go to make up the one With the intention of reviving public and in- big impression you are referring to when you dividual interest in "flesh-and-blood," as apart say, "I heard the Nonsuch Orchestra play from mechanical music, the musicians of Auck- What's-his-name's Symphony last night.' land have organised a "Music Week," which

9 10 MUSIC TO-DAY

will take place on the 16th—23rd August. By ment very seriously; it is one which, if success- the time this is published you will know as much ful, will do much to revive musical enthusiasm, about it as I can tell you now. I take this op- and turn it into the right channels. portunity of advising you to regard this move- —A. R. D. FAIRBURN

Scene in the Senate

By CURTIUS.

Hphe scene is laid in a spacious room with island, including one at Half-Moon Bay. An- high walls and pictures of famous men other staunch Northerner is our old friend Al- with flowing beards, hung here and there (both). gernon Withiel, who once walked down town It is all very well to hang famous men. It is with one foot in the gutter, and, meeting an almost a custom. Still, one gets the impression acquaintance, sighed thus : "I don't know that this thing were better done had the walls what the trouble is. When I left college I was been smaller and the pictures larger. The room quite alright. But ever since I've been walking itself is appropriately situated in a stone build- lame!" There is also Dr. Tight. Some men ing between the Terrace and Parliament House. have much hair and no brains. Some men have Many men have got into either institution. no hair and much brain. Dr. Tight has both. Several have entered both. But few know the There is Professor Seagoer, an expert at interior of the high-walled room. In the Middle dead reckoning and author of "The Pathetic Ages, it might have been a monastic refectory. Arithmetic; or, The Story of A, B, and C." It is not. Further down sits Mr. A. Tringcombe Kurner, Around the polished table in the high-walled an alert young man with sharp blue eyes. room in the stone building, is seated a number "Brutus hath told you . . . . " He was recently of men with more knowledge altogether than any tournament delegate and president of a Stu- other equal number of men in New Zealand. dents' Association. He is the youngest student Why, you ask, are they sitting there? Because, I representative the Senate has ever had. He is answer, they are elected to do it. Why, you also the first. He will climb higher. ask, are they elected to do it? Because, I an- There are others. swer, they are sitting there. And you imagine "Read," said the Pro-Chancellor to the Reg- I have written something witty because it is istrar, "kindly read the minutes." hard to understand and easy to read. So I The Registrar began and ended. The Pro- have. They are Senators. Chancellor looked cautiously round the table. There are about twenty present. In the pre- From outside came the busy hum of the city, sident's chair is the Hon. Jay Kannon, L.C.M., hurry, bustle, rush. Within there reigned an Pro-Chancellor of the University, though not in atmosphere of scholarly calm and detatchment. the sense that Mr. Lloyd George was pro-German. The Pro-Chancellor spoke—"You moved, Mr. There is the Hon. Sir Seakay Tidy, who recently Kurner ?" discovered that "when it's winter in Italy it's "I didn't see him," said the Registrar. summertime over here." There is the Hon. Sir "Then," said the Pro-Chancellor, "I declare Forge Jowlds, who wants a university in each the meeting closed." New Zealand Literature

"HPhough least they and latest their nation," Swung like a bell o'er the golden tide, New Zealanders are already producing a Leaning and dreaming we listened low literature with a savour of its own. Admittedly For clear bell-music anigh the flow," the first poets whose names are associated with New Zealand, Bracken, Domett, the greatest while Anne Glenny Wilson, David McKee perhaps of this early school, Bowen, and Wright, Mary Colborne-Veel, and Blanche Broome, were but "transplanted Englishmen," Baughan, find a very real and vital inspiration who, while they learned to love the untamed in the beauties of the countryside, and the beauty of their adopted land with a high degree struggles of the pioneers. Among those who of spiritual conservatism, clung, with a not un- now write, we find an amazing preponderance expected ardour, to an older and deeper of women: Dora Wilcox, Isabel M. Peacock allegiance to England and her traditions. It is and Jessie MacKay, the latter perhaps our perhaps for this reason, scarcely to be regretted, finest poetess, seem too little impregnated with that the troublous years which followed were a love of their own land, though the latter's characterised by a dearth of literary talent, exquisite call for her long left Scotland, leaves or perhaps by the prevention of the blossoming little room for regret. Eileen Duggan has the of such talent as existed. It is only through true poetic spirit, and her works have a haunt- such a break in the continuity of a tradition ing quality which assures us that she will not that a young literature can gain its individual soon be forgotten. Alice Kenny, Winifred freedom, and, in New Zealand, the period was Tennant, and Nora McAuliffe also deserve sufficiently extended to allow the birth and mention, and there are a score or so of minor growth of a generation which knew not England poetesses whose lyrics are of a high quality. save by hearsay, and which was troubled by no Last but not least, our eyes are attracted to division of its allegiance. Katherine Mansfield, who, here as elsewhere, strikes an individual note, which, whither it It is, then, to these native-born poets and be of pathos or of pure appreciation, never fails writers that we must turn for the first signs to impress us with sheer beauty, and with the of what may more truly be styled New Zealand recognition of her unique genius. literature. The names of most of these are Among men, we find several who are familiar: O'Regan, whose tragic death robbed characterised by an amazing visibility. Pro- New Zealand of a most promising son; Arthur fessor Arnold Wall, Johannes Anderson, and H. Adams, who in the chronicling of "The Alan Mulgan, to mention a few outstanding Coming of Te Rauparaha," caught something examples, share with the majority of the wo- of the rhythm of the Maori: men, a recognition that although our poets keep their individuality, they must never suffer "Then the plaintive wailing of the women, this to lessen the universal appeal of all true Quavered through the darkness, and a shudder art. Apart from these three, we find, standing Took the slaves that in a horror waited somewhere apart, one with whom we, in the For the mercy of the blow to send them— University, have a closer connection. I refer Ah! the sombre, slowly-stepping phalanx— to R. A. K. Mason, who, before the age of 19, To the twilight world with Hepi's spirit." had produced, in "The Beggar," poetry which, in spite of a moroseness which at times out- Each stands out in his own way. Then W. glooms thousands, is of a compelling beauty. Pember Reeves, in "The White Convolvulus," His appreciator, A. R. D. Fairburn, bids fair has an unusual delicacy of expression: to leave his impress on our literature, as poet and critic, and has already a surprising ma- "Cup of aerial beauty made, turity of style. Touched by no tarnish of earth it swayed, And as it answered the air's light breath, As is not unnatural, even as cursory a survey An image waved in the stream beneath, as the above must bring forward the fact that, As the milk white flower from side to side up till the present, it is in poetry that New

11 12 NEW ZEALAND LITERATURE

Zealanders have found expression, and this ing, and New Zealand is justly proud of Elsie would seem to augur well for a literature which K. Morton, Charles Wilson, and Alan Mulgan, finds itself young enough to turn to this less whose versatile talent reaches perhaps its sophisticated form, and yet skilful enough not highest points in the Essays on "Home," which to fail in the face of simplicity. We find then, are a true "discovery of England"; together that in other branches of literature there is with Isabel Maude Peacocke. less to record. Novels, if we exclude those It is in the field of dramatic art, I think, that merely written of New Zealand, and confine New Zealand literature fails, since, while else- our attention to those which New Zealanders where there is an abundance of life, here three, have written, are very few, and perhaps few or perhaps four writers are all we can produce. of those even will live. Those most worthy of The standard of those who are working is, mention are Jane Mander, who, in spite of however, high, but since Rex Hunter and Arthur certain crudities of style, and a somewhat un- Adams are both abroad, and "Sophonisba" fortunate choice of subject, has a welcome remains the sole monument worthy of Mona virility; Hector Bolitho, who has all the ardour Gordon's ability, it is really upon Alan Mul- and arrogance of youth, but who promises to gan's "Three Plays of New Zealand," that any do splendid work; Jean Devanny, whose fine, tradition of dramatic art in New Zealand must if uncomfortable story, "The Butcher's Shop," be based. If those who follow do not fall is banned here; Rosemary Rees, and Isabel short, we need not fear for the future. Maude Peacocke, who has certainly imbibed the spirit of New Zealand to good purpose. In attempting to gather up the threads of an It is, indeed, in this field, that New Zealand all-too-brief survey of a field that most of us literature is most markedly individual, and it find to be of absorbing interest, I feel that I is pleasing to consider the length to which it have failed to do it justice, and that I have may well develop. omitted much that must needs find a place in any adequate treatment of the subject. Yet, The realm of the short story, and the essayist, since we so often forget that we do indeed live brings us immediately to Katherine Mansfield, in the midst of a very vital literary growth, who, however, is less ours than the world's, anything, no matter how inadequate it may be. as must ever be the cause where genius breaks which serves to remind us that we leave not down all limitations. Other writers of the short prophets without honour, cannot be said to fall story include Winifred Tennant, Esther Glenn, altogether short of some small service to those Hector Bolitho, Nora McAuliffe, Arthur Adams, who to-day are building a splendid tradition and Pat Lawlor, with a host of lesser lights. for New Zealand. The essayists are also of amazingly high stand- —E. M. JOHNSTON.

seek

"Kiwi" Competitions

The judge, Mr. A. E. Mulgan, has made the following awards:

Literary Article: Verse: G. K. CHESTERTON. THE RUNNER.

Topical Article: Short Story: STATESMANSHIP. RONA. International Sport A Social Factor

ne of the most remarkable developments lised nation has come to realise that if its man- O of our time is the world-wide increase hood is physically efficient it will prosper; but of interest in all phases of athletic activity, if inefficient it will be unable to compete with since the closing of the Great War. And nothing its virile rivals and will inevitable fall into is more striking than the meteoric success with moral decay. which the nations of Continental Europe have Yet, however close may be the connection be- sprung into prominence. The post-war period tween sport and national welfare, we must not had scarcely opened before the nations of fail to realise that such athletic efficiency is Europe, nations which had previously taken no but a means to an end, not an end in itself. interest in the sports of English-speaking Viewed internationally, as a means of pro- peoples, and with no apparent aptitude for moting social harmony between one nation and them, were already catching something of that another, sport may well be considered as a fac- passion for outdoor games so deeply imbued tor of paramount importance. A country which in the heart of British youth. It had long been has, for instance, been accustomed to assess maintained that the temperament of the Con- its merits by the intellectual and athletic effi- tinental, and more especially of the Latin races, ciency of its people will be less likely to have was ill-suited for participation in sports which recourse to arms in the event of international demanded grit and doggedness and perfect dispute. And friendships formed on the play- self-control in him who plays them. But the ing field seem to possess a more enduring falsity of this idea has been exposed by these quality than diplomatic approachments ever nations in a really striking, and almost alarm- will. In the organisation of international con- ing, degree. courses such as the Olympic and Empire Games The United States, the dominating figure in we see a definite step towards this ideal of con- the world of sport for many years past, and cord, and even more valuable results may be so pre-emmiently successful that it seemed al- looked for in the future. most impossible to dislodge her from her proud One of the most important results of this position, has striven in vain to beat off the at- friendly rivalry between nation and nation is tacks of her newer Continental rivals, and has its salutary effect on a people's mental outlook. acknowledged at last the worth of nations whom New Zealand has been prone to be too insular— she had despised. The achievements of France one might say parochial—in its relations with provide a case in point. Her tennis champions other countries. And any influence which tends have now attained a brilliance and dexterity to broaden our national outlook should receive which know no precedent. In Rugby football, our earnest attention. Much good should re- a sport that demands supreme determination sult, for instance, from the visit of the British and self-control, she has proved a dangerous Rugby Team. The outstanding success rival for England and Scotland in recent con- achieved by our visitors has given us opportunity tests for the Calcutta Cup. to pause and revise our opinions on the com- No less remarkable has been the progress of parative strengths of New Zealand and British athletics in Germany, Finland and Austria. The Rugby. The visiting fifteen has displayed a amazing performances of Paavo Nurmi, Dr. clear-cut superiority over most of our teams. Peltzer, and others have caused us to marvel It is not in any outstanding physical ability at a national efficiency won in so short a passage that the success of the British team lies, for of time. An equal zeal for athletic excellence the physique of our own representatives is has been manifested in many other countries second to none; not in the brilliance of their throughout the world, from Russia to Czecho- tactics so much as in their mental attitude to- slovakia, from China to Peru. For every civi- wards to the game. To them it is primarily a

13 14 INTERNATIONAL SPORT

recreation in which they may indulge with all tends not only to narrow our mental outlook, the reckless abandon and nonchalance of but is of decidedly detrimental effect in times schoolboys. Yet for all this apparant sang- of emergency. Our teams (and their supporters, froid, they can present a defence in times of one might add) are so keyed up when the great crisis, which is unsurpassed for its sustained moment arrives that they often fail to do them- and rock-like determination. But once the game selves justice. is over, all thoughts of triumph of defeat are The visit of the British Team will have banished from their minds, and they will start achieved its primary purpose if it induces us to off on a round of golf with the same easy sports- widen our mental outlook and lose that narrow manship that characterised the contests of insularity which must inevitably obstruct all yesterday. efforts towards the promotion of international The British Team has taught us, in short, concord. It should bring us to appreciate the that we are taking our football too seriously, salutary moral effect which may be exercised by and therefore, less successfully. It is not an an interchange of sporting visits towards the exaggeration to say that Rugby has become a furtherance of that deep and sympathetic un- national fetish with us, a fetish that has gradu- derstanding so essential to the future peace ally made us lose our sense of proportion, and, and prosperity of the world. possibly, our sense of humour. This attitude —P. C. MINNS

To a Safety Pin

tiny piece of brass bent double, OThou ever present help in trouble, The friend of man and woman too, Let all admit their debts to you.

The Emperor upon his throne Has probably, if truth be known, A safety pin, whereon depends Events superior to Party ends.

The infant in his cradle knows The sovereign cure for all its woes— Thus early do we all begin Our homage to the safety pin.

Amidst the ballroom's toil and stress The man immaculate of dress Holds up his head and knows his pride Safely on safety pins to ride.

And woman in a brace of shakes An up-to-date "creation" makes, And no one but herself can tell That safety pins have served her well.

Thou prop of all we call refined, That dost the world of culture bind, Of modesty the champion, Accept this tribute, safety pin. —N. C. The Moth

e didn't quite know how it had come in, A sense of triumph filled him, for the enemy H but was suddenly aware of its shadow was delivered into his hands. Very quietly he across the page. Then he felt a soft contact raised the slender, silver paper-knife, which of velvety wings, and the thing was butting was as fine as a stiletto, and poised it above the away in a curiously pathetic and ineffective little quivering body. It was only a moth, and manner at the reading lamp. they were such destructive pests. Only the other day he had discovered three little holes It was a large moth, and was very agitated. on the lapel of his dinner-suit due to the The dead silence which had filled the big ravages of one of its brethren. Who knows room retreated swiftly before a staccato of but that it might have been this very one, this little sounds. The lamp - shade quivered frail thing that chance had now placed before beneath the onslaught, and gave out tense, him that he might be avenged. Yes, it was muffled vibrations at each impact. But the certainly a pretty thing, but he was not going moth, dizzy with the shock, was beating blindly to consider that. It was this little splodge of about, a fluttering, clumsy shadow. He watched gold on the lamp-shade that had attempted to its feverish efforts, until at last it tired, and destroy his suit for which he had paid ten then lay limply across the lamp-shade with guineas! It annoyed him still further to think wings outstretched. that he was even hesitating to end its petty little life. Then he recalled the analogy be- He had been rather taken back at first. The tween his position and a tableau in Aulis long intrusion into his midnight solitude was so ago, when a dark priest bent over a gold-haired swift, so unexpected, since there were not many maid poising a gleaming knife. about at that time of the year. With a more A little wave of callousness ran through him abstracted gaze he looked at it again, where it and remained. Then he fixed his eyes on his lay decorating the mottled parchment. The vic'im, till in a few seconds they began to artist in him awoke and he sketched an im- yield to the fascination of a gentle, rhythmical aginary design—one great black moth in that movement stirring in those opened wings. The indeterminate ground, with the soft light be- antennae were swaying in the same rhythmical neath. For a moment he felt the artist's fashion. He soon realised that there was sympathy for the creation of his own mind. something almost hypnotic about it—he found Then the moth, which had been perfectly himself fascinated and counting the beats, and, still, came to life with startling suddenness. like a conductor of music, beating the time It disappeared swiftly from the circle of light, with subtle motions of the silver point. Then but his eyes followed it, a dark blur, across the mood passed, and he muttered to himself: the dim walls until it was swallowed up in "Fancy all this hesitation over a damned moth." the shadow. Quietly he returned to cutting Feeling disgusted at his delay, which was the pages of his new book. Hardly had he sentimentality and nothing better, he struck finished separating two of them, than again down with the knife at the little creature. to his ear whispered the whir of approaching wings. As if with fresh vigour it was re- The light had gone out. He was in complete turning to renew its attack on his lamp-shade. darkness, but he was not alone. There was Again and again it battered blindly and in- a whir of wings again and louder than before. sistently against the lamp, each impact pro- He realised suddenly that he must look for the ducing a thud which became monotonous and matches, and cursed himself for his careless- tiresome. The thing was a nuisance. Study- ness in forgetting where he had put them. ing seemed impossible. He clutched at the He felt on the table and then in his pockets, whirring thing, but it was too elusive, as all and meanwhile the sound of whirring wings shadowy things are. Finally it settled again was increasing. Something brushed roughly on the lamp-shade. past his cheek, and he felt the cool air as it

15 16 THE MOTH

sailed by. He felt a vague sense of fear, and waiting without courage for the moment when swore again: "Where in h were those he must die in agony. Then there lodged in matches?" the back of his mind the vision of a dark river, and a high tower rising out of the flood. "Ah! The feeling of danger deepened, for the what had they called it? Yes, it was the room was now full of the sound of wings. Maiiseturm." A cold shiver of fear ran through God! how ridiculous it seemed, yet he swore him that made him catch his breath. to himself it was true. Not the feathery wings of birds, but a sound produced by the whirr- Now the moths were coming down out of ing of the wings of countless moths in the the shadows and fluttering thickly about his darkness, stealthy and sinister. It must be face. There seemed to be thousands of them, moths; he felt them all around him. He and he couldn't move a finger to brush them peered into the darkness as if to discern the away. There was no pain, but the sensation vague outline of one in the blackness. Feeling was sickening and nerve-racking. They were everything and seeing nothing quickened the all over him now. He could see faint phos- fear gnawing at his heart, and a slight per- phorescent lights, myriads of them, like fire- spiration damped his brow. flies on a mossy bank, and his flesh became alive with little shocks and tremors, as if stung Then a reaction came, which made him with stinging nettles. The whirring of wings realise the absurdity of his fears. The under- in the room produced similar sensations in his tones of reason swayed his brain again, and brain. But still the moths came down—little he calculated how he was to get rid of the cushions of velvet. They were light as feathers, brutes, these little pests of the night that but, nevertheless they were crushing the breath had some to interrupt his study. The obvious out of him, stifling him, causing his brain to thing, surely, was to open the window. spin, and the darkness within his brain He attempted to rise from the chair on which promised to be darker than that without. Had he was sitting but, peculiarly enough, the he been able, he would have screamed, but the strength of his body seemed to have left him. moths prevented this. All the moths of the As if in a physical paralysis he remained there night . Something seemed to snap within and gripped the arms of his chair in the dark- him, and it seemed he was swept into the gulf ness. His limbs were leaden weights; but his of eternity. brain, keyed up to a pitch of extraordinary intensity, was active and clear enough to allow him to consider his position further. But no Just how long it was until the light came new thoughts came to him. Gradually he on again, his watch might have told him; but •became used to the predicament in which he his attention was immediately drawn by the found himself, and a feeling of stoical inevit- moth. It lay on the mottled shade, and the ableness settled over him and controlled his wings were still rising and falling, the delicate emotions. antennae wavering to and fro. He was still Five minutes he sat thus, until the chords clasping the silver paper-knife, glittering in the of reason broke again with the tightening light, but his hand was trembling like an aspen sensation of a new fear. All the moths of the leaf in the wind. night were now fluttering in his room, and A great surge of relief swept over him, and "were monopolizing the darkness. His balance he let the knife fall onto the table. He re- left him, and a rioting imagination held sway. mained there for a while looking at the moth. Never before, it seemed, had his healthy There was no whirring now, only the padded commonsense forsaken him as now. He had footfalls of silence. the sensation of one bound to a stake and —J.M.B. Statesmanship

HT^here is always a certain amount of melan- country may become what it should be, one of choly in discussing a lost art, and he the most prosperous and contented commuities would be a bold man indeed who would ven- in the world? ture to assert that statesmanship is anything We are accustomed to boast of our material but a lost art at the present day, when, alas, and intellectual progress as the predominant capable exponents of it were never more ur- feature of our twentieth century civilisation. gently needed. Ever since man became a "Disarmament" and "No More War" are catch- social and political animal, and individuals words leaping to meet the eye from every began to draw together into communities, men newspaper. We have the Kellogg Pact, we have honoured a Conservative politician for the Lo- of commanding personality, sometimes altruis- carno Treaty, and have heaped eulogies upon tic, sometimes merely self-seeking, have asserted the head of a Labour leader for the work of their claims to political leadership, professing the Five Power Naval Conference, we have a a desire to serve the common weal. League of Nations and we glibly talk of the "will to peace," yet to-day more wealth is being Some there were who laboured to advance dissipated on armaments than before the great the interests of their group as a nation or race catastrophe of 1914, and science is bending its over other groups, later on to establish great best energies to the task of evolving improved empires exercising a preponderating influence methods for the destruction of human life and in the world affairs of their times. Others property. Nevertheless, the public is sincere are remembered for their devotion to a social in its desire for world peace and security, how- ideal, striving to protect the interests of the ever blindly it may grope towards a noble ideal. weak against the strong, to remove anomalies What is lacking is a master-mind to give force and inequalities, that the lot of the individual and direction to the public will; a powerful as a member of the group might be made personality voicing the feelings of the multitude easier. Every age can point proudly to its to shame into silence the impotent chatter of famous statesmen, men whose names and deeds the politicians. will never be forgotten while the historical record is preserved. What are we to say of What, then, is the cause of this dearth of the politicians of to-day? Which among them constructive leadership? Is the fault to be deserves to take his place with the Caesars, found in Democracy itself? Must we be driven Charlemagne, the Conqueror, Henry II, Henry to the conclusion that the changes and chances VIII, the Princes of Orange, Cromwell, Wal- of party politics prevent a Prime Minister from pole, or the Pitts? Where is the twentieth conceiving and putting into practice a policy which requires a generation to work out its century political leader comparable to Napoleon, fulfilment? Or is it that thoughtful, capable Bismarck, Cavour, or those two giants of Vic- men of wide vision and high ideals who could torian England, Gladstone and Disraeli? Com- serve their country with credit, will not submit ing nearer home, is there one man in New to the hurly-burly and petty indignities of an Zealand politics to-day comparable to Sir election campaign? The writer prefers to think George Grey, John Balance. Richard Seddon, that the fault lies with the men themselves; in W. F. Massey, or the late Sir Joseph Ward? other words, men are not trained for states- Bold, constructive statesmanship is to-day non- manship. The average Cabinet Minister or existent, and Society suffers accordingly. Here member of a Legislative Assembly is generally in New Zealand there are abundant natural re- a man who has spent the best years of his life sources, qualities of private capital seeking in following some particular calling for his lucrative investment, and much surplus labour. own advancement. Having made a success of Yet we lack the "entrepreneur." Again, where farming, commerce, journalism, or the law, he is the man capable of organising these essential imagines he can, with no training and no in- factors in the production of wealth so that this sight into, or intelligent appreciation of, social

17 18 STATESMANSHIP

problems, make an equal success of the science cal discussion clubs after the style of those in of government. This is an age of specialisation, the universities at Home ? I do not mean any- the man who does not specialise in some thing along the lines of those delightful little branch of his particular sphere of activity political Sunday schools, the Junior Reform does not progress, and on all sides the special- League and the Junior United Party. But I do ist is in keen demand. Yet the amateur, often mean a body which will study the possibilities ignorant of mere fundamentals, is considered of politics and their application in this country. good enough to exercise community control. Constructive inspiration is New Zealand's para- In these days when the State is launching out mount need, and the principal function of a more and more into all kinds of activity, when university is to provide it. the individual at every turn finds himself con- In the meantime we see a world comprising fronted with some Government regulation, and a community of nation states, in various stages when the units of society have come to depend of development, yet all dependent upon one on one another more than ever before, the another. Most of them suffer from heavy taxa- specialist should be of paramount importance in tion, many of them enjoy abundant natural re- the management of the community's sovereign sources awaiting development, while large institution. The day of the amateur in politics sections of their populations live in either is over; society has become such a highly com- opulent or indigent idleness. Unemployment is plex organism that its efficient management the cry of the hour, and yet there are no signs demands the highest skill of a specialised in- of a solution of this pressing problem. Instead telligence. Let the changes be introduced in the of an atmosphere of good feeling and a willing- schools first. Let the children be brought up ness to bear one another's burdens, the air is to appreciate their privileges and responsibilities thick with mutual suspicion and distrust. A as citizens, while those showing special aptitude blind and inarticulate multitude stands reaching and interest could receive a specialised training out helpless hands awaiting guidance and in the science of government. leadership. Yet those who profess to lead re- It is strange, or perhaps significant to note spond to the call with worn-out catch cries and that within the university there is no student shibboleths no longer applicable to an age of body sincerely interested in politics. Why, in swiftly-changing conditions. If there be any the first place, is so little prominence given truth in the dictum that the age produces the to that intensely interesting and valuable study, men, then these latter are long overdue. Political Science ? And why are there no politi- —J.H.P.

A Great Doubt Shall 1 aivaken, When the blood grows cold (As the embers forsaken In a vanished fire), To heavenly lyre, And voices manifold In columned choir?

Shall I aivaken In a paradisal, Restful Eden? Or will there be No Arcady, No rest of devisal For the soul of me? —R.M.C. STUDENTS' ASSOCIATION EXECUTIVE, 1929-30. Back Row: N. C. Jenkin; A. H. Macdonald, M.A.; Miss J. L. Mcintosh, B.Sc.; R. B. Moorhouse; F. McCarthy, LL.B.; D. H. Grant; Miss I. Turner. Front Row: G. E. Watt (Hon. Sec.); P. C. Minns, B.A. (Vice-Pres.); Miss M. Mawson; J. N. Wilson, LL.B. (Pres.); P. L. Soljak, M.A.; Miss R. K. Walker, B.A. (Vice-Pres.); A. P. Postlewaite (Hon. Treas.). Nocturnal,Albert Park

Horizontal

he clouds are stretched across the sky, T Above this level city street, Where echoes of insistent feet Are stilled again, and no reply.

Oblique

Schematically slant the lines Of wind-warped boughs, and doivn the slope The maculated shadows grope In guessed-at Diireresque designs.

Vertical

Only above the shuddering trees Where strays a shaft of polar light, A white-lined tracery takes flight And leaves below the lamps, and these. —J.B.

20 "The Four Sons of Eve"

By VICENTE BLASCO IBANEZ. (A Review)

The children would be neglected for days at "irir°w a man must to earn a time. Adam, meanwhile, was almost naked, JLJI- daily bread, my sons!" says Uncle as befits a man who works for his wife and Strap, oracle of Argentine reapers, addressing supports a home. His wardrobe consisted of his fire-side companions in a prefatory remark a few old sheep-skins sadly in need of re- to Blasco Ibanez' last satirical review, "The pair; his wife never had time to mend them. Four Sons of Eve." "But Nature's universal admiration counted The fire of Cervantes beams in his eyes. little to Eve when she remembered that since "Eve," says the old man, "is to blame for all the tragedy of Eden, the inhabitants of heaven our labour. Those of us who suffer, working had 'cut' her and Adam, refusing to speak to for others, have to thank the first woman for them. our slavery. But .... is there anything for which women are not to blame?" " 'What is the use of being beautiful and well dressed when one does not receive visits, can- The event was extremely old, according to not hold receptions, and must live like an out- Ibenez' rustic satirist. It had happened some cast from good society, she would complain!'" years after Adam and Eve were expelled from Imagine her delight one day, when a heavenly Paradise and condemned to earn their bread messenger boy came down to announce that the by the sweat of their brow. Eve was still Lord would come around for a short visit that beautiful, although she bore a child every year; afternoon ! sometimes twins (they had to people the en- Adam was called in from his work to wash tire earth!). How they slaved for their family! and shave. Eve had just decided on her new- Adam, the tireless worker, the creator of an est dress, when a veritable tempest of cries and entire world, also had to set the table, wash screams broke upon her. An uprising of her the dishes, and take out his last-born baby in numerous progeny! "There were about a a rustic pram which he had just invented for hundred of them, and Eve, absorbed the purpose. entirely by her new fashions, had neglected "And poor Eve! Just think what it meant them for months After many hesitations, to wipe the noses every morning of several she selected her four favourite sons, and washed dozens of children, to bathe them in a neigh- and dressed them becomingly. The others she bouring ditch, to stand them in a line to dry drove towards a stable and locked them up, in the sun, and to keep them from fighting despite their protests." when breakfast was served!" The heavenly cohorts were already approach- Moreover, from the time when first she saw ing. "First came the guard of honour, a legion her reflection in the pools of Eden, the problem of archangels in golden armour; after sheathing of dress had worried her. "One costume a their swords, all approached Eve to greet and day barely satisfied her passion for progressive compliment her, assuring her that she grew variation. And, taxing every resource of nature younger every day, and that she was just as for the embellishment of her body, Eve used pretty and attractive as when in paradise." in her dresses the skins of animals, the fibres But Eve was too preoccupied to reply, and the of the plants, the bark of the trees, the fea- whole legion repaired to the orchard, to Adam's thers of the birds and the glittering or coloured helpless despair. stones which the earth spews forth in her sul- But now the Lord Himself approached, len moments. So important was this work of accompanied by Saint Michael, glorious as the designing new dresses and so vehement and sun. Greetings were exchanged, and the Lord, furious Eve's desire to achieve variety and escorted to the dwelling, was soon hearing all novelty, that life changed completely on Adam's about Adam's affairs, his hardships, the trouble farm." he had to get food for himself and his family.

21 22 "THE FOUR SONS OF EVE"

"Serves thee right, Adam," He answered, "that The third son was slender, fidgety, with will teach thee never again to disobey thine shrewd eyes. elders, and especially, never to follow again the advice of a woman. Suffer, my son; work and "Thou," said the Lord, "shalt control the endure, and thus thou wilt learn to respect thy wealth of the world. Thou shalt be the mer- superiors." chant and banker. Kings will honour thee, and The climax came when the Lord announced if thou shouldst choose to ruin a whole nation that he would bestow gifts upon their progeny. for thine own profit, the world will admire thine "Come, Eve, bring forth your children." The ability. Thou wilt precipitate incomprehen- four imps were lined up in front of the Almighty sible wars and speed ruinous peace treaties. and He looked them over carefully for a while. 'He was a servant to progress,' some will say "Thou shalt be the dispenser of Justice," after thee, remembering thy railways, through said the Lord at last, pointing to a fat, serious, the deserts. 'He was a scoundrel,' others will little fellow. "Thou shalt subject all delinquents affirm. 'To make his millions he sacrificed more to the same rules, which will be about as wise lives than a conqueror.' And both groups will as trying to cure all the sick with the same be right. For man, seeking absolute truth, will medicine. Thy position will be the most se- cure, the most impregnable. Men will eventu- find in his world that there are as many truths ally question all things and doubt everything; as there are interests." some day they will discuss Me and even deny The fourth son, with haughty eyes and high My existence. But thou shalt be ever august brow, had always charmed and amused his and infallible Justice, without which life is mother with his mellifluous phrases. Comedian impossible. Even the professed infidel in all and king—he was something of each. things will become indignant if anyone should dare to question thy usefulness. If thou "Thou," said the Lord, "shalt be the orator— shouldst perchance blunder terribly, the major- that means everything. The warrior will obey ity will conceal thy error in 'the inviolability thee, the judge will look to thee for help, the of judicial judgments'!" banker will trust to thee the defence of his Then He motioned to a jolly, frisky little man, foul deals. Knowing little, thou shalt speak who carried a club, and was the most rapacious fluently on everything. In troublous times, of all the children at the table. thou wilt be the only hope of thy country. 'Let us place him at the head of the Govern- "Thou shalt be the warrior, to lead men ment,' people will say. 'He speaks better than unto death as cattle to the slaughter-house. the rest of them.' Yet all shall admire and acclaim thee, even the sons of the slaughtered, for thou shalt use "To govern a nation, to administer its as fetishes of inexhaustible power, the words treasure, to command its forces, there will be 'Glory, Honour, Country and Flag.' Men will nothing like the ability to make a good speech; uphold a law, 'Thou shalt not kill,' and the nothing like the power to speak fluently and murderer will perish on the scaffold. But, like tirelessly. Thou wilt be the one to declare a demigod, thou shalt live beyond Good and war, and the negotiations for peace will be Evil. Thou shalt be the greater in proportion likewise to thee. The word, even more than as thou killest, and when the people shall see the sword, shall rule the world." thee covered in blood, they will exclaim, 'Behold the hero!' The Lord turned to go, and the cohorts were summoned from their depredations in the "Jurists will prove thy rights. No one will orchard. But suddenly Eve broke through the dare bring thee to account; nay, even the priests ranks, ran to the stable and pushed the door of the religions will chant paeans of praise in open. the temples to celebrate thy triumph. Whether thou drown the land in blood; burn, kill or de- "I have not told the whole truth, Your stroy, poets will honour thee, and historians Majesty," she cried, heartbroken with remorse. record thy deeds with greater enthusiasm than "There are more of them. Have mercy 011 if thou were a benefactor devoted to the con- these poor little ones. Give them something, quests of peace." my Lord." 23 "THE FOUR SONS OF EVE"

The Almighty surveyed the rabble in silence. everything. For them are the labours of the Then at last He spoke. "I've got a job for poor, the power of the ruler, the exploit of the them, my good woman, and it's no easy job. soldier, and the money of the millionaire. These fellows will wait upon and work for They also are the ones who bend with the their brothers for ever and ever." greatest ease the rigid decrees of justice. They Here the story ends. But a final issue is need no special gift from God. They have raised when a reaper asks Uncle Strap, "And enough with man. The only bond between the what of Eve's daughters?" happy and the unfortunate is that all of us "Before they are born," answers the old work for women or because of them." man, "God can give women beauty, charm, even talent, but, after they are in the world, A remarkable piece of satire. man is their only hope. To him they owe —P.L.S.

Song

h, youth has thoughts a-plenty, O What matter if they're wrong? For we who are but twenty, We love not truth, but song.

And when we're old, and sodden With creeds of bright deceit, Our songs will all be trodden Like dust about our feet.

What matter if the aged Imagine they have heard, And kept the secret caged Like some sad singing-bird?

And what if those who're older Are wiser far than we? For wisdom, with a winding-sheet, Is coming here to tea. —A. R. D. FAIRBURN. Robert Bridges

ith the death of Dr. Robert Bridges, o.M., But in toiling for man, as he expresses it, he late Poet Laurate of England, in April did so for those who cared to understand his last, there passes from our midst the greatest work; not for his detractors, who would have poet of this century who has written in English. had him write as they wished and who, on his During his life his work was adequately quietly failing to comply, mocked him with the appreciated only by the select few—those lovers taunt, "the King's canary refuses to twitter." of poetry who read and study poetry for its own sake. He was of the company of those There is a tendency in human nature for men unfortunate writers (or shall we say fortunate), '60 drag each other down to their own level. who receive an undue amount of adverse criti- But genius merely averts its head, unheedful cism for work wholely deserving of the highest and disdainful. praise that one mortal can bestow upon another. Save for that portion of his output which repre- The poetry of Dr. Bridges shows three sents his only partially successful experiments dominant moods: first, a joy in the beauty and in the Greek metres he wrote very little verse the varied aspects of nature. In short, he is a that will not want to be read by posterity poet of the landscape, chronicling with loving centuries hence; verse that will be alive in the care some mood or aspect that catches his eye hearts of men when all the petty ephemeral —the floating rhythm of the snow, the thunder writings of the modern minnesingers, the super- of distant seas on the shore, trees sighing in ficial reviewers, and the popular novelists have the wind, the freshness of new-mown hay, dead sunk into oblivion with the clay that produced leaves on the ground plucked by autumn's them. fingers, a hamlet that lies "betwixt two billows of the downs," or a "winter day, misty and Bridges was, nevertheless, little perturbed by dark." Such pictures, and a multitude of the gibes of the critics and the muddling pro- others, tell a tale to the heart of this poet. fessors, who posed as intellectual judges of his He remembers the things that less careful ob- poetry. He was an artist, loving his muse and servers miss and, affected by their beauty, re- the joy that creation gives; who chooses his cords them in deathless verse. themes and fashions his verse with a love like Despite the fact that he is a poet of happi- that of Pygmalion, the ancient Greek sculptor, ness, a poet intoxicated with the adventure of who fashioned from stone a living image of the living and the round of delights that he is able woman he adored, and then fell in love with to discover for himself, we do not have to look the work of his own hand. To the cries of the very far to discover the undertones of sadness pettifogging critics and the high-brow profes- common to the muse of all true poets. Bridges sors (the latter of whom G. K. Chesterton aptly is very sensitive to the loneliness of man's striv- remarks as being mostly hollow) for poetry ing in the universe, his hopes and his desires, more in conformity with their tastes and with his failures and his faults, and, after it all, that of humanity in general, he turned a stone- the inevitableness of his passing. deaf and distainful ear. Instead, he preferred to follow resolutely in the paths where the What particularly affects Bridges is that elusive maid, Beauty, led, a nymph that de- Man, having made an acquaintance with mands much of one that would possess her Earth's beauty and learnt to love the particular wholely. And thus we see his spirit and his things that absorb him most of all, is com- attitude mirrored in a sonnet beginning: pelled by "sad mortality" to leave them at last without hope of ever returning: "I will be what God made me, nor protest Against the bent of genius in my time." "Man born of desire Cometh out of the night, and ending: A wandering spark of fire, "Curs'd though I be to live my life alone, A lonely word of eternal thought My toil is for man's joy, his joy mine own." Echoing in chance and forgot.

24 ROBERT BRIDGES 25

He seeth the sun, "Think of thy past valour, thy future praise: He calleth the stars by name, Up, sad heart, nor faint He saluteth the flowers. In ungraciousness complaint, Wonders of land and sea, Or a prayer for better days. The mountain towers of ice and air He seeth, and calleth them fair: "Daily thy life shortens, the grave's dark Then he hideth his face; peace Whence he came to pass away Draweth surely nigh, Where all is forgot, When good-night is good-bye; Unmade—lost for aye For the sleeping shall not cease. With the things that are not."

"Fight, to be found fighting: nor far away As we have already endeavoured to show, Deem, nor strange thy doom. Bridges was a poet whose spirit was essen- Like this sorrow will come, tially brave. His attitude to life was to show And the day will be to-day." a bold front to its adversities; to meet unlovely circumstances with stoicism and control, the This happiness in Bridges to which we re- while he toiled to attain his heart's desire. His ferred is not shallow, not a mere superficial whole outlook was that of an inspired optimism bubbling over of spirits. It comes from the tinged with the pathos that a deep feeling for pleasure he derives from the beauty of the and knowledge of life and humanity always world, and from a well ordered mind and body. colours. We can well imagine that Bridges He is a poet of peace, and from peace comes was never dismayed for any length of time by contentment. It will undoubtedly be for this the troubles that beset him. Though tender reason that his "Ibant Obscuri," his only con- and sensitive, his nature was, unlike most true tribution to war verse, proved uninspiring. poets, too buoyant and too happy to allow the Bridges was at peace with the world, and his sadness of things, of which we have just shown poetry reflects that outlook. Not for him the him to be well aware, to overshadow his life. pessimism of a Housman, nor the unquiet His thoughts were not beautiful lamps set in a gloom of a Baudelaire. sea of gloom and darkness, but beams of sun- light radiating on a world of challenging This poet is well versed in the affairs of the beauty. At heart he was always the youth who heart. Not a few of our most priceless modern could blithely sing: love lyrics have come from the pen of Dr. Bridges: delicate, beautiful things, as pellucid "I made another song and as musically and intellectually satisfying In likeness of my love: as anything a poet ever wrote, or will write. And sang it all day long All of his lyrics belong to that class of verse Around, beneath, above. that George Moore, the Irish writer, described I told my secret out as "pure" poetry. Verse technically flawless, That none might be in doubt." exquisitely restrained, remarkable for its bal- ance and precision, perfect in expression, and Even when he felt the tragedy of life most, bearing the indelible marks of refinement and which lies more often than not under the sur- great culture, it flows quite apart from the face of things, his optimism would not leave stream of modern verse. The fount wells up him, but his mood would become sympathetic. from a purer source, and is clear of the mud He would forget his youth, assume his man- and the dross of much of that of present-day hood and his knowledge of life, and become a writers. His love lyrics are distinguished by comforter: their tenderness and sweetness and spontaniety. They show much insight into the ways of love. "Weep not to-day: why should this sadness The moods of these vary considerably, from the be? unsullied, carefree tenor of "When June is Learn in present fears come" to the delicate, reminiscent philosophy To o'ermaster those tears of "So sweet love seemed that April morn"; That unhindered conquer thee. from the delightfully inspired "Awake, my 26 ROBERT BRIDGES 26 heart, to be loved, awake, awake" to that very two observations, we feel disinclined to agree worldly and truly wonderful lyric: absolutely with the last. There are, in truth, "My delight and thy delight passages of real beauty occurring throughout Walking like two angels white, the work, but nevertheless it remains for the In the gardens of the night most part not very far above the level of prose. My desire and thy desire The beauty of this poem lies in the quiet Twining to a tongue of fire, cadence and subtle rhythm of the metre. It is Leaping live, and laughing higher; a beauty for which the reader must listen. It Thro' the everlasting strife becomes soon apparent that Bridges' emotions In the mystery of life." are never subservient to his thought. He is too Space does not permit quotation of the rest preoccupied with setting down his philosophy of the poem, but it is worth committing to of things to allow the proper fusion of thought memory. In it Bridges holds that true and and emotions which, given adequate expression, absolute love between man and woman which is becomes art. Emotion is the chief fundamental capable of transcending all things; it is the of spiritual beauty. Hard thinking tends to key with which the locked gates of all life's kill the element of beauty in poetry which, if great mysteries can be opened. It has, indeed, overburdened with realism, is dragged down to the "secret of the sun." the level of prose. And this is what has hap- pened to a very great extent of this work, great It would seem, judging by the signal ac- as it is in conception. With regard to the clamation of the critics, that Bridges' reputation attempt at phonetic spelling, we shall comment as a great poet has been further assured with on that by holding it to be too fanciful, and his publication of "The Testament of Beauty" therefore failing in its purpose. some months before he died. This is a great philosophical poem embodying the ripe reflec- Despite the fact that the poem is in the tions and conclusions of a man who has spent main a product of reason, there are, neverthe- his life-time in scholarship, observation and less, passages of uncommon loveliness where meditation. Far and wide it has been hailed as art is the result of that subtle fusion of intellect a work of great originality, depth, and poetic and emotion. In conclusion we quote the beauty. Though heartily endorsing the first following as a representative sample:

" 'Twas at that hour of beauty when the setting sun Squandered his cloudy bed with rosy hues, to flood His lov'd works as in turn he biddeth them Good-night; And all the towers and temples and mansions of men Face him in bright farewell, ere they creep from their pomp Away, naked beneath the darkness; . . . 'Twas at sunset that I, fleeing to hide my soul In refuge of beauty from a mortal distress, Walk'd alone with the Muse in her garden of thought That came wavering pertinaciously about me; as when Discoursing at liberty with the mazy dreams The small bats, issued from their hangings, flitter o'erhead Thru' the summer twilight, with thin cries to and fro Hunting in muffled flight atween the stars and flowers."

—R. M. CLELAND. The Runner

have heard soft lutes / Sob their ecstacies, And the thrush's notes Tumble from the rain-wet trees.

I have heard the ocean's song Rise like a flame With cold, blue tongue From the swirling foam.

And from the sky far whispers, Not tunes, not words, The dim, mournful vespers Of homing birds.

Sea-chime, and fluting bird, And tune from smitten strings, All these are lovely, but I have heard More lovely things:

There are songs that beat And throb along the blood When our flying feet On the greensward thud,

And pipes that shrill As, with labouring step, We clamber up the hill, Pause, and then dip

Down through the sweet, Grass-scented air, With flying feet And flying hair. . . .

Lovely are the birds, and the sobbing Of lutes, but braver far Is the voiceless music throbbing In the runner's ear. —A. R. D. FAIRBURN. "The Uncelestial City"

By HUMBERT WOLFE.

(A Review)

he name of John Crayfish has little or Continue! Knowing as the pine trees know T nothing to do with the subsequent career That somewhere in the urgent sap there is of Humbert Wolfe's unfaithful hero in his re- An everlasting answer to the snow cent philosophic poem, "The Uncelestial City." And a retort to the last precipice, Suffice it to say that Crayfish begins as a poet, That, merely by climbing, the shadow is made and dwindles into a judge. More successful, less, perhaps, as a social document than as an ex- That we have some engagement with a star cursion into the sustained artistry of the epic, Only to be honoured by death's bitterness, "The Celestial City" tells, in verse of passionate And where the inaccessible godheads are. beauty and passionate wit, three tragic tales— That to plunge upward is the way of the spark, the tragedy of murder; the tragedy of judicial And that, burning up and out, even as we die murder (comfortably disguised as "capital pun- We challenge and dominate the shameless dark ishment"), and the great tragedy of a social With our gold death—and that is my reply." system which the poet holds responsible for both murders alike. Humbert Wolfe is a Civil Servant, and has something to say about bureaucracy: Emanuel Crayfish, the hero's father, is a Blackford business man: The world, which took six days to make, One would be adequate to break. Look for yourself at this gracious city— Give me that day, God, or even a minute, Gasometers too proud to be pretty, And let me deal with Whitehall in it. And warehouses that seem to be An argument of leprosy. Nor does the public Press escape his lash:

Personally, he would like his son to embrace You cannot hope the business life: To bribe or twist, Thank God! the In the city British journalist. They sell and buy, But, seeing what And nobody ever The man will do Asks them why. Unbribed, there's But since it contents them No occasion to. To buy and sell, God forgive them! There follow some love-poems, tender, bitter They might as well. and profound; and we pass on from the hero's inner life to his public appearances as a lawyer. But, fired by the passion of youth, Crayfish He defends a girl charged with accosting—"the determines to go to Oxford, where he meets frightful crime," as he describes it, Peter Arkwright, a cynic who has no patience Of being foolish, young and pretty, with men who share "in quarrels not their And absolutely broke, like Kitty. own": The Bench, as usual, makes its reproach: To starve and perish in a frozen heap, Descended not from monkeys, but from sheep. The judges engage in A game that is known The youthful idealism of the hero, however, (Though not to the players!) as finds expression in the poem's most lovely and "Throw the first stone," most moving stanzas: But the rules of the game have

28 "THE UNCELESTIAL CITY" 29

Been varied by them The band of brothers—the happy few—who stir Since the day it was played Men's minds like trumpets calling kings to At Jerusalem. war. The greatest scope for satire comes when A self-righteous judge passes sentence on the Justice Crayfish, his youthful idealism long for- prisoner, heedless of the fact that society has gotten, is hearing a case brought against a been largely responsible for the unfortunate poet under the Blasphemy Laws. But the verse man's degradation and untimely end: in question is plain-spoken rather than actually The little noose of light about him shrinks blasphemous: From hour to hour, and still he does not stir, Here in an English graveyard snore And, when it grips at last, the warder thinks, The business men who won the war. He will be very little quieter. While by the foreign seas they crossed, it The mood has changed from the savagery of Happens, lie the men who lost it. protest to the deep sympathy, the sense of And so to the last, longest and greatest chap- human fellowship and redemption, which is the ter—the murder trial and the indictment of spiritual essence of Humber Wolfe's poetry: capital punishment. It is easier to be angry than to pity, The heartless curiosity of a morbid public It is easier to condemn than to understand, is satirised: Easier to find the Uncelestial City And, so prepared, look on this murderer Than the dim counties of the Holy Land. Jakes, thus enrolled in the immortal corps— —P.L.S.

saaefe

Graduates Overseas

E. E. Bailey, Rhodes Scholar, 1929, is study- W. A. Macky is continuing his studies in ing for his Ph. D. in law at Magdalen College, chemistry at Caius College, Cambridge. Oxford, under the tutorship of Sir William W. G. Kalaugher, Auckland Rhodes nominee, Holdsworth. He went for a tour though Spain 1925, and Rhodes Scholar (Victoria), 1926, is during last vacation. about to take out his degree at Oxford, and T. H. Wood is continuing his studies in law has gained his blue in athletics. He will teach at London University. at Magdalen School, near Oxford. K. Sisam, Rhodes Scholar, 1909, is now in H. B. Taylor is on the professorial staff of residence at Boar's Hill, Oxford, and is a mem- the University of Tasmania, Hobart. ber of the editorial staff of the Oxford Univer- R. M. Winter is a member of the Chemical sity Press. Research Staff, Woolwich Arsenal, England. J. V. Wilson has obtained a position on the J. C. Smith is employed at the Dyson Perrins British Secretariat of the League of Nations, Laboratory, Oxford. Geneva. F. W. Baxter, recently lecturer at Leeds Uni- Mrs. N. F. E. Robertshaw (nee Wilson) is versity, has been appointed Professor of Eng- residing at Earl's Court, Folkstone, England. lish at the University of Belfast. M. A. Hunter is a member of the staff of the F. M. Keesing returned recently from Suva, Rennselaur Politecnique, Massacheusetts, U.S.A. after carrying out research work in the United G. F. Munro is employed by the Radio Re- States and Pacific Islands for the Rockefeller search Co., London. Institute and the Institute of Pacific Relations. Release

Tt seemed that Time had died, And all the ghosts came ivandering from the shades— From Heaven's blue shining hills, from the dark glades

Of unborn years, from Hell's rose-tinted tombs.

And by the poppied side Of a slow stream that lies with limbs soft- curled In the green darkness of some intangible world Far beyond space, the living and the dead, The fruits of unborn wombs, All the souls of unknown fathomless ages Past and yet to be, were suddenly bound Into a moment's compass, trapped and caught, {Lovers and fools, voluptuaries and sages), And with them all the things they had sought Of loveliness and joy, were prisoned fast— Fair orchards, blossom-crowned, All singing and all sound, All love and laughter, touch and taste and scent, And all things men had found, Had gathered, stored and spent In markets of the soul, to buy delight : The ocean and her moon, the myriad stars, And the still-shining sun; All things, unknown and known, all were made One In one immortal moment, crowned with content, Timeless and immutable, wreathed with flowers Of brief far-gathered hours, Of mouldering centuries and unborn years. For Time, the old grey Robber-God, lay dead, With his unnumbered host Gathered about him, cold and quiet and still. Age was a tavern-jest, an olden dread Long-buried; Change a half-remembered ghost Haunting a ruined town; Eternity the shadow of thistledown Blowing upon a windy, timeless hill.

—A. R. D. FAIRBURN.

30 G. K. Chesterton

By D. H. MONRO.

(Prize Literary Club Address)

he critics have said some hard things in series of incidents. Chesterton, on the other T their time about G. K. Chesterton. In the hand, concerns himself almost entirely with the first place, they have accused him with lack of general; and his novels have accordingly an dignity—always a damning indictment when uncanny trick of turning into allegories half levelled against an Englishman. They have way through. He begins to write about men frowned upon his somewhat peculiar philosophy; and proceeds to moralise about mankind. His they have positively scowled upon the exuberant characters generally have a faintly ethereal versatility with which he defends it. Finally, note about them; and the reader is quite likely they have dismissed him as a buffoon and a to discover in the last chapter that he has been mountebank. entertaining an angel unawares, and that the man he had looked upon purely as a fellow- He is, they say, a sort of comic juggler. He creature is in reality an abstract idea—the in- juggles with words; he juggles with ideas. He carnation, perhaps, of Nature or Humour, or the lays down his mat in a public place; he Earnest Soul. gathers round him the gaping and curious populace; he goes through a performance of As an example, take that strange fantasy, mental gymnastics or legerdemain in the The Man Who Was Thursday. This has as its course of which common things become trans- central idea a revolutionary secret society of muted to gold and the gilded trappings of pomp seven members, each of whom takes the name and state become debased and are as brass. of one of the days of the week. Eventually Or he is a conjurer—a conjurer, appropriately the bewildered reader discovers that of these enough, in the mediaeval sense. He weaves a seven, six are spies in the employ of the police, spell and conjures up angels where men had while the seventh—the arch-anarchist called thought to see but the familiar spirits of every Sunday—is a weirdly mystical figure represent- day. He pronounces a mystic incantation and ing Nature. suddenly the air seems filled with demons— It may be doubted if that sort of thing has the little, insidious, canking demons that make much appeal to the average reader. The Brit- a prey of common men and turn rotten the ish public—that much-maligned but ever-courted circumstance of state. All of which, say the body—has a hearty preference for characters critics, tends to the confusion and deception that are flesh and blood and of the earth, earthy of His Majesty's subjects and must in no wise —it is perhaps too cheap a gibe to say of the be allowed. They deny the existence of the mud, muddy. Certainly Chesterton's charac- demons and cannot understand the angels. ters are neither one nor the other. Even his detectives—the celebrated Father Brown, and After which piece of imagery, they go on Basil Grant, of The Club of Queer Trades— to attack Mr. Chesterton on purely literary have more of the poet than the sleuth about grounds. His style, they say, is tortured, a them. sorry stringing together of epigrams and gro- tesque similes. He is clever—and that has The truth is, perhaps, that Chesterton is long been a literary sin. He has qualities that himself more a poet than anything else. His prevent his total success in many of the fields published poems, it is true, do not altogether into which he has ventured. He fails as a substantiate this claim. As a rule, indeed, critic and as a historian because he is too much they fall below the level of his prose. Even inclined to sacrifice truth to effect; as a novel- the greatest of them, Lepanto, with its wonder- ist because he is too much taken up with gener- ful onomatopaeic effects, abounding as it does alities. A novel is concerned primarily with with lines like the particular—the analysis of a particular set "Dim drums throbbing in the hills half heard" of characters, the unfolding of a particular —even Lepanto has something about it of the

31 32 G. K. CHESTERTON tour de force. The author cannot rid himself, ing in, say, a prose political pamphlet, is by even here, of his fatal gift of cleverness. But, no means out of place in a piece of propa- as Mr. Chesterton has himself pointed out in gandist poetry. He is, above all things, a born one of his novels, "it is too often forgotten propagandist. His views are frequently one- that, just as a bad man is nevertheless a man, sided and almost invariably extreme; and yet so a bad poet is nevertheless a poet." And the it is hard to read much of Chesterton without author of that piece of wisdom, though he may becoming an ardent supporter of those views. in practice be the writer of more or less in- His burning earnestness convinces us; his gro- different poetry, can nevertheless be regarded tesque whimsicality amuses us; and, as that as ultimately and essentially a poet. wittiest of critics, Mr. Philip Guedalla, has For, after all, the distinctive feature of a poet pointed out: "One detects in oneself a constant is his gift of vision. The ability to see the tendency to enjoy him without stopping to romance in the common things of life, "the disagree." This naturally makes him a for- beauty and the glory and the wonder that lies midable adversary in argument; and he has enshrined in the heart of things" is the essence long been a thorn in the side of his political of the poetic. The ordinary man can see the opponents—if the word "thorn" be applicable beauty of a sunset or the sea or the stars; it to a man of Chesterton's physical peculiarities. is only the poet who finds flashes of inspiration To take an instance. One Christmas the in the drab and the commonplace. Judged by Health Department decided to prohibit the these standards, Chesterton should certainly be singing of carols in the streets, as being morally a poet; for he is constantly proclaiming him- and physically injurious to the young. Ches- self the apostle of the commonplace. It is his terton immediately rose in wrath. His ardent creed that nothing is, or can be, uninteresting. adherence to the romantic traditions of the Show him a tram ticket, and he will enlarge past, his burning contempt for the practical, upon its significance as the symbol of municipal materialist tone of modern times—all his dear- patriotism; show him a pocket-knife and he est prejudices—stirred him to action, and he will see it as something strange and terrible, gave vent to his indignation in three peculiarly as the type of all human tools, the infant of stinging verses:— the sword. "Once I planned," he says in one of his essays, "to write a book of poems en- "God rest you, merry gentlemen, tirely about the things in my pocket. But I May nothing you dismay! found it would be too long, and the age of The Herald Angels cannot sing, the great epics is past." It is surely not too The cops arrest them on the wing much to claim the title of poet for a man And warn them of the docketing who views the world from that angle; it is Of everything they say. certainly not hard to see how the exposition of such views, in a peculiarly forcible and God rest you, merry gentlemen, exuberant style, might easily degenerate into May nothing you dismay! buffoonery. Chesterton, then, is a poet, or he On your reposeful cities lie is a buffoon, according as to whether or not Deep silence, broken only by he appeals to your peculiar temperament. The motor horn's melodious cry, Probably, if the truth were known, he is some- The hooter's happy bray. thing of both.

They combine curiously, these two elements— As, when the song of children ceased buffoonery and poetry; and their combination And Herod was obeyed. in Chesterton has had some very curious and In his high hall Corinthian, sometimes very delightful results. It is most With purple and with peacock fan, noticeable, as perhaps one might expect, in his Rested that merry gentleman, light verse; and it is here that he is in some And nothing him dismayed." respects at his best. His curiously epigram- matic style can be made to conform, without Again, during the controversy over the much difficulty, to the exigencies of metre and Welsh Disestablishment Bill, Mr. F. E. Smith of rhyme; and his ever-present vein of mystic- referred to the measure, somewhat unfortun- ism, which is apt to become a little bewilder- ately, as having "shocked the souls of all the 33 G. K. CHESTERTON

Christian countries of Europe." Chesterton ex- "The last and lingering troubadour to whom pressed a mild doubt as to the devastating effect the bird has sung, of the minor squabbles of the Anglican Church That once went singing southward when all the on those Christian countries where, as he put world was young," it, "Establishment means nothing and they never and contrasts his gallant venture with the ac- heard of Wales"— tivities of the other European monarchs. The poem describes each of them in turn, as well "Are they clinging to their crosses, as the particularly Oriental splendour of the F. E. Smith? Sultan, and works back, at the end of every Where the Breton boat-fleet tosses, stanza, to the onward movement of Don John Are they, Smith? and his forces towards the East. The artistry Do they, fasting, tramping, bleeding, of the poem lies in the extreme skill with which Wait the news from this our city? each of these abrupt changes of scene is re- Groaning 'That's the second Reading!' flected by a similar change in the metre and Hissing 'There is still Committee!' in the choice of words. Lepanto deserves to If the voice of Cecil falters, be read as a whole, and can only suffer by If McKenna's point has pith, quotation. By way of illustration, however, we Do they tremble for their altars? may perhaps take two contrasting passages. Do they, Smith?" The first deals with King Philip of Spain. "King Philip's in his closet with the Fleece There you have the singular blend of whimsi- cality and earnestness that is all Chesterton's about his neck own. Most of his verse is of the same charac- (Don John of Austria is armed upon the deck) ter, varying, according as one constituent or The walls are hung with velvet that is black the other predominates, from the merely whim- and soft as sin, sical to the deadly earnest; from pieces of And little dwarfs creep out of it and little verse like the Ballade of Suicide— dwarfs creep in. He holds a crystal phial that has colours like "The gallows in my garden, people say, the moon, Is new and neat and adequately tall. He touches, and it tingles, and he trembles I tie the noose on in a knowing way. very soon, As one that knots his necktie for a ball; And his face is as a fungus of a leprous white But just as all the neighbours—on the wall— and grey, Are drawing a long breath to shout: 'Hurray!' Like plants in the high houses that are shut- The strangest whim has seized me. . . . After tered from the day, all, And death is in the phial and the end of I think I will not hang myself to-day." noble work, But Don John of Austria has fired upon the to poems like the celebrated Ballad of the Turk. White Horse, or his shorter masterpiece, Don John's hunting, and his hounds have Lepanto. bayed— The latter deserves mention in detail. It has Booms away past Italy the rumour of his raid. about it all the glamour of the Middle Ages, Gun upon gun, ha-ha! and, in addition, a good deal of the vigour and Gun upon gun, hurrah! mental exhilaration of a stirring battle. It is Don John of Austria the supreme achievement of that "cleverness" Has loosed the cannonade." which has done such yeoman service for Mr. The second describes the liberation of the Chesterton's detractors. The theme of the poem galley-slaves. is the defeat (by Don John of Austria in 1571) of Ali Pasha and the Turkish fleet at the And many a one grows witless in his quiet straits of Lepanto, the immediate result of which room in hell, was the setting free of about 157,000 Christian Where a yellow face looks inward through the galley slaves. The treatment is, once again, lattice of his cell, typical of the author. He hails Don John as And he finds his God forgotten, and he seeks the last of the Crusaders, no more a sign— 34 G. K. CHESTERTON

(But Don John of Austria has burst the battle- personalities. Next to the skin, it would seem, line). he wears the protective but somewhat bulky Don John pounding from the slaughter- metal underclothing of a mediaeval gentleman pointed poop, with a taste for physical violence and a prefer- Painting all the ocean like a bloody pirate's ence for his Jews under lock and key. Then sloop, supervenes the tricolour sash and large, revo- Scarlet running over on the silvers and the lutionary sympathies of one of Robespierre's golds, "Representants en mission." And, finally, Breaking of the hatches up and bursting of the there is the quieter overcoating of a modern holds, journalistic gentleman, with a good deal of Thronging of the thousands up that labour literature on the subject of Marconi shores in under sea, one of the pockets." As is usual with Guedalla's White for bliss and blind for sun and stunned pronouncements, there seems little or nothing for liberty. to add, unless it is a word in defence of the Vivat Hispania! medium through which this composite charac- Domino Gloria! ter is presented to the gaze of the curious. His Don John of Austria style may be "tortured," "grotesque," "deca- Has set his people free!" dent," what you will; and it may depart con- siderably from the simple, natural style that I have dwelt on Chesterton's poetry because is the ideal of the present day. But then con- it is the poetic vein in his work that I wish to forming to a fixed standard is no longer re- emphasise; but this is, in a typically paradoxi- garded as the acme of literary achievement. cal way, shown perhaps just as clearly in his The ideal style, I think we may say, is the one prose. Here again we have a blend of whimsi- that is best suited to the writer's purpose. Now, cality and earnestness; and here again his Chesterton's style most certainly answers his work varies, according as one constituent or purpose as no other could, as anyone may the other predominates, from the purely whim- discover who will attempt to express novel ideas sical note of the essays (which have neverthe- and an unusual philosophy in a manner that less a strong undercurrent of earnestness) to will not only make his meaning clear to the the wholly serious vein of his heavier political reader, but actually convince and convert him. and religious writings (which are by no means free from a touch of the whimsical). It has already been said that Chesterton's The essays follow the peculiar fashion of novels are to some extent failures; but, if they the present day (introduced, I fancy, by fail as novels, they succeed as books—books Charles Lamb, popularised by Max Beerbohm, that are, in the well-worn phrase, "more read- and used with great effect by E. V. Lucas, A. able than most novels." The Father Brown A. Milne, and a host of contributors to "Punch") stories are a case in point. As detective stories by which the subject becomes a mere peg on they have one grave defect—they do not let which to hang the personality of the author. the reader unravel a mystery. Father Brown Chesterton gives us his views on a variety of unravels mysteries, certainly—unravels them by subjects, on shoes and ships and sealing-wax, the dozen, so to speak, in an effortless, while- on cabbages and kings, and in each case merely you-wait sort of way—but he usually leaves adds another stroke to a singularly revealing the reader with only the faintest of ideas as portrait of himself. It is a portrait that Mr. to how he does it. He leaves him, too, with a Philip Guedalla, with his customary deftness, dark suspicion that what bade fair to be a has sketched in a single paragraph: "Some- detective story has turned into something re- where deep down inside Mr. Chesterton's in- markably like religious propaganda. By way tellectual clothes," he says, "may be found the of compensation, however, he gets a priest- simple woad-stained Briton who made pagan detective who thinks and talks like G. K. gestures at the sun on Salisbury Plain, and Chesterton—a phenomenon far more amusing charged the Roman legionaries behind Boadicea and delightful than most of the painfully eccen- for the crude but sufficient reason that they tric, drug-taking sleuths of another school. were foreigners. This engaging person, how- The same may be said of the other novels— ever, has been overlaid by the voluminous in- The Napoleon of Notting Hill (which is, I teguments of his other (and less primitive) should say, the best of them all—only every G. K. CHESTERTON 35

Chesterton-worshipper has his favourite). The the place most novelists would assign to plot Fhing Inn, Tales of the Long Bow, The Club and character-analysis; and, even though the of Queer Trades, and all the rest of them. The characters do have an unpleasant habit of dis- minor characters are usually types—types as appearing into thin air in the last chapter, the Chesterton sees them, which redeems them from motif is as a rule sufficiently novel in its con- being in the least stale or conventional; and ception and fantastic in its details to keep the they are usually subordinate to one central reader happy and amused till the end. figure, who is always suspiciously Chestertonion After all, as wiseacres have been remarking in his conversation and outlook on life. The at intervals through the ages, you can't have main interest of the book frequently lies in the everything; and when a man achieves the singu- exposition of those views in singularly Chester- lar feat of being at the same time a poet and tonion terms. But then Chesterton's views on a buffoon, he would surely be a miserable cavil- life are always interesting, even when they usurp ler who asked for more.

Repair

rriall Troy's on fire, and Helen is a-weeping; Here is an end of pride and loveliness. The corn is ripe, and Death will Come to reaping, Nor pause another summer more or less.

Tablet the sorry record of Troy's ashes, Love's epitaph in Helen's swollen eyes; So from the dark of yesterday there flashes The golden spark of Beauty's sacrifice.

There will be purple flowers above the ruin, And azure-lidded sleep will dull the pain; New blooms will scent the alleys others blew in Long years ago, and Beauty breathe again.

Only a poet in his dreaming dead Saw Troy rebuilt, and Helen comforted. —J.M.B. PHONE 44-271 University CoacMeg College 22 Ferry Building, Auckland

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Photographed hy S. F. ANDREW STUDIO <°PP- CIVIC SQUARE) 322 Queen Street Graduates of tlie Year

It is not all well done; but we are surprised to see it done at all.— Johnson

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY PENNIKET, JOHN HUIA (Second Class in History) MASKELL, FRANCIS GERARD Alone, alone, all, all alone, Sweet are the uses of advertisement. —Shakespeare (amended). Alone on a wide, wide sea.—Coleridge. PHILLIPS, IRENE MARGARET CONSTANCE MASTER OF ARTS I know I'm not clever—I'm only a woman. They rest from their labours. —Baring. —Book of Common Prayer. POTTER, DORIS KATHLEEN BEASLEY, ARTHUR (First Class in Education) You should give up being cleverer than other 0 Doris, where do you live? people; it is a great mistake.— Lucas. —Old English Ballad. CANAVAN, WILLIAM ARNOLD O'NEIL (Second Class in History) REEKIE, EUNICE EDNA You Irish people are amazingly clever. Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, —Shaw. —Burns. CREEDON, EILEEN MARY SCOTT, HAROLD STEVENSON (Second Class in History) Scots wa hae.—Ibid. History repeats itself.—Old Adage. SHEARER, JOHN ORD DUDLEY, RAYMOND (First Class in Economics) He fooled the examining body He has passed his life in studious toil In a way I'm reluctant to tell.—Hilton. And never found time to grow fat.—Hay. GILMORE, LILLIAN DOREEN (Second Class in English and French) SOLJAK, PHILIP LEONARD Mighty maiden with a mission. (First Class in English) Paragon of common sense.—Gilbert. On the whole, we think him better suited for Social Service, or Journalism, or Philology, GOODWIN, HENRY ALLAN than for a position of responsibility. (Second Class in English) —Stephen Leacock. Sport goes "hand in hand with learning. STENSON, EILEEN ETHEL —General Untruth. A violet by a mossy stone.—Wordsworth. LAMBOURNE, ANNIE VIOLET ALLONA (Second Class in English and Latin) TAYLOR, ELVA MILLICENT Man has his will, but woman has her way. 1 tell you, sir, that the lady is not at liberty. —Goldsmith. —O. W. Holmes. LEE, MAURICE GEORGE THOMSON, JOHN LAWRENCE (Second Class in English) (Second Class in French) Crool Fortune's dirty left 'as smote me soul. And of his port as meke as is a mayde. —Dennis. —Chaucer. LOEBER, PAULINE STELLA THOMSON, LEONARD HENRY There is something in that name that in- Ditto. spires absolute confidence.—Wilde. WHITELAW, NANCY WINIFRED MATHER, GEOFFREY LEES So wise, so young, they say, I know I'm further off from heaven Do ne'er live long. Than when I was a boy.—Hood. —Shakespeare (untruthfully). MACDONALD, ALEXANDER HUGH WILLIAMS, CECIL JOHN (First Class in Latin and First Class (Second Class in English) in Greek) He was a lord full fat and in good point. He has been known to try —Chaucer. His hand at classic and idyllic verse WOOLLER, ERNEST CYRIL Much in the style of Vergil—only worse. (First Class in History) —Belfoc. A gentleman is an island surrounded by his O'HALLORAN, KEVIN HOWARD own opinion of himself.—Frasquita. I am not a politician, and my other habits are WROATH, MARY KENWYN good.—Artemus Ward. (Second Class in English) PEGLAR, ELIZABETH EMMA FOSTER I would by no means wish a daughter of She's as headstrong as an allegory on the mine to be a progeny of learning. banks of the Nile.—Sheridan. —Sheridan. 39 40 GRADUATES OF THE YEAR

MASTER OF SCIENCE MILLS-PALMER, ANITA MILLICENT What's in a name ?—Shakespeare. They are a peculiar race of animals, and must MUNRO, RONA MARGARET be treated as such.—Lewis Carroll. ADAMS, OLGA LIVIA GERTRUDE Demurest of the tabby kind.—Gray. Wearing all that weight McCALLUM, VALERIE HOPE Of learning like a flower.—Tennyson. Her love was sought, I do avow, COMRIE, JESSIE REVINA By twenty beaux or more.—Goldsmith. Alone I did it.—Shakespeare. McGILL, COLIN THOMAS You look wise; pray correct that error. MASTER OF LAWS —Fowler. To succeed in the otfher trades, capacity must NILSON, ANNIE be shown; in the law, concealment of it will Gentlemen prefer blondes.—Anita Loos. do. OWEN, RUTH BURGOYNE ADAMS, ERNEST CLAUDE She has a host of friends. The Importance of Being Earnest. —"Sun" Popularity Contest —Oscar Wilde. PAUL, DAVID BLACKWOOD WILLIAMS, JAMES I never dare to write (First Class in Roman Law, Contract As funny as I can.—O. IV. Holmes. and Torts, Company Law) RAE, KENNETH WILLIAM Whoso loves law dies either mad or poor. He's little but he's wise, —Middleton. He's a terror for his size.—Kipling. MASTER OF COMMERCE RAPSON, CLEMENTINA RUTH So merciful, so gentle, so highly ornamental. HOLT, LAWRENCE WILLIAM —Gilbert. O, my ducats! Where are my ducats ? RUDALL, HENRY ALEXANDER —Shakespeare. His honest sonsie baws'nt face BACHELOR OF ARTS Aye gat him friends in ilka place.—Burns. STACEY, RONALD SYDNEY We're low, we're low, our place we know, Since when was genius found respectable ? We're only the rank and file.—E. C. Jones. —Mrs. Browning. ADDIS, HAROLD JOHN STEPHENS, FRANK BURCON I chatter, chatter as I go.—Tennyson. If not shot or hanged, you'll get knighted. ALLUM, ANNIE ROSE —Byron. Shall I have it bobbed or shingled? SUTER, ALFREDA —Evangelical Hymn. These college girls are the last cry of BISHOP, ADA CHARLOTTE fashion.—Ladies' Home Journal. Hoods make not monks.—Ibid. THORP, ALFREDA STANSFIELD I like work; it fascinates me. CLARIDGE, JOAN EILEEN MARY —Jerome K. Jerome. I know tfhe young gentlewoman: she has good gifts.—Shakespeare. BACHELOR OF SCIENCE CLIFTON, NORMAN ROY Collegiate scenes, adoo. Senates and schools go droning on, —Arnold (Americanised). For dead things cannot die.—Chesterton. FOTHERINGHAM, DOROTHY CECILY BONNER, ROSE PHYLLIS Her taste exact The female of the species is more deadly For faultless fact, than the male.—Kipling. Amounts to a disease.—Gilbert. BULLEN, KEITH EDWARD HARRIS, GERTRUDE MARY In the depth of science mired.—Burns. Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary. —St. J dim Ervine. CORKILL, LIONEL Have you ever seen forked lightning playing HOGG, JOHN DAVID over water ? Pigs might fly.—Accepted Fact. That's me in my bath.—A. A Milne. JOHNSTON, EILEEN MARY With nothing to say, my dear girl, do not EAST, LEONARD WILLIAMS think, Have we no music, no whisky, no ladies ? Of wasting your time over paper and ink. Well it may be straight, but it's gloomy as Hades.—Stephen Leacock. Mrs. Turner. MARTIN, MARGARET ROXBURGH HUTCHISON, ALLAN JAMES HANNA Why are children's faces always happy ? What am I, Life? A thing of watery salt? —A. S. M. Hutchinson. —Masefield. 41 GRADUATES OF THE YEAR

KNIGHT, HOWARD HERBERT ELLINGHAM PHILLIPS, LOUIS A nice fellow if one may judge from appear- For they have very few laws, and the plainer ances which may be wrong.—Gibbs. and grosser that any interpretation is, that LIDGARD, LOUIS HERBERT they allow as most just.—More (Utopia). A life on the ocean wave.—Sareta Salon. WARIN, WYVERN HERBERT DAWSON First of all, let us kill all the lawyers. LYONS, ROBERT RODNEY —Shakespe\are. There's nothing original in me Excepting original sin.—Campbell. BACHELOR OF COMMERCE SCHISCHKA, ARNOLD YOUNG Commerce, beneath whose poison-breathing shade Don't you like my name ?—A. A. Milne. No solitary virtue dares to spring.—Shelley. SHERWOOD, IAN RUSSELL Assume a virtue if you have it not. FINLAYSON, ETHEL MARGARET —Shakespeare. Ah ! take the cash in hand and waive the rest.—Omar Khayyam. STEWART, JAMES CHARLES I do indeed come from Scotland, but I GIBBS, WILLIAM ERNEST ARTHUR cannot help it.—Boswell. By conscientious smoking and drinking He kept himself from the horror of thinking. TETLEY, ERIC WRIGHT —Leacock. Shall we sell our birthright for a mess of PRICE, FRANCIS MATTHEW potash ?—Art emus Ward. What Price Glory ?—Silent Film. TODD, ALEXANDER DOUGLAS Throw physics to the dogs, BACHELOR OF AGRICULTURAL SCIENCE I'll none of it.—Shakespeare {amended). NEIL, WILLIAM CHRISTISON WATT, JOHN STEPHEN And he gave it as his opinion that whoever Stole a degree and away did run. could make two blades of grass grow where —Nunsery Rhyme (academised)*. only one grew before, would do more essen- tial service to his country than the whole WEST, ELIZABETH HAYDEN race of politicians put together.—Swift. At school alarmed her mates because she called a buttercup 'Ranunculus bulbosus.' BACHELOR OF FORESTRY SCIENCE —Gilbert. Woodman, spare that tree.—Mrs. Hermans. DUMBLETON, LIONEL JACK BACHELOR OF LAWS Great oaks from little acorns grow. —Victorian Proverb. Officially I have embraced the profession of a solicitor—but you know what these BACHELOR OF ENGINEERING official embraces are.—A. A. Milne. EDGCUMBE, GEORGE AUBREY BLACK, JAMES CORBETT The boiler was filled with the best strong But who shall act the honest lawyer ? beer, 'Tis a hard part that.—Suckling. And the devil himself was the engineer. BOURKE, ARTHUR COLIN —S. IV. Robbms. Let me warn you very earnestly against HAY, NORMAN TREVOR CARLTON scruples.—Johnson. Make hay while the sun shines. —Bad Pun. CARROLL, THOMAS ANTHONY TISDALL, ARTHUR ST. CLAIR CHARLES He argues high, he argues low, Here you may put with critical felicity He argues all about him.—Gilbert. The following question : What is elec- tricity ?—H. Belloc. EDGE, WILLIAM REED Barring the natural expression of villainy ASSOCIATE OF ENGINEERING which we all have, the man seems honest enough.—Mark Tzmin. 'AUBIN, R. E. L. He shall pass for a cathedral doctor. JENKINS, EVAN —Ben Jonson. You may hire logic, in the shape of a lawyer, COLE-BAKER, B. M. to prove anything that you want. Old King Cole was a merry old soul. —0. W. Holmes. —Nursery Rhyme. MUNRO, ROBERT LINDSAY VALLANCE, F. G. J. I'd rather lie beneath small stars Even these metallic problems have their Than with rough men who drink in bars. melodramatic side.—Wilde. —Squire. BOYCE, L. B. MCCARTHY, FREDERIC Mechanic slaves, My actions have been misinterpreted. With greasy aprons, rules and hammers. —Munn Trial. —Shakespeare. 42 GRADUATES OF THE YEAR

GEMMELL, F. D. STRONG, JOHN STANLEY Some of our brightest people are klepto- Every young man of intelligence wants to manaics, paranaics, agorapholists and dolo- write; he'll get over it.—Milne. mites.—Leacock. WILMOT, KEITH VALENTINE SIMS, C. J. S. Admitted to the company of paper-blurrers. 'Tis the sport to have the engineer —Sir Philip Sydney. Hoist with his own petard.—Shakespeare. SCHNACKENBERG, E. C. DIPLOMA IN BANKING He ever would shrink from any strong Fascinating Finance.—"Truth." drink, DAWSON, FRANK BARRON Was it whisky or Wynyard Arms' ale. I am sad for the money-mad banking interests. —Thackeray (improved). —Downey. DIPLOMA IN EDUCATION LOVIE, JAMES RAYMOND By education most have been misled. Where love is bought and sold. —Dryden. —Almost Anywhere. ARCHIBALD, JEAN KATHLEEN TAYLOR, HAROLD Some of us will help with the seat of our I will teach the children.—Shakespeare. pants to polish an office stool. BASSETT, ALAN —Neill. Now, small boys, get out of the way. —O. IV. Holmes. POST-GRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP CAMPBELL, WILLIAM MORTIMER MACDONALD, ALEXANDER HUGH ' Watch this my friends, and will you dare to Teacher, by the grace of God.—Adams. say O'HALLORAN, KEVIN HOWARD The study of Classics does not pay ? I must confess, I am an atrociously bad dis- —Leacock. ciplinarian.—Neill. SENIOR SCHOLARSHIPS DIPLOMA IN SOCIAL SCIENCE French God bless the Squire and his relations, ADDIS, H. J. And keep us in our proper stations. Inky, pinky, parlez-vous.—War Song. —Victorian School Hymn. Economics BIGELOW, JOHN EDWIN To be good is noble; but to show others how STEPHENS, F. B. We must all study economy. to be good is nobler and no trouble. —Mark Twain. —Rt. Hon. G. W. Forbes. McNAIR, WILLIAM ALAN Mathematics And many a burglar I've restored STEWART, J. C. To his friends and relations.—Gilbert. They reckon ill who leave me out.—Emerson. DIPLOMA IN JOURNALISM Chemistry For the cause that lacks resistance, SHERWOOD, I. R. For the wrong that needs assistance, Sweet Chemistry, I smell thee noo. For the profits in the distance, —Burns (amended). And the harm that we can do. Geology —"Star" Motto (distorted). BONNER, ROSE Yes, I will spend the live-long day DAVIS, EDNA MARY My heart is a Grub Street attic to let. With Nature.—Dawies. —Lamb. RHODES SCHOLARSHIP HENDERSON, DAPHNE OLGA All hale ! thou mighty annimil—all hale ! I cannot check my girlish blush, my colour —Anon. comes and goes.—Kipling. MINNS, PERCY CROFT MILNE, MAISIE Madness in great ones must not unwatched Driven to writing to boil the pot.—Punch. go.—Shakespeare. "The Gentle Art of Being Original"

By GEORGE A. ELLIOTT.

eally, truly and faithfully, to be original is Straining after effect, to make use of a nega- K the most difficult thing in the world. tive assertion, is, of course, the way not to No doubt we can all aspire to some show be original. In the art of moderation and of originality, but to be original—"and nothing restraint, we have often a lot to learn from the but"; why, that is just about as feasible as older writers. Consider, for example, this depriving bees of flowers and expecting honey. wonderfully realistic picture from "The History In the world of letters, what is meant by of the Plague in London," by Defoe:— originality is not so much originality of theme, "Passing through Token-House-Yard, in Loth- as originality of treatment. A short story or a bury, of a sudden a casement violently opened novel may, so far as its plot is concerned, be just above my head, and a woman gave three as old as the pyramids, and yet if regarded frightful screeches, and then cried, 'Oh! Death, from a new angle, if treated freshly, "different- Death, Death!' in a most inimitable tone, and ly," bear the hall-mark of what we call origin- which struck me with horror and a chilliness ality. in my very blood. There was nobody to be seen in the whole street, neither did any other Here and there you may come across a book window open, for people had no curiosity now which strikes you as being absolutely original, in any case, nor could anybody help one an- but if you analyse it, you'll find that its basic other, so I went on to pass into Bell Alley." idea is no more original than the ancient story of the brothers Anpu and Bata. What has Here, there is no display of verbal fireworks; caused you to exclaim—"Here is originality!" only plain statement; yet the result is a has been the element of freshness in the story, picture which stands out clear and strong in a quality of vitality; attributes which but serve the memory. to indicate that the author has succeeded in But the greatest enemy of originality is sen- impressing his own personality upon your im- timentality. In a letter to a literary friend, agination. Chekhov has a very illuminating remark to Originality, according to such a high au- make:— "When you depict sad or unlucky thority as Maupassant, is a special manner of people," he says, "and want to touch the reader's thinking, seeing, understanding and judging. heart, try to be colder—it gives their grief, as In a very interesting preface to one of his it were, a background against which it stands novels, he tells us how, under the guiding out in greater relief. As it is, your heroes influence of Flaubert, he was able to develop weep and you sigh. Yes, you must be cold." his own powers in this direction. One of Katherine Mansfield is, of course, a law Flaubert's principles was this: "If one has any unto herself. To attempt even a cursory exam- originality, the first thing to do is to bring it ination of her stories is like trying to dissect out; if one has none, the first thing to be done a butterfly with a chisel and mallet. It is only is to acquire it." the more apparent things in her work which Says Maupassant: "Everything which one de- can effectively be sorted out and labelled. But sires to express must be looked at with sufficient here, too, treatment—the method of approach— attention, and during a sufficiently long time, to is everything. Her child creatures, so true to discover in it some aspect which no one has life, so lovable . . . Dickie, the good bad little yet seen or described .... The smallest object boy; Kezia; Pearl Button . . . Surely no writer contains something unknown. Find it. To has used a pen more deftly. "Pearl Button describe a fire that flames, and a tree on a swung on the little gate in front of the House plain, look, keep looking, at that flame and that of Boxes. It was the early afternoon of a sun- tree till in your eyes they have lost all re- shiny day with little winds playing hide and semblance to any other tree or any other fire. seek in it. . . . She swung on the little gate all This is the way to become original." alone, and she sang a small song. Two big

43 44 "THE GENTLE ART OF BEING ORIGINAL" women came walking down the street. One so fat . . ." Little phrases which give an was dressed in red and the other was dressed arresting picture of the scene, because depicted in yellow and green. . . . They had no shoes from the viewpoint of the child. Many more examples might be given, but and stockings on, and they came walking along, the few I have chosen will, I think, suffice to slowly, because they were so fat, and talking bear out what has been said above—that the to each other and always smiling." only exact definition of originality is originality A description of the scene from the child's of treatment. It is a fact that there is nothing viewpoint; that is Katherine Mansfield's method. new under the sun; everything has been "done Thus we have—". . .a sunshiny day . . . playing before," but if a subject is handled in a unique hide and seek in it . . . two big women ... no and convincing manner, the result will be shoes and stockings on . . . because they were "quite original' for most people.

"A Fool There Was . .

A rrog once lived in a pond in the garden had been brought up on fairy tales, you can of a king's castle. It was a very fine guess exactly what she did. Yes, she put down pond and a very fine garden, and a very fine her hand for him to jump on; and when, all castle, but the frog was, as frogs go, quite atremble with excitement and emotion, he had ordinary. The green and yellow markings on done so, she raised him up to the level of his back may have been just a little more her head and shut her eyes and—kissed him! handsome than the markings of other frogs, but And when, after the ecstacy of that moment, it was really a debatable point. they both opened their eyes, the princess was Now one day, as he was sliding down his still holding a frog on the palm of her hand. own particular bulrush for the fifteenth time, Oh, no! I didn't say that the frog was a he suddenly caught sight of the king's daughter prince bewitched by a wicked fairy godmother. walking by the pond, feeding the swans with I said he was a frog. And he was a frog. And pieces of apple-pie left over from lunch. He felt the princess was suddenly aware that she was so queer that it was only by sheer luck that holding a frog, cold, clammy, and slimy. So he didn't fall off his bulrush right into the she put him down very quickly and wiped her mouth of one of his feathered enemies, and of hand unobtrusively (so as to spare his feel- course, you know, and I know, just as well as ings) on her pinafore. And further, because he, that he was hopelessly in love with the she was very disappointed, she ran to her princess from that moment. room in the castle and cried bitterly for seven For weeks and weeks he hardly knew what and a-half minutes. Then she tidied herself to do with himself, and every time he caught up and wondered what dress she should wear a glimpse of the princess he became more deep- for dinner, and whether she would have the ly in love with her. He pondered for hours nice-looking footman to wait on her that night. every day on what he could do about the Meanwhile the frog, having watched her go, matter, until he remembered the fairy tales turned and dived into the pond. His cold- he had heard as a tadpole, and how there was blooded heart burnt with shame at his folly, one in particular that seemed to fit this very and he would have dearly loved to bury him- case. „ self away forever and forever. But then, he So one never-to-be-forgotten afternoon, see- thought, the princess must be feeling just as ing the princess walking on the path round uncomfortable about it. And a sandfly alight- his pond, he hopped out and sat right where ing on the sedges nearby, he promptly forgot she would pass. The princess stopped when all about his misfortune. she saw him sitting there with the worship of love shining in his froggy eyes, and as she also —J. D. Fountain

TIThen the far stars are cold, * ' And sickle-pale the moon, My heart beats as of old; And, in another swoon

I look beyond the stars, Beyond the slim moon's curve, Where the dim nenuphars In the shallow basin swerve;

Ripple and swerve . . The breeze Comes cool against my cheek, Cool under arching trees, And that pale boy, the Greek,

Glimmers again . . Sweet fountain, Still pool beneath the light, Pelion was Love's mountain, And then Love's wings were bright.

But that was long ago; And you, on the marble ruin Resting a moment, so, Laughed, but your eyes were dim . .

Now your faint spirit goes Behind the cloudy bars, And where the ripple flows, Float the dim nenuphars.

But, when the stars are cold And sickle-pale the moon, My heart beats as of old, And, in another swoon

While the soft ripple flows, I search the cloudy bars Where your faint spirit goes Lonely, among the stars. —J.M.B.

45 The University and the Community nphere is something almost pitiful in the re- wasteful. The experience of the most flourish- lations which exist, or, rather, fail to ing industries shows how these defects can be exist, between the University and the commu- remedied by University-trained men. Finally, nity. They are like two shipwrecked sailors in our primary industries, we are losing liter- on a desert island one of whom, who controls ally millions of pounds yearly through diseases the food supply, suffers agonies of thirst, what of stock, unscientific methods of dealing with time the other, who has exclusive possession of pests and haphazard manuring of pastures— the water supply, suffers equally from hunger; all matters for which the University could and and, since neither will help the other, they are should find a remedy. both apparently doomed. There is no need to labour the point. The facts are there for all to see. New Zealand The University has that which the community is perhaps the most favoured country in the desperately needs, while at the same time it is world in its natural resources, its equable dependent upon the community for its own climate, its freedom from the shackles of tra- means of subsistence. Of the latter fact the dition, the absence, on the one hand, of a large University is acutely, and the community vague- class born and bred in ignorance and poverty, ly, aware. Of the former, both appear equally in ignorance and poverty to live and die, and, unconscious; yet were that fact fully realised, on the other hand, of an idle, selfish, wealthy were both alive to their mutual rights and class. These things make it ideal for the duties, the University would cease to eke out a establishment of enlightened methods of govern- bare existence upon insufficient funds and the ment and political institutions, and of advanced community would be freed from most of the methods in industry. In short, all the ingredi- economic and political troubles which now ents of a Utopia are here but no one has had oppress it. the skill and courage to mix them in their The individual member of the community, right proportions. the man in the street, will find it very hard to It is to the University that the community must believe this. Aesop, he says, is out of date, look to supply the chemists, physicists, geolo- fables are a sort of intermediary between Bible gists, engineers, botanists and agriculturalists stories and fairy tales, and, in any case, the to develop the natural resources of the country story of the Lion and the Mouse is too absurd. and to check the wastage due to ignorance. He cannot, nevertheless, claim that his com- It is to the University, too, that the community munity has been conspicuously successful up is entitled to look for those who will make it to the present and it is not difficult to show possible for these experts to do their work, the how, if the University had been able and willing political economists and experts in statecraft, to do its part, matters might have been better who, having access to the thoughts and deeds for the community. They could scarcely be of the great statesmen of all ages, can lay worse. down and execute a constructive policy of Arapuni is an obvious example of such government. Every class in every country pro- misfortune, the enormous cost of which duces its idealists. It is for the University to can only be written off as the price produce idealists whose ideals are based on of knowledge. Yet the impossibility of sound principles and who are willing and able success with the scheme must have been to put those ideals into practice. consulted. Then our timber industry, The knowledge is there, the ability is there, bankrupt, ruined by the influx of imported dreamers we have in plenty, all that is lacking timbers, most of which our botanists could have is the opportunity to convert those dreams into told us, can be grown at least as well here as reality. The University of New Zealand, prac- in their native environment. Our secondary tically unendowed, its students drawn chiefly industries are all in a crippled condition, not from the poorer classes, is largely dependent because of competition but because the methods upon the community; and the community, being of manufacture are largely out-of-date and the ultimate gainer from the work done by the

46 THE UNIVERSITY AND THE COMMUNITY 47

University, should make adequate provision for present indications they are both faced by a its welfare. similar doom. It is easy, fatally easy, for the When the community has realised its respon- community to ignore the needs of the Univer- sibility in this direction the University will be sity, fatally easy for the University to withdraw able to fulfil its duty to the community. In into the rarified atmosphere of academic such co-operation lies the salvation of both; seclusion. Facilis est discensus Averni. but, as in the case of the shipwrecked sailors mentioned at the beginning of this article, from -J.N.W.

"Doleamus Igitur" (Codex Akarana, fully annotated.)

he author of this interesting University song 5 Obsolescunt omnes qui in Senatu nos regunt; T is unknown. It is conjectured, in my opin- Floret negligentia, ion very reasonably, that he flourished about Nulla est industria, twelve years after the close of the Great War, 8 Atque nihil efficiunt. and that he wrote this poem about the year 1930. The tone of the poem, the general ex- 9 Consenescunt studio nostri Professores; pression of despair and sorrow in the first and Semper scelus exspectant, last verses, the complaints against the Senate Voluptatem despectant, of the University of New Zealand in the second 12 Non manent in flore. verse, and the despondent references to the Profssorial Board in the third and fourth 13 Petit nunc iucunditas, petit delectatio; verses, all show the signs of a wave of pessim- Professores duri sunt, ism sweeping over the students of that day. Ludere non permittunt; We find surprising evidence in favour of this 16 In nos cadit suspicio. theory in contemporary records, viz., Craccum, June 26, 1930: "The march of the graduates 17 Vita nostra tritis est, triste finietur; for 1930 might well have been hailed to the Venit melancholia, tune of 'Doleamus igitur,' for there is obvious Rapit nos tristitia, truth in the press comment, that the Graduation 20 Nemini parcetur. Ceremony has become as placid and decorous as a Band of Hope meeting." Tradition states Translation: that in 1929 the Professorial Board threatened 1-4. Now let our lamentation rise while we to exclude undergraduates from the ceremony are students. After the labour by the midnight unless absolute quietness was assured. It is oil, and the study which soon cometh to nought, fairly clear, then, that this poem was written in we shall descend to the grave. 1929 or 1930, and the reference in Craccum, I 5-8. Crumbling to decay are all those who think, points clearly to the year 1930. on the Senate have command over us. Neglect The text of the poem is in good order, and flourisheth, energy there is none; and in- needs no discussion. The structure is simple, efficiency is over all. the first and last verses expressing general 9-12. Our professors grow old in their study. lamentation, and the second, third and fourth Continually do they watch for acts of wicked- setting out the complaints in detail:— ness; in contempt hold they pleasure. Their bloom passeth away. 1 Doleamus igitur studentes dum sumus; 13-16. Now doth jollity perish, and perish- Post laborem lucubratum, eth enjoyment. The professors are austere; Studiumque mox frustratum, they allow us not to play the fool. On us 4 Nos habebit humus. falleth suspicion. 48 DOLEAMUS IGITUR"

17-20. Our life is dreary, drearily will it after some particularly dreary episode: "The close. Melancholy cometh; gloominess seizeth actual Capping Ceremony passed off without us; no one is spared. incident. . . . When the ceremony was con- Explantaory notes on the text and transla- cluded, the Hongi Club made a gallant but tion: belated effort to make the audience laugh . . . There was pathos in seeing the students trying C.3. The phrase studium mox frustratum to amuse themselves while labouring under can be referred to more than the frequency of many restrictions imposed by the Professorial failure. The degree regulations caused stu- Board . . ." Semper scelus expectant; volup- dents no small trouble, (vide Craccum, June tatem despectant. The poet, however, excuses 26, 1930): "The N.Z.U. Calendar is a mass of the Professors on the score of old age: consenes- ambiguities and anachronisms, as most students cunt, non manent in flore. know to their cost." C.5-8 This is a particularly fine suggestive 13-16. This verse opens with a lament, and stanza. The verb obsolescunt, rendered "crumb- then details a particular complaint: ludere non ling into decay," literally means "they grow permittunt. Compare: "Gone, however, were obsolete." the shouts of ribald laughter, gone indeed the riotous songs of yesterday. A solitary motor- Compare with the verse the following extract horn, blown by some daring student, sounded from Craccum above-mentioned: "Led by the like a child crying in the wilderness, and was hoary spectre of Decrepitude (obsolescunt), the instantly suppressed." Reading this, we catch Seven Deadly Sins of academic administration the pathos of the line: "They allow us not to (qui in Senatu nos regunt) presented a sorry play the fool." The rest of the verse repeats array of errors, neglects (floret negligentia), the sentiment of the previous stanza. and inefficiencies innumerable (nihil efficiunt). . . . The University of New Zealand is profes- 17-20. The closing verse is an example of sedly an examining body only, and might be extreme pathos expressed in diction and rhythm. expected to function with some degree of effi- The repetition of tristis and the sad cadence of ciency. Vain thought! . . ." Nulla est industria. venit melancholia and nemini parcetur give a C.9-12. In respect to the sentiment of this tone of utter hopelessness and depression, and verse—the somewhat Puritanical outlook adopted form a fitting conclusion to the unhappy song. by the Professorial Board—I quote from the same Craccum, which was evidently written —SYCORAX.

Hphe following blues have been awarded for Tennis: A. H. MacDonald, A. C. Stedman, 1930:— J. E. Stedman, Misses J. Mcintosh, L. Roberton, Football: K. D. Anderson, V. C. Butler, D. R. Taylor and N. Whitelaw. McKay, P. C. Minns, R. Stacey. Basketball: Misses M. Graham, N. Gallaher, Athletics: J. Allen, V. C. Butler, P. C. Minns, J. Mcintosh, M. Stehr and E. Wann. 0. R. Morgan. Boxing: R. B. Moorhouse and Miss E. Leitz. Hockey: A. D. Brown, P. Crawley, N. J. Rowing: J. K. Hunn and L. B. McCallum. Ellison, C. B. Radcliffe, W. Taylor, Misses M. Shooting: E. Boulton, C. D. Peat and G. E. Mawson and J. Osborne. Watt. Films and Their Future

Greater Than the Theatre

uch ink has been spilt in the battle now which the silent film is and was being used, M being waged between the 'talkie' film and will be better served by the 'talkie.' By the the 'flesh-and-blood' stage. Whatever may be silent film it was possible to see, where the outcome of this and whether the legitimite formerly, it was only possible to hear. The stage will ever again come into its own, there 'talkie' combines the two. remains another aspect, which, though by far One difficulty common with apparatus, which the more important, is frequently lost sight of. is complicated and requires space, was the The 'talkie,' merely as an amusement, will have difficulty of moving it once it was installed. But a short life. It has a future infinitely beyond man's ingenuity, which invented the machine, this. It is part of a great development in was not to be baffled by such a comparative de- science, in which the perfect production of the tail, and a 'portable talkie' has been produced, talking picture is assured; but its ultimate func- though bulky and unweildy, it is, in itself, a tion will not be the amusement of the masses. proof that business men have realised its poten- Even had the films not been given a voice, tialitis. It will not be long before these minor their scope would have been much widened. faults are overcome, and 'the portable talkie' Commerce is beginning to realise their value. will be as common as small gramophones and Only a few days ago the representative in New wireless sets are at present. Zealand of the Canadian Pacific Railways showed to some Auckland business men, a film When, as previously mentioned, the activities depicting the different phases of the vast sys- of the Canadian Pacific Railways were explained tem of that company. The fact that the audi- by the aid of a film, information given in the ence actually saw what the C.P.R. had done, titles was insufficient, and had to be supple- what it owned and controlled, made them rea- mented by a spoken address. Had the film lise more vividly, the truth of the address which been 'talkie' the lecturette would have been had preceded the screening of the film. unnecessary. For the same reason, that it is better to see Those who to-day discuss with only incidental than to hear, education experts suddenly awoke interest the progress of the 'talkie,' who are to the part films could play in the teaching of concerned merely with the hope that the hero children. Word pictures have been the cry of in the next picture will speak with a voice a teachers since the beginning of time, but not un- little less like the rattle of a tin can, fail to til recently were the two ideas connected. The grasp the significance of the advent of the multitude of things which the film could teach talking picture. The tenor of their very lives need no amplifying. They must be patent. may be changed by an instrument which they Religion has of late shaken itself free from look upon to-day merely as an amusement. the shackles of unreasoning conservatism, and Magnates in the theatrical world have pro- permitted itself to see the good in films—even phesised the near approach of television to be if only to fill the churches—and children have used in conjunction with the 'talkie.' But as thereby benefited. They will not early turn in with the latter they have limited their thought disgust from that which at least is presented to the world of films. Even here, however, what in an interesting way. is foretold for the future sounds like a piece For these widely different things in everyday from H. G. Wells. "The day will come," says life, the silent film was, and still is, being used. Mr. Henry Hayward, discussing the subject, The talking film is merely starting where it "when the whole of New Zealand's theatres will left off. It has clinched the issue and forced simultaneously be supplied with sight and sound the pace. In the measure that the talking film from one central television station at Welling- is now generally recognised to have been an ton. Every theatre from the North Cape to improvement on the silent film, the things for the Bluff will have identical fare." American

49 50 FILMS AND THEIR FUTURE writers have stated, moreover, that television cern, and for each of the New Zealand theatres, 'talkies' will be due for commercial exploitation a receiving station. Imagine business done on in 1940. those lines. Any advertising scheme at present Sir Philip Gibbs, in his book, "The Day After seems puny in the comparison. Think of a tele- Tomorrow," has thrown his thoughts farther vision agency flashing pictures of real happen- afield. For television apart from the world of ings to the ends of the earth, almost as soon the theatre, he has predicted great things. For as they had taken place, so that individuals the man in the street, he says, it will be possible could actually see what has happened. The merely to turn over a switch, and to throw on days of the newspaper seem insecure. Com- to a screen, pictures of actual happenings, which pared with what will come, education schemes at present appear in the press as news items. are at present in their infancy. Consider, again, Just as commerce in all its diversities seized an electioneering campaign conducted on these first on the silent film and then on the 'talkie' lines. These things are not fantastic. The as a medium for its progress, so also will it machine of progress turns apace, and only those make use of the latest development of the film who benefit do not realise it. —television. And if the other two have been Thus it would seem that the talking picture, (and still are) useful to it, television will rev- evolved up to the present merely for the amuse- olutionise it and its methods. The world gen- ment of the people, will in future fill a sphere erally, not only that of commerce, stands on the incomparably beyond it. Commerce has al- threshold of a new age, with different methods, ready set its eyes covetously upon it, and tele- and with ideals which must be correspondingly vision offers its services further on in the road changed. of progress. The prophet does not exist who But let us enlarge the scope of Mr. Hayward's can foresee what these two together will not forecast. Call Wellington the distributing point, accomplish. the headquarters of some great television con- —F.C.J. Disillusionment rjlhis is the garden where we sinned, Beneath this dark camellia tree, Where two prim flowers, like matrons, bend Their heads in crimson colloquy.

The winds have stripped all blossoms else From here: these two alone remain To spin their gossip, true or false, And tell the sorry tale again.

(Roses ? Yes, roses should have been Love's petalled altar-cloth, and cloak: Rose is the floral Magdalen, Too beautiful and sad to mock.)

Under these branches, suddenly wise, We took the ripening harvest in, Tore down the veils from Paradise— And found our love was common sin.

But that's all done with: why should we care? Too many hearts, illusion spent, Seek from the goddess frail and fair, In vain, a further increment;

Too many boys and girls, as we did, Crumble the sacramental bread, And eating it, weep tears unheeded Over the unresurgent dead.

So let's not blame the springs that move Our shiftless hearts, and love's sweet snare, But pass on, each, to a new love— The prelude to a new despair.

—A. R. D. FAIRBURN.

51 The National Union of Students

Successful First Year

he National Union of Students (New Zea- control of the Joynt Scroll Contest, formerly T land) has now completed its first year of a part of Tournament, and has organised wire- existence and may look back with satisfaction less debates between teams from the four col- in that the inaugural step has been taken, and leges. the movement firmly established. CHEAPER TEXT BOOKS. Inevitably, difficulties of organisation had to The Books Committee has done exceedingly be met and overcome; a constitution which valuable work in arranging with an English appeared in theory to be ideal for its purpose firm of University booksellers to supply text- required when put into practice minor altera- books to New Zealand students at English tions and adjustments, and these having been published prices. Details will be posted on made, the organisation should achieve its pur- the notice boards at an early date. pose with greater efficiency. At Canterbury College the Travel and N.U.S. ORGANISATION. Foreign Affairs Committee is endeavouring to The work of the Union is delegated to obtain special concessions to students travelling Standing Committees of which there is at least both in New Zealand and abroad, and is col- one at each University College. This College Icting information as to conditions at Home has been allocated the Standing Committee of and in foreign countries which would be of Sports, Victoria controls Debating and Books, assistance to our students. Canterbury, Travel, Foreign Affairs and Pub- The Internal Affairs Committee is tackling licity, and Otago, Internal Affairs. the matters which have given serious dissatis- Each of these committees has had a busy faction to New Zealand students. Such matters year and contributed its portion towards the as the revision of the University Calendar, and really imposing sum of the first year's work examination conditions, and the method of of the Union. A New Zealand University selecting Rhodes Scholars, come within the Athletic Team was sent to Sydney to compete scope of this Committee, and the value of the against Sydney University, and though arrange- influence of a body officially representing all ments for a return visit this year broke down New Zealand students cannot be overestimated. on the question of finance, the negotiations A NEW PRESIDENT. will be very useful for any future visit. The With the departure from New Zealand of Sports Committee will in future handle routine Mr. P. S. de Q. Cabot, its first president, and work in connection with the award of New practically its founder, the Union suffered a Zealand University Blues, and excellent work great loss. Mr. Cabot possessed the enthusiasm has been done in the direction of standardising and energy, combined with a genius for or- the Blues awarded for the several departments ganisation and unfinite tact and patience, which of sport. It should be emphasised, however, made him an ideal President. His successor, that it is not the intention or desire of the Mr. W. J. Mountjoy, of Victoria College, has, N.U.S. to supersede or interpret with existing however, already shown by his vigorous appli- organisations such as the Tournament Com- cation that the mantle has not fallen on un- mittee and the Football and Hockey Councils. worthy shoulders. It simply offers and invites co-operation and Next year the Union headquarters, which are assistance. at present situated at Canterbury College will A Debating Team was sent to Australia where be moved for two years into the North Island, it had a most successful tour. Another team either to Victoria College or A.U.C. Local from Victoria College travelled under the students will then have an opportunity of gain- auspices of the Union to America. The Stand- ing some idea of the organisation of the ing Committee for Debating has also assumed movement.

52 'Woodcut

1 he rustless leaves are bronzen bright

7 On the swayed bough; faint clashings run Where each stiff petal puts to flight Its inharmonious myrmidon. That metal music languishes; The air is thick and gray and mute. Pan in a forest corner lays His lips against a graven flute.

The sexless shoots and epicene Tree-skeleton of the woods of love, Droop their gaunt arms; for they have seen The silken pinions of her dove.

—J.M.B.

53 Vale

Mr. Minns and Mr. Macdonald

We take this opportunity to bid farewell to Training College. He completed his B.A. two distinguished Auckland graduates who are course in 1928 and won a senior scholarship in leaving New Zealand to continue their studies French. He intends reading for honours in abroad — Mr. Percy Minns, Rhodes Scholar, History at Balliol College, Oxford. 1930, and Mr. Alec Macdonald, Post-graduate Besides being a brilliant scholar, Mr. Minns Scholar in Arts. Mr. Minns will proceed to is a fine all-round athlete, and is at present Balliol College, Oxford, and Mr. Macdonald to one of the most outstanding Rugby wing-three- Caius College, Cambridge. quarters in New Zealand. Since leaving the The Rhodes Scholar is the true triple first Auckland Grammar School, Mr. Minns has of his time, for he is pre-eminent alike in played regularly in senior Rugby, first for the scholarship, in sport and in character. Cecil Training College team and then for University. Rhodes proposed to take the most promising During the last three seasons he has repre- young men of the British Dominions, and sented Auckland, and last year he played for through a course of study at the Mother of the North Island against the South Island. He Universities, to fit them to return and direct the was selected to represent New Zealand against affairs of their native land. Though in many New South Wales in 1928, but owing to injuries cases this aim is not precisely realised, the was unable to take the field. This year he was conditions of selection in New Zealand never- under consideration for selection to represent theless mark the Rhodes Scholar as the best New Zealand against Britain in the Third Test, 'Varsity man of his year, and the best all-round played at Auckland on July 26. New Zealander of his age. The Rhodes Scholar Mr. Minns has always been a most popular is the ambassador, not only of his University, student, and has acted as chairman of the but of his country: and the scholars of New Athletic Club for the past two years. He has Zealand, representing more than a million also been on the Students' Association Exe- people, are held in higher esteem at Oxford cutive since 1928, and was elected vice-presi- than those of almost any other country. dent last year. Mr. Macdonald has also combined a brilliant Percy Croft Minns, the ninth A.U.C. man to scholastic career with many other achievements secure this distinction, therefore joins a very at school and university. An old boy of the select company. It is an honour well earned Auckland Grammar School, he entered A.U.C. by his character and achievements. Born at with an entrance scholarship in 1925, taking Albany, Western Australia, in 1907, Mr. Minns out his B.A. degree with a senior scholarship received his early education in the Wairarapa in Greek in 1928. His most outstanding district, and entered the Auckland Grammar achievement came last year, when he secured School with a junior national scholarship in his M.A. degree with double first-class honours 1921. He remained at the school for five years, in Latin and Greek, thereby establishing a and was a prominent member of the Rugby prior claim to the travelling scholarship which fifteen. He held the senior athletic champion- has just been awarded him. Mr. Macdonald ship cup in 1924 and 1925, and with it the has also attained considerable success at tennis, Waikato Shield for the 100 yards champion- winning the Auckland junior championship in ship and the Old Boys' Cup for the 440 yards 1925, and representing A.U.C. at tennis for the championship. past three years. Mr. Minns won a junior university scholar- Our congratulations and best wishes go with ship in 1925, being placed seventh on the Percy Minns and Alec Macdonald to England. Dominion list. He entered the Auckland We feel that they are eminently worthy of the University College in 1926, studying for his honour bestowed on them, and that they will B.A. degree while also attending the Teachers' amply fulfil the promise of their student days.

54 P. C. MINNS, Rhodes Scholar, 1930. Politics and the University

fellow-contributor to "Kiwi" has com- failure of such a system in our state of civili- A mented on the lack of an organised sation has now become generally recognised. student interest in political matters. Politics It is imperative that we should train men, and in its narrower sense has certainly achieved an if possible the best men, to govern us. Such unenviable reputation, but in its wider signifi- an ideal in no way determines the system by cance there can be no doubt that as an im- which we shall be governed. portant influence on our life, it must be of in- The methods by which organised discussion terest to anyone who has pretensions to intelli- of political necessities may be achieved are gence. Questions which inevitably arise are doubtful. The last thing to be desired is any- these : Why is there no such organised in- thing in the nature of a slavish following of terest ? How may it be established ? What present political procedure. A permanent results may be expected? And finally, will "Mock Parliament" would be but the mockery the results justify the experiment ? of a mockery. Equally undesirable is the type It is at least conceivable that the university of society which would solemnly discuss a paper "authorities" would frown on any attempt to on "The Political Institutions of the Andaman interest students in political affairs. The results Islanders." Such a subject might, perhaps, be of such an interest as seen in Russia, China, very interesting, but it would not be likely to and Spain are not likely to commend the pro- assist in the solution of our own problems. The cess to believers in the continuity of the "status question is a difficult one, and might best be quo." solved by preliminary discussion and exchange Again it is doubtful whether the normal of ideas among those interested. undergraduate should be expected to have any Finally we come to the results which may interest in politics. Our civilisation demands be expected from any experiment along the and promotes a late maturity (if it promotes lines suggested. Political activity on the part any at all), and it is probably far better that of students in the countries previously men- up to the early twenties the student should play tioned has been the cause of a ferment of and play and play again. The exception to this trouble to constituted authority. It is unlikely delightful dictum is that serious effort should that anything of the kind would occur in New be made in that sphere of life in which the Zealand. Serious conflict only occurs in coun- student hopes to achieve economic success or tries nationally oppressed or backward in de- social independence. This specialisation is velopment. Practice always lags behind aca- unfortunately necessary under modern con- demic thought. It is only when it lags too ditions, but it must be achieved with a minimum far behind that the resulting oppression becomes sacrifice of other interests. It would be natural, unbearable. One excellent result of general therefore, that a politically interested organisa- discussion would be that the political ideas of tion should be attractive only to such students students would have a chance of reaching a who definitely considered a political career. It reasonable development. The student who, per- is probable, also, that their number is exceed- haps by reason of a strong social sympathy, ingly small. The reason for this is the disrepute leaves college a "red hot socialist," would have into which the politician has fallen, together his cruder ideas modified and the sharp edges with the uncertainty of such activity as a pro- of his prejudices smoothed down. The rigid fession, and the false idea that efforts in this conservative, for there are even these among direction are presumptuous. It is, of course, students, would lose his timidity and his ex- no more presumtuous to attempt to become a alted confidence in the status quo, and gain a good statesman than to attempt to become a more critical and inquiring outlook. good doctor, lawyer, or engineer. I am aware If the experiment were a success there might that the political ideal of self-government is indeed be a possibility that New Zealand could supposed to demand that we should be gov- regain its position as a world leader in political erned by people no better able to govern us and economic development. than we are able to govern ourselves; but the -J. D.

57 Rona A ROMANCE

he western hills called loudly that Sunday reach it as it came rushing along underneath. T morning. I took a second-class ticket to When I rose to my feet with my prize I saw Waitakere; but soon I was so disgusted with my lady in brown dejectedly coming up onto railway travelling, and the hills looked so in- the road. viting, that at Henderson I left the train, and "Excuse me," I said, "This is your hat I with greatly relieved feelings started on my think," and I held it out. journey to the West. I prefer, on such an She gave an exclamation of surprise and expedition, to take my time. I have no am- pleasure when she saw it. bition to cover an unheard-of number of miles "Oh thank you," she said, "I thought it had in the time available, but wander along the gone for good. How on earth did you get it?" dusty roads with a watchful eye for every "Well as a matter of fact I simply fished it pleasing trick of sun and shadow, and a calm up from the bridge. I thought, 'Hullo! there's appreciation of the leisurely blending of one a perfectly lovely hat all on its own, and I delightful landscape into the next. haven't got one!' and no sooner have managed I came presently to what I had always con- to get it than the owner comes to claim it." sidered the most beautiful little scene on that She laughed. "What a shame," she said, invariably beautiful journey. The curving road issued suddenly from beneath a canopy of "But anyhow it wouldn't suit you. And it's trees, and, confronted by a turbulent little rather wet, isn't it?" stream, seemed to hesitate an instant, and then "It is," I agreed, after examining it with took the obstacle in a flying leap, over the mock seriousness. "I should hang it up on a most perfect bridge ever designed by a borough branch to dry." engineer. I often wonder about that borough "No, I must carry it," she said with a shake engineer. A man who could build a substan- of her head and a slight frown. "I can't wait." tial bridge, of indifferent material, in the midst "Are you going on this way?" she continued, of natural beauty such as this, and actually with a slight gesture up the road. "I've walked improve the scene, was obviously destined for all the way from the station. I'm expecting a higher things. car to meet me any time now. You haven't As is my custom, I leaned on the parapet to seen a car, have you? But of course not. Can pay my homage to the stream by a long gaze you tell me the time? They said they'd meet into the depths. But for once the high priest me at the station, and it must be hours since failed in his worship. With a shock of sur- I left there." She paused, and I had a chance prise I suddenly realised that I was not the to answer her questions. only person within five miles as I had thought. "I'm sorry," I replied regretfully, "but I For, on the edge of the stream, and apparently haven't seen anything or anyone but you since beating it with a long stick, was the brownest I started. The time is about nine forty-five. girl I have ever seen in my life. Her shoes And I was going this way. It certainly seems were brown and so were her stockings, and a long time since I left the station. Perhaps her skirt and the neat pullover and the glossy we could pass the time quicker if we walked hair. All were brown in a perfect setting of on together," I suggested hopefully. brown rocks and green trees. And the brown "Yes," she nodded with an abstracted air, hat which should have completed the picture and as if to herself, "The car can't possibly be was dancing gaily on the waves, just out of very far away now." reach of its owner's efforts to recovery. As We walked along some time without speak- I watched, the hat, which had been becalmed, ing, and I must confess that the scenery was was caught up in the swift main stream, and less interesting than it had been. Her eyes floated away under the bridge. I ran to the were not brown, they were blue and mischiev- other side, and lying down, was just able to ous. And a smile lurked always at the corners

58 RONA 59

of red and delicately-moulded lips. She was "Rona," I said, "I'm afraid you've put your as fresh and unaffected, as demure and charm- little foot very thoroughly into it. This is ing as the stream we had just passed. not the road to Piha." "My name," I said at last, "is Hilarion. I've Her eyes opened in consternation. They had it for about ten minutes. What's yours?" were beautiful eyes too. I couldn't help noticing it even at that moment. For a moment she looked so surprised that I was afraid I had made a mistake. Then, "Why, what road is it?" she asked. with the slightest hint of a smile in an other- "It's no particular road," I replied, "It's a wise serious face, she answered, "Emma!" blind road—an abandoned road." I stopped abruptly. There was a pause. "I refuse to believe it," I said. "There are "Whatever shall I do?" she asked in dis- three Emmas in my family and they're all over may. fifty. Nobody under that age can be called "I'm afraid there's only one thing to do— Emma. Didn't you know? It doesn't suit you turn round and walk the six or seven miles at all." back. Incidentally, this explains why the car "Well Hilarion doesn't exactly suit you, does hasn't met you. They're probably waiting at it?" the station, wondering when you are going to arrive." "Of course not," I protested indignantly, "Why, of course," and then her face fell. "but I didn't choose it to suit me. I chose it "But—oh dear!—the car wouldn't wait." to suit you, and the day, and the atmosphere." "Why not?" I asked. "Oh! Well in that case, don't you think "You see, I wasn't sure I would be able to I should choose my name to suit you?" come and we decided that if I wasn't on the "Heaven forbid," I exclaimed hurriedly, first train this morning they would know I "That's a distinct breach of the rules." hadn't been able to. And I went to no end She laughed again. of trouble to get away," she concluded un- "Well then, I think you had better choose happily. my name as well." I whistled. "I think we had better sit down There was a pause. and consider the situation," I said, looking round for a seat. We found a large stone each "What about Diana?" I hazarded. and rested a bit. I must have looked ridicu- "Too classical," she decided with pursed lips lously perturbed for she suddenly started to and her head on one side. "Besides"—with a laugh. wave of her hand—"it doesn't fit in with all "It's not as serious as all that," she said. this." "Well," I began, "as far as I can see there "No," I admitted reluctantly, and then with are three possible courses. As that wonderful eagerness, "I know—Rona! You know—'Rona man P. G. Wodehouse has discovered, in any of the Moon.'" predicament there are two broad courses which "That's an inspiration," she exclaimed. a person can follow. He can either stay where "No," I said soberly, "That is not the in- he is or he can go somewhere else." spiration." She nodded soberly. She changed the subject. "It is obviously impossible to stay here—" I continued. "I can't help wondering what has happened "It's very nice here," she interrupted. to the car," she said in a worried tone. "Yes," I agreed, "but you'd find it a bit "They probably had a breakdown. For all chilly at night." we know they may be just round the corner,*' "I suppose so," she admitted with a sigh. I assured her. "How far along are you stay- "That being decided," I went on, "the possi- ing?" bilities are as follows:—firstly, you can walk "Oh, right down on the coast," she replied. back to the station and catch the next train "Down where?" I exclaimed. home." "On the coast—at Piha you know." "Oh, I couldn't," she exclaimed, "that would I stopped in consternation. be too bad." 60 RONA

"Secondly," I continued, "you can walk back I got up. "We'd better be moving then, I seven miles to the station and then walk the think. Time's getting on," I said. eighteen miles to Piha on the right road—a total, counting the seven you've already done, An hour later we sat sharing my lunch at a of exactly thirty-two miles." point on the track which I judged would be I paused. nearest the Piha road. "Don't you think I might get a lift at the "As soon as we're finished," I said with my station?" she asked in a subdued voice. mouth full, "I'm going to leave you here while "You might," I admitted, but my tone was I go to the top here and get my bearings," and not hopeful. I indicated the ridge behind me with a back- "And again, thirdly, if you follow this road wards nod. "I'm pretty sure this is the right for about two miles further we come to a track spot, but I'm not going to leave it to chance." bearing more to the West. And a mile or so Shortly after I started off, and presently got along that track," I continued impressively, "it a good view of the lay of the land. The last passes within a quarter of a mile of the Piha lap was even shorter than I had thought and road." when I returned to the track a quarter of an "That will do splendidly—" she began, but I hour later I felt in excellent spirits. held up a warning hand. "We'll probably do it in an hour," I said "Just a minute," I said. "There are one or confidently, and we started off the track, down two difficulties. In the first place that last to the stream below. quarter of a mile is not as easy travelling as Going down was fairly easy—sometimes too this road. In fact it will probably take us an easy, and very soon we came to the creek. hour and a half at least to do it—it's a gully Here was a surprise. It lay, a thin summer with a stream at the bottom and the going will trickle, at the bottom of a course about twenty be fearfully difficult. Also, although I know feet wide and twelve feet deep. I was discon- the road and the track well, I've never actually certed at the steepness and smoothness of the done the trip across the gully, and it's possible banks. They were practically perpendicular but not likely, that we won't be able to get and of water-worn papa rock. across." I waited for her reply. "This looks nasty," I said. "But you talk as if you're going, too," she "Why," she was a little breathless, "we can protested. "I can't take you right out of your easily drop down into there." way. If you tell me the directions I can easily "Yes," I replied, "but unfortunately we can't find my own way." drop up the other side." "Absolutely nothing doing," I said with de- But at that moment I saw a strong thick cision. "I simply won't tell you. I wasn't root hanging from the opposite bank a little going anywhere in particular, so you can't way along from where we stood. It was ideal as possibly be taking me out of my way. And," a help up the other side, and without further I went on quickly as she was about to speak, hesitation we dropped down to the bed of the "if you turn back because of me it will spoil stream. As I grasped the root to make sure my day." of its strength it came away in my hand. We She considered me quietly for a minute, stared at one another in dismay for a few then— seconds. "You're very good aren't you," she asked. "There's nothing for it but to walk along "Yes," I said readily, "I am. Everybody until we find a place where we can get up," notices it." I said. Rona nodded. She laughed. "I'm afraid," she suggested doubtfully, "that "Of course," I went on, as I threw pebbles it gets worse in both directions." She was at a large stone, "I don't know whether you've right. We seemed to have struck the very noticed it, but this is not exactly a busy road. easiest place for crossing—and even the easiest In fact you're the only person I've met on it. seemed too difficult for us. We walked along So if we do go on we probably won't meet a the bed of the stream looking for a way out. soul for several hours." I waited. Presently Rona called to me and pointed "How lucky," she said, "that I'll have you out a little crack in the rock about eight feet for company." up. RONA 61

"If I could get a foot in that," she said, "I "You'll be all right now," I said, "Just follow could hold onto that creeper above it and pull the road." myself up." "But aren't you coming down? Oh you "Quite so," I agreed, "but you'll find it diffi- must!" cult to put your foot in it. In fact it's impos- I shook my head. "I have to get back to sible to put your hand in it to say nothing of town, and it's getting late. Look how much your foot." further I would have to come back if I went "Couldn't you lift me up?" she asked. down." "How far is it?" "I could not," I replied definitely. "About twelve miles. Three and a half hours' Just then I caught sight of a loop of supple- easy walking." jack hanging just over the edge of the bank. "You said eighteen before." It was out of reach but I knew how I could get "My mistake." it. I made a rope of a piece of string in my pocket and the two straps of my haversack "If you won't come down I shall send the buckled together, and with the help of a stone car to overtake you and take you back to the tied to the end of the string, I succeeded, station." after a few attempts, in looping the straps "If I'm not very much mistaken they've got round the climber. A few strenuous tugs the two front wheels off." brought it into reach and after that it was She shaded her eyes and presently sighed. plain sailing. I was very thankful when we "Yes, you're right. I suppose we'll have to were out of it. We were too breathless to say say good-bye." She held out her hand. As I much, but we smiled at one another as we took it rested. "I wonder where I'd be now if it hadn't been for you?" "We've still to climb to the top," I said "I'm afraid," I said, "that you'd be walking presently, and we started once more. back down that blind road. Unless, of course, It was an awful climb. At times I thought you tried to go further when you came to the we were never going to do it, and in one place end of it. In that case I don't know where you neither of us could have managed without the would have been." help of the other. The last two yards took at "I've been very lucky." least a quarter of an hour and when, by a "So have I." supreme effort, we at last reached the top we "Can I possibly repay you?" simply lay and panted. "I'd be very sorry if you tried to." "This sort of thing is too strenuous after "Yes," she conceded, "I suppose you would. lunch," I said a little later, and Rona merely But you'll accept a small gift, wouldn't you?" nodded. After a bit we got up and a few "Why, yes, I wouldn't mind that." steps brought us to the road. It was not much She took a step towards me and raised her more than one o'clock, and it was very hot lips. I kissed her, and she turned away and after the cool of the bush. We trudged along. went slowly down the road. She looked back "I wish there was a drink here," said Rona once and waved, and I heard "Good-bye, Hil- a little later. "How much further is it?" arion." I laughed. When she was out of sight, I turned and set off for home. "I go as far as the next turning," I replied. * * * When we came to it we could see the coast Five hours later I roused myself as the train line below us. came to a stop in Mt. Eden station. "Oh, there' s the camp," she exclaimed "It didn't really happen," I said to myself. excitedly, pointing, "And the car." "It was a dream . . . Rona." I could see people moving about. —J. D. NEW ZEALAND DRY CLEANING CO.LTD.

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62 Easter Tournament A.U.C. Wins the Shield

ournament was a triumph for Auckland in Tennis: A. C. Stedman, J. E. Stedman, and T in many ways. The total of 200 visitors A. H. McDonald. Misses N. Whitelaw, L. was a record number, and the fact that one Robertson and J. Mcintosh. and all enjoyed themselves to the full is a fitting tribute to the efforts of the local organis- ATHLETICS. ing officials and their many assistants. For This year's meeting was marked by the close most of the events, the weather was warm and contest fought out by Canterbury and Victoria summery, the tennis alone being marred by for the Athletic Shield. Harley (C) ran bril- rain. The athletics and swimming champion- liantly in the half-mile, and on present form ships were run off exceptionally well, and the promises to become one of New Zealand's financial results are understood to be very greatest middle-distance runners; Taylor, his satisfactory. team-mate, put up a record performance by Tournament Ball surpassed itself as usual. capturing the three mile event for the fifth Auckland came off with the Haslam Shield year in succession. Ramson and Jenkins (V) for shooting, the Swimming Shield, the Basket- also deserve special mention for their fine per- ball Shield, the Tennis Cup and the Tourna- formances in the sprints and hurdles respec- ment Shield—a fair bag. The Wooden Spoon tively. in athletics was retained, as usual, by a com- Points for the Shield were: Canterbury 14, fortable deficiency. Canterbury won the Ath- Victoria 13, Otago 10, Auckland 7. letics Shield and the Boxing Shield went to 100 yards: C. Jenkins (V), 1; 0. Morgan Victoria. Otago failed to qualify. (A), 2; J. Goodson (V), 3. Won by inches. Auckland's women representatives deserve Time, 10 2-5 sees. special congratulations. The basketball team 220 yards: C. Jenkins (V), 1; O. Morgan has headed the list for the fourth year in suc- (A), 2; J. Goodson (V), 3. Won by 2 yards. cession, and the usual high standard of play Time, 22 4-5 sees., equalling the record. was maintained in the women's tennis events. 440 yards: O. C. Harley (C), 1; P. C. Minns Similar results obtained in the swimming (A), 2; T. Buxton (O), 3. Won by 2 yards. championships. The mooted advent of women Time, 51 2-5 sees., equalling the record. into university athletics should prove a special 880 yards: O. C. Harley (C), 1; J. Webber boon to A.U.C. (O), 2; J. S. Watt (A), 3. Won by 10 yards. Time, 1 min. 59 1-5 sees., a record. Points for the Tournament Shield were allo- One Mile: E. B. Taylor (C), 1; J. Lovelock cated as follows:— (O), 2; D. Bain (C), 3. Won by 10 yards. A V c 0 Time, 4 min. 29 3-5 sees. Athletics 1 6 7 2 Three Miles: E. B. Taylor (C), 1; R. Barrer Boxing H 5 n 2i (C), 2; A. Porter (A), 3. Won by 20 yards. Tennis 9 — i — Time, 15 min. 32 4-5 sees. Swimming 2 — — 1 120 yards Hurdles: F. Ramson (V), 1; D. Basketball 4 14 — li Smith (O), 2; A Henderson (A), 3. Won by Shooting 3 — i 1 5 yards. Time 16 sees. 440 yards Hurdles: F. Ramson (V), 1; T. Totals 20:1 m \0i 8 Buxom (O), 2; R. Lunn (C), 3. Won by 10 N.Z. Blues were awarded to the following yards. Time, 59 2-5 sees. Auckland members:— Mile Walk: E. Mackenzie (C), 1; F. Fraser Athletics'. V. C. Butler. (O), 2; T. Holmes (O), 3. Won by 3 yards. Basketball: Misses J. Mcintosh and E. Wann. Time, 7 min. 24 2-5 sees. Swimming: J. P. Farrell and Miss E. Leitz. High Jump: H. Morris (C), 5ft. 6in., 1; J. Boxing: R. B. Moorhouse. Allen (A), 2.

63 64 EASTER TOURNAMENT

Long Jump: D. Barker (V), 21ft. 6£in., 1; donated by the Mayor, Mr. Baildon, for the H. Bainsley (A), 2; A. Watkins (C), 3. most scientific boxer. Putting the Shot: G. Orbell (0), 35ft. 2|in., Results are as follows:— 1; E. England (C), 2; R. Grey (O), 3. Bantam-weight: J. K. Logan (Victoria), 8st. Hammer Throw: B. Dunne (O), 105ft. 4£in., 41b., beat C. Lowndes (Otago), 8st. 101b. The 1; G. Wilson (0), 2. opening round was tame, Logan crowding the Javelin Throw: V. C. Butler (A), 149ft., 1; Otago man in the final stages of the bout. J. Mackay (V), 2; R. Bush (A), 3. Feather-weight: R. Keenan (Otago), 9st. 21b., Relay Race (880 yards, 440 yards, 220 yards, beat N. N. Woods (Victoria), 9st. lib. Both 220 yards) : Victoria 1, Canterbury 2. Time, showed up evenly in the first two rounds. 3 min. 41 4-5 sees. Keenan did better in the third round, and had We would here stress the importance of a the Wellington man missing badly at the end revival of enthusiasm for athletics in the Col- of the bout. lege generally; it is particularly desirable that Light-weight: A. E. Stirling (Canterbury), we find some competitors for all the field 9st. 101b., knocked out A. M. McDonald (Vic- events who can be trained systematically for toria), 9st 101b. The bout opened brightly. next year's Tournament, for in these events McDonald was faster than his opponent, but there is generally a greater chance of a the latter proved too strong in the third round specially-trained man securing a win. It may and the referee stopped the fight. be pointed out that Auckland has won the Welter-Weight: T. Dovi (Otago), lOst. 5£lb., shot-putt only once, while we have never won knocked out M. Smith (Auckland), lOst. 91b. the hammer, which has been won for the last In the third round Dovi landed a hard right ten years by Otago. There was not a single flush to the jaw, putting his man out for the entry for the hammer this year. full count. A bright and scientific bout. Middle-weight: M. E. Mahoney (Victoria), BOXING. list. 2$lb., beat W. S. Allen (Canterbury), list. 41b. There was a good deal of clinching in an The finals of the boxing championships, held uninteresting bout, which was stopped in the in the Town Hall, provided a noisy and exciting third round after Allan had gone down twice. evening, which ended sensationally when a Light-heavy-weight: R. B. Moorhouse (Auck- group of over-enthusiastic Otago supporters in- land), list. 91b., beat A. M. McFarlane vaded the ring, a foolish act which cost their (Otago), list 111b. Moorhouse held the lead team the shield. from the first, but did not take advantage of Otago and Victoria were leading with two many openings. The Otago man pressed in wins each, and the decision hung on the heavy- the final round, but was overhitting badly. weight final result. In this bout Hartnall Heavy-weight: L. Sowry (Victoria), list. (Otago), had knocked out Sowry (Victoria), 131b., beat M. Hartnall (Otago), 13st. 21b. in the final round, after some fierce rallies. This bout was fast from the start and Hartnall Sowry rose at nine and the referee motioned had his opponent groggy in the final round. to Hartnell to box on, but before either could At this point a number of students invaded the commence, several Otago men invaded the ring ring and attempted to carry Hartnall shoulder and endeavoured to shoulder Hartnall. The high. The referee thereupon awarded the fight referee had no opinion but to award the fight to Sowry, who was prepared to box on. to Sowry, who, although very groggy, was pre- A sensational evening was concluded with pared to box on. There was an uproar for dancing at the college rendezvous. several minutes, and many loud declarations There is an obvious need for the infusion of that Victoria would not take the shield. The new life into the Boxing Club, a revival of referee's ruling, however, was quite in accord- continued enthusiasm being badly needed if ance with the rules dealing with such circum- A.U.C. is to have any serious pretensions for stances. the Boxing Shield in 1931. A bigger entry in Some of the bouts were of a high order, while the College championship would be a great in many others willingness was displayed where help in this direction, since these champion- science was lacking. The light-weight, A. M. ships are the real trial for Tournament selec- McDonald (Victoria), was awarded the medal tion. 65 EASTER TOURNAMENT

TENNIS. 220 yards Men's Championship: J. P. Farrell Auckland won the Tennis Cup, which it has (A), 1; L. Fitch (C), 2; H. Morris (C), 3. now held for four years, by a greater margin Won by 15 yards. Time, 2 min. 43 sees. than was expected. Only one event, the Ladies' 200 yards Inter-College Relay: Auckland Singles Championship, was lost by the local (Farrell, McLean, Misses Leitz and Gaze), 1; team. Otago (Fogg, Shanahan, Misses Edser and The results are:—* Weston) 2. Time, 2 min. 6 2-5 sees. Ladies' Singles: Final.—Miss Sherris (C), beat Miss Taylor (A), 6—1, 6—1. Miss Sher- BASKETBALL ris's graceful and consistent play impressed Auckland retained the Basketball Shield by greatly. defeating Victoria and Otago. Men's Singles: A. C. Stedman (A) defeated Results: Otago, 15, defeated Canterbury, 9; C. Bowden (A), 6—1, 6—0. Both had shown Auckland, 36, defeated Victoria, 10; Victoria, good form in the preliminaries, but in the final 32, defeated Canterbury, 8; Auckland, 42, de- Stedman was far superior. feated Otago, 12. Ladies' Doubles: Misses Roberton and Mc- intosh (A) defeated Misses Taylor and White- Members of the A.U.C. Team: Misses M. law (A), 2—6, 6—1, 6—3. A triumph for Graham, F. Kenny, J. Mcintosh, E. Wann, L. Auckland's "second strings" over their team White, B. Buckley, N. Gallaher, M. Cowan, M. rivals. Stehr, R. Clear, L. Court. Men's Doubles: A. Stedman and J. Stedman (A), beat J. Stallworthy and L. Christie (O), SHOOTING. 6—2, 6—4. The two Aucklanders combined Auckland won two practices and the aggre- brilliantly, though their opponents put up a gate (5 points) and Otago and Canterbury one sound defensive game. practice each (2 points). The Haslam Shield Mixed Doubles: A. McDonald and Miss scores were: Auckland, 809; Canterbury, 780; Whitelaw (A) beat J. Beatson and Miss Sherris Otago, 756; Victoria, 626. (C), 6—4, 3—6, 6—1. The most open event. Members of A.U.C. Team: G. Watt, E. Boul- In the last set, with Miss Whitelaw serving and ton, J. Mars, N. Squires, W. Platts, N. McCul- McDonald playing brilliantly at the net, Auck- lough. land gained the final decision. i AFFILIATED SPORTS. SWIMMING. The first inter-University swimming carnival Rowing: Canterbury, 1; Victoria, 2; Auck- was a great success—possibly the best held in land, 3. The race was rowed over a two mile Auckland this season. J. P. Farrell (A) was course from Mission Bay to the Eastern tide the star performer, winning both men's events deflector. Auckland first took the lead, but and returning the fast time of 59 4-5 sees, for dropped back behind Victoria through trouble the 100 yards. Points for the shield were : with No. 2. Half a mile from home Canter- Auckland, 8; Otago, 4; Canterbury, 2. bury challenged strongly and went on to win 50 yards Ladies' Championship: Miss E. an exciting contest by one length from Victoria, Leitz (A), 1; Miss V. Edser (0), 2; Miss H. with Auckland five lengths further back. Time, Gaze (A), 3. Won by half a yard. Time, 34 14 min. 34 sees. sees. Cricket: Auckland beat Victoria by six 100 yards Men's Championship: J. P. Farrell wickets. In the first innings Victoria made 152 (A), 1; L. Fitch (C), 2; C. J. McLean (A), 3. runs, and Auckland replied with 205. Victoria's Won by 4 yards. Time, 59 4-5 sees. second total was 156, and Auckland made up 100 yards Ladies' Championship: Miss V. the deficit of 114 runs with six wickets to spare. Edser (O), 1; Miss E. Leitz (A), 2; Miss H. Fine bowling by Matheson was the deciding Gaze (A), 3. Won by 5 yards. Time, 76 sees. factor in Auckland's victory. For all EDUCATIONAL BOOKS write to—

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66 "The Poet's Progress"

Courage and Conflict

ll great art is the outcome of an attempt to of this Dominion, including some of the book- A reconcile the outward world of necessity reviewers, the answer would appear to be with the inward world of freedom. To be an (permanently) "No." These people (or at any artist, a man must have, in the first place, the rate, such of them as have heard of her) are power of self-expression in some art-form. If content to bask in the reflected glory of the struggle between inner and outer experi- Katherine Mansfield. The notion that other ences never comes to a head, he will be a minor New Zealanders may be capable of writing artist, purveying trivalities (as for example, good books rarely occurs to them. I take this most of the poets and painters of to-day). The opportunity, therefore, of pointing out "The majority of men, indeed, are never called upon Poet's Progress" as a book of which we should to face the conflict in any of its more acute be proud: and—unlike many other books of forms, and to resolve the opposing forces of which we are proud—which we should read. the spirit. Mr. Cresswell's outlook, and his manner of Education, as we know it, is an attempt to life, would perhaps arouse contempt and relieve the average man of the necessity of amusement among the inhabitants of such facing such overwhelming problems, by giving parts of the earth as the town of Zenith, U.S.A. him ready-made answers. When doubts do But for those who place the life of the spirit begin to nibble at him, jazz, popular fiction, above that of the flesh, and who know a good mob-sport and a hundred other things are ready piece of writing when they see it, here is a at hand, to divert him from the more serious book worthy of attention. It is written in the and unpleasant matter of saving his soul. All best English prose. To those whose palates these things are popular in a world threatened have been corrupted by constant reading of alternately with war and pestilence on the journalese, it may appear precious. Not so. one hand, and boredom on the other. For the It has the true classical ring, and is as simple many, the Lie is the condition of life. Existence and direct as the fragment of Caesar's "In- on any other terms would mean swift destruc- vasion of Britain," which occurs at the front tion. of the book. When, therefore, we come across a man who, Several connets are included. I quote one, through having more courage and honesty than for its Miltonic quality, and its perfection of the general run of people, deliberately en- form and content:— courages the conflict to take place in his mind "Now I in fear of going forth once more regardless of the consequences, we must re- After seven homeless years so sore maintained, spect him. In no other way can any man dis- Take heart to hear how Dante was sustained cover what for him constitutes Truth; and the By counsels made in Heav'n, which to him bore search for personal truth, involving as it always The upright shade of Virgil, leading forth does a great deal of suffering, must be reckoned His earthly peer from that full-evil wood a worthy enterprise. Wherein the sharp-fanged she-wolf, Avarice, These few sweeping generalities bring me to stood Mr. Cresswell. Walter D'Arcy Cress well is a To stay him, and the Lion, Lust and Wrath. young New Zealander who has done a con- Wherefore, I trust, whose mind is likewise bent siderable amount of wandering, geographical On high and truthful aims, the upward way and spiritual. The record of his experiences Through that same wilderness, for whom, as I, is contained in a book he has just published, Those terrors lurk, like Dante will be lent called, suitably enough, "The Poet's Progress." The aid of Heav'n, since in this evil day The question has, of course, once more He walks alone, and no example nigh." arisen, "Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?" To many of the sub-intelligentzia A. R. D. FAIRBURN.

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