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It was no good. She went off with other men because I got tired of her : I told her she could stick to me or let me go. She wanted both. Then I got engaged to a girl married to her when I was twenty-three and she's dead.

After I'd been with her for a year I broke away. I haven't got a very good record : I've lived with three women, all of whom knew more than I did.

I've never done a girl any harm intentionally : the last of them belongs to six years ago. You're the girl I love.

Having at last got into bed she begins to judge her own conduct. To Keith she might, she would give all, as she had done : but he would still be apart from her.

Away from him, released from the spell, Jenny knew that she had yielded to him the freedom she so cherished as her inalienable right.

She had given him her freedom : for her real freedom was her innocence and her desire to do right. She could not forgive herself.

She struggled to go back to the old way of looking at everything. In a forlorn, quivering voice she ven- tured : " What a life! Golly, what a life!

She threw her- self on the bed : " Keith. Shops and Houses is a novel of quite another sort. Here we are shown the narrowness of suburban society.

Liv- ing in Beckwith is like living upon glass. It is both slippery and brittle. Nearly all the women suffer from aimlessness, an insatiable egomania.

Mr Swinnerton is exceedingly bitter in his irony about this suburb of his. It was like a backwater. Only time was consumed.

That was the secret, terrible aim of dwellers in Beckwith. Restlessness demands an outlet, not in constructive action, nor in clear thinking, nor in real festivals or in the cultiva- tion of growth ; but solely in the destruction of time and the resuscitation of exhausting excitements.

A certain William Vechantor, cousin to the Vechantors, takes over a grocer's shop in the town, and society is horrified, aghast. Louis Vechantor can't see why his family are so upset, and says so, whereupon his father turns on him with fierce comments about shallow democratic snobbery.

Louis is suddenly diverted from the problem about the cousin-grocers by being made the confidant of a weak young man called Eric Daunton, who has become engaged to an " impossible " girl.

Louis advises him to marry her in spite of all opposition, and then does something himself which sets the wheel of fate in motion for him ; he calls on his cousins and meets Dorothy, the grocer's daughter, completely different from the Beckwith girls, who were tough, and superficially emotional, who seemed to live for excite- ment and to make it for themselves out of nothing.

He begins to ruminate over the curious anomalies in the other sex, the insensitive cruelty of Veronica Hughes, who could gloat over the agony of a bleeding bird.

Dorothy was not at all Beckwithian : she was not devout, she took nothing on trust. A spying gossip, by name Miss Lampe, sees Louis and Dorothy getting out of the train together, and spreads malicious rumours, and Louis is tackled by Veronica for going about with "that common girl.

The gossip even reaches the ears of his father and mother, and he is told to cease from seeing any more of his cousins ; he refuses and leaves home in consequence.

He has an abortive interview with Veronica, and then Daunton come's to lament over his failure to cut loose from his traditions. It's the punishment they're keen on.

It satisfies their cruelty : Veronica, for instance, if she got hold of a man who'd cut all meetings in the dark, all the hysterical little smothered kisses and cowardly secrets, she'd very likely fall in love with him and be a woman.

Ah, if Louis loved her : even that did not matter, if she could only be important to him! It was enough to live and love.

As time passed she became fearful : no one seemed to have heard any- thing of Louis : Dorothy was in a panic lest he should be ill.

Then came the night of the concert when she discovered that Veronica was also in love with Louis, and was betrayed by her emotion into calling Miss Ultimately they, of course, fall into each other's arms.

I mean, whether it isn't a sort of disease. If you live in London you hardly know your neighbours you have your own friends.

Nobody else cares twopence about you. But London isn't England. I've been wondering if, directly you go to England to live, you don't find Beckwith.

Isn't Beckwith any small town in England? Isn't the choice between London that's heartless and Beckwith, where your life's everybody's business? Lovely Beckwith poor poor people shut up in their houses and their shops, and never seeing out- side I think I hate stupidity worse than anything on earth, because it frightens me and crushes me.

He had already written novels before this which apparently no one read, which were nearly as good as, if not better than, the one over which the public chose to rave.

He is a born raconteur : but there is very little depth in him : most of his work scintillates with an obvious harshness : he indulges in epigrams : like Oscar Wilde he does not seem even to realise that there are any classes of society other than the aristocracy : his horizon is bounded by Half-Moon Street on the one side and Clarges Street on the other : he has a gift of wit which in Ninety-six Hours' 9 Leave, a book that couldn't have taken more than ninety-six hours to write, is thoroughly adapted for readers of The By- stander and undergraduates generally.

It is as well that there should be novelists who exactly suit con- valescents. I cannot think him a genius : talented?

Admirable for reading in a train or when the brain is tired. And this is not to depreciate his value. There are very few really satisfactory novels which can hold our attention and yet not probe into the problems of life.

The problem of poverty as seen by George Gissing gives genius full scope, but genius regards the problem of Midas as quite a good joke.

We thank God for Stephen McKenna because he occupies our very necessary hours of ease. It is so delightful to find that he knows his job.

There are scarcely any people in his pages who are not titled : the joy of discovering that they do actually talk as titled people do talk that is, like every one else above the local grocer is a very real one.

Most novelists have a special vocabulary for dukes : they move stiffly in their presence : it is hard even for an Honourable to unbend.

But; it is not the whole truth. Let me test it by taking The Reluctant Lover as an example of his art at its best. There are few more readable books on the market : there is a rattling good plot, un- expected denouement, human characters, adorable heroines, quite a number of them : Mr McKenna has the deftest touch in limning the features and probing the minds of attractive young girls : his dialogue is always clever, if at times unnaturally artificial and stilted : he is a master craftsman in avoiding loose ends and polishing rough edges.

In some ways this story of the selfish, but entirely lovable boy, Cyril Fitzroy, is the story of the development of every man : " He affects to study women as he studies men, in the light of specimens : and sometimes as works of art by an inspired hand.

From a sexual point of view he is completely indifferent and extra- ordinarily cold-blooded. The description of Lady Delaunay's ball, where the pair first meet and dance together for six hours in succession, is inimitably told : the intellectual sparring between the two is a watered-down Meredith, and therefore more like life as we know it than it is in Meredith.

This is not to suggest that Mr. McKenna can compare in any way whatever with this or any other genius : I still maintain that he has no genius : but his talent is unmistakable..

I could find it in my heart to wish that he would quote less Latin, and not hark back so frequently to Oxford experiences.

He writes like the elderly uncle he pretends to be in Sonia. Even as an undergraduate he must have been very like a don. Not for him the follies and extravagances of youth.

One reads some- thing of himself in the character of Rodney Trelawney, the young Oxford don prematurely aged and world- weary, knowing little of sympathy, inexperienced in life, a little crabbed, a little inhuman, a little lonely, yet immensely complacent and self-satisfied.

He must have his Oxford lunch of dressed crab, quails, green peas, marasquino jelly, croustade au parmeson, strawberries, and iced hock cup ; his clothes must fit him perfectly, and there must always be the white silk pyjamas ; there must be a persistent dredging of the waters of the memory to recall old Oxford " rags," old Oxford tales discreditable to Balliol, upholding the prestige of The House.

But all this, again, is a trifle unkind and only partly true. There is plenty of intellectual stimulus, and very little beating about the bush, no morbid psychology here : on the other hand, there is some very straight talk at times, as in this illuminating passage : " Give a thing for nothing, and it will be valued at nothing : give poor people free education, and they regard it as value- less.

If Rodney [it is Myra speaking] gives me the whole-hearted adoration you speak of and I don't have to struggle for it I shall count it as valueless, and in course of time it will die of neglect.

Which is not a good condition for ' sickness and health, weal and woe,' for life. The remedy is to find some one who attracts me and force him to love me whether he wants to or not.

And when I have won his love I shall value it, and when he has had to part with it with a struggle he will see the value I put upon it, and know it is in good hands, and he will honour me for the fight I have fought and the victory I have won.

The battle-royal between Myra and Cyril when he shows his hand is a masterpiece of analysis. He tries to show her the unwisdom of setting one's affections on anything or any one in the whole world other than oneself.

If you marry, you are giving a hostage to misfortune in your wife and every one of your children. If you grow fond of a cat or a book or a house.

Later Cyril is brought to book by a member of his own family. We've all got to die, Cyril, and my complaint against your philosophy is not that it is rottenly unsound, not that it is going to make yours an unhappy life, but simply that you play the game of life and don't want to obey the rules.

You're going to die probably before your work whatever it may be is finished. So am I. Well, do the best you can in the interval. If you love your wife and she dies before you, well so much the worse for you, and make the most you can of the time you're together.

I don't feel that. I've always boasted of not being dependent on any one for my happiness, and I've grown to believe it. Cyril goes abroad with his sixteen year-old ward, Violet, another charm- ing girl.

Rodney, a rejected lover of Myra's, again returns to the attack and fails, and at length the time of probation comes to an end, Myra having discovered without the help of the gods the one man for whom she would sacrifice everything in the world ; then suddenly Violet falls ill and nearly dies of diphtheria, while Cyril and Myra talk interminably quoting the classics freely in a way calculated to shock the careless reader.

Cyril then saves Violet's life by risking his own, and to his astonishment finds that his ward on her recovery is in love with him, and he marries her, but Myra has the last word.

That's why you and Violet are going to be very well suited and very happy together. It is time he deserted his Sonia and returned to Violet. I returned home determined to find out exactly where her power lay, what claims she really had to be called the feminine counterpart to Shakespeare.

I found that the mistake I had made was not entirely due to my own ineptitude, but that I had read her too fast. I had hurried over page after page in order to reach the story, to get the hang of the plot, to find some exciting incident, for all the world as if I expected some lurid " film " drama.

I had to revise my method of reading. Instead of a " bookish blue-stocking " I found a woman with an almost uncanny depth of insight into human character, one who realised that although life was far more important than literature, yet the true novelist exercised the function of displaying the greatest powers of the mind, and that novels are works "in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language.

Here was a girl who only lived for forty-two years, the daughter of a country parson, who never went abroad, to London but rarely, whose greatest excite- ment was a visit to Bath or Lyme Regis, who may or may not have suffered disappointment in love, but certainly had no grand passion, who lived through the French Revolution, Waterloo, and Trafalgar, and yet makes no mention of those stirring times, leaving behind her a sequence of novels which within their own limitations are unapproachably perfect.

Small-talk, knitting, filigree-work, and backgammon occupied the leisure hours of her sex, while men shot and hunted in moderation, but were always ready to accompany the ladies on their shopping excursions or to a local uance.

This is the life that Jane Austen set out to describe, knowing no other. That she succeeded in imbuing this with eternal interest makes one wistfully regret that she had not Fanny Burney's chances of mixing with the great men and women of her time, and yet I could not sit down seriously to write a serious romance under any other motive than to save my life ; and if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and never relax into laughing at myself and other people, I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the first chapter.

Such a man's conversation must at times be on subjects of science philosophy, of which I know nothing ; or at least be occasionally abundant in quotations and allusions which a woman, who, like me, knows only her mother tongue, and has read little in that, would be totally without the power of giving.

She was neither Pantheist, Monotheist, Agnostic, nor Transcendentalist ; that she hated Evangelicalism while recognising its good points we know.

Heart- lessness is the only crime that she finds it in her heart to condemn unsparingly. We do not go to Jane Austen for descriptions of natural beauty ; she has neither Hardy's nor Words- worth's passion for scenery ; she does not use hedge- row delights nor grim mountain peaks as a background for her characters, any more than she treats of man in his relation to his environment.

In other words, she has no poetry ; she avoids the heroic, the romantic, and the ideal. She does not probe the human soul for motives, nor does she seek to illuminate or display them as later novelists have done ; as Mr Warre Cornish says, she has no need to construct her characters, for they are there before her, like Mozart's music, only waiting to be written down.

She does not use her narrative power as Fielding did to tell a story and create situations, but simply as a means to an end, the unfolding of character.

That is, she belongs to the school of Richardson rather than to any other of her predecessors, the school which has received such an impetus in our own day in the work of Arnold Bennett.

She paints in every detail with meticulous care ; JANE AUSTEN 55 with the true artistic temperament she refuses to pass any tendency to the slovenly, but with deliberation and exactitude sketches in every trait which will help to make the portrait life-like.

Like all geniuses she recognised both where her true metier lay and how she achieved her self-imposed task.

Every one remembers her phrase about " the little bit two inches wide of ivory on which I work with so fine a brush as produces little effect after much labour.

Northanger Abbey gave the death-blow to the hysteria caused by Mrs Ann Radcliffe ; her irony seems almost at times to descend to acerbity. That is, she seems to combine, as Andrew Lang said, gentleness with a certain hardness of heart, which are difficult to reconcile until we have made a close study of her methods.

No greater mistake could possibly be made than to imagine her as a soured old maid, though the bust erected to her memory in the Pump Room at Bath goes a long way to give that impression.

On the contrary, she was distinctly pretty, sunny- natured, gay even to frivolity, an accomplished con- versationalist, a singer and a musician, possessed of a natural aptitude for and skill in games, extraordi- narily well-balanced and sane in her outlook.

It is only by understanding these facts about her that we realise the meaning of what Professor Saintsbury calls the " livingness " of her work.

She writes as one who has, as Lady Ritchie puts it, " a natural genius for life. She was no Shelley, a genius of moods, alternately in heaven or hell ; she pursued an even path of placidity and content, neither troubling herself overmuch with the perplexities that obsess the mind of the social re- former nor harassed with religious doubts.

Suffering does not make her suicidal, nor has she any of that divine discontent which we usually asso- ciate with our best writers. How many of our famous men of letters were able to work in the midst of domestic interruption and make no sign of impatience?

It is a small point, but quite an illuminating one. She had no private study. As she worked with the others in the common sitting-room she would sometimes burst out laughing, go to her desk and write something down, and then go back to her work again and say nothing.

It is worthy of notice that her geniality was not of that vapid sort that proceeds from ignorance or wilful blindness to human fatuity and vice, that sings to the shallow, optimistic tune that " all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds.

How any one with her genius for laughter and affection, her interest in mankind, or her clear- sightedness could be accused of cynicism, which is a property of the owl and bat and donkey in humanity, I do not understand.

She is a master of irony and satire, it is true ; but these are incompatible with misanthropy, the touch-stone of cynicism ; of this she had not a trace.

She is not of those who were disillusioned by the fever and the weariness and the fret of life. She was no pessimistic Teuton philo- sopher ; she was too busy taking notes on the people with whom she came into contact to spend time in moralising.

She was essentially of a happy nature, and kept a strong curb on her emotions ; that she felt deeply is probable, that she ever gave full vent to her feelings we instinctively know to be untrue.

Her love tragedy, if she had one, was not allowed to spoil her life ; sjie may very well have passed through the depths, but she emerged from the conflict vic- torious, having battered down the forces of darkness, and continued to irradiate sweetness and light in her books as well as in her life.

Other authors might easily have been discomfited by the reception given to their work by publishers if a first manuscript had been rejected by return of post as hers was in the case of Pride and Prejudice.

Not so Jane Austen ; she continued to write almost until the day of her death, sure of the verdict of posterity, the only judgment upon which genius really relies.

She knew that her appeal was universal and n6t liable to grow dim with the passage of years. Her satire and humour are as fresh to-day as ever they were, and as an antidote to the horrors of our time no other author can compare with her.

In their letters we take them off their guard ; they are in undress, no longer the mouthpieces of divine inspiration, but flesh and blood like ourselves.

Jane Austen's almost racy letters to her sister shed a flood of light on her character and help us still further to dot the " i's " and cross the " t's " of criticism.

They are for the most part compositions of a quite light and trivial nature, dwelling on topics such as might interest any country-bred girl.

Dress looms large, and so does small-talk about the everyday round of work and amusement, people met, dances, and the like. But all through them we see the same shrewd, Puck-like spirit darting hither and thither, we hear the silvery laughter of the girl who painted Mr Collins and Mrs Jennings ; they are obviously written by a girl who cannot help seeing the funny side of everything, who is vividly interested in people and their idiosyncrasies ; the deeper things in life are not discussed, not because she was shallow, but because there arc some things which language is incapable of expressing, where silence is the only true speech.

Those traces of bitterness which occasionally disturb us in her novels appear again here. Jane Austen was entirely devoid of malice.

She suffered fools more or less gladly ; she would try the barb of irony to laugh them out of their folly, but they were not like those others, at the opposite end of the scale, " pictures of perfection," which she confesses made her sick and wicked.

The puzzle is that so highly gifted and all-seeing a genius should have adopted such a detached, tolerant attitude towards humanity.

There have been many who have found fault with her for not waxing indignant at the follies of society.

These assert that she has no moral sense, but surely to instil into us the necessity for mutual tolerance and unfailing humour in our dealings with our neighbours is in itself a moral act of the highest order.

The first thing that strikes any one who has tried to read Jane Austen's novels aloud is the dramatic power displayed in the conversations. No novelist ever made his or her characters express themselves so simply or forcibly in their parts as she does.

It would seem that we have lost in her one of our greatest playwrights. The unfolding of character in dialogue has not been better done by any of our dramatists, and has certainly not been approached by any other novelist.

No novels make so immediate an appeal when declaimed as hers do. Even youthful audiences who are popularly supposed to be incapable of appreciating the subtlety of her wit are quickly entranced.

It is conceived and executed with an exactness of phrase and economy of words that calls to mind that parallel scene in King Lsar where the old man is de- prived of his retinue.

With what deft strokes are we shown the whole of a person's character in one short, ironic sentence. She had only two daughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and she had now, therefore, nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world.

That is the secret of Jane Austen's power : she has seized upon the salient, ineradicable characteristics of the type which is always with us ; the unstable lover, the gossiping, scandal-mongering old dame, the young impressionable girl who could not bear the thought of her sister marrying a man with so little " sensibility " that he could not read the poets with understanding or fire, the staunch, sound, unselfish heroine who bears her own tragedy without any out- ward sign, but spends herself in sympathising with weaker natures in their misfortunes ; the pedant, the snob, the haughty, the supercilious, the im- pertinent I know nothing in our literature to compare with the concluding paragraphs of Sense and Sensibility.

Ninety-nine out of every hundred authors would have made Marianne a tragic heroine, but Jane Austen realised that she was not great enough for that ; JANE AUSTEN 61 she was audacious enough to risk an anticlimax in order to secure verisimilitude.

She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract by her conduct her most favourite maxims.

She was born to overcome an affection formed so late in life as at seventeen, and with no sentiment superior to strong esteem and lively friendship, voluntarily to give her hand to another!

His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable ; and in his breed of horses and dogs he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity.

She has a knack of beginning in an exhilarating, startling way on most occasions, but it may well be doubted whether any novel starts quite so happily as this : "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife " after which delightful touch of irony we are immediately introduced to Mr and Mrs Bennet, who proceed to squabble over their daughters' chances of securing the rich young stranger's hand and purse in a dialogue which touches the top note of humour.

The alternate attraction for and repulsion from Darcy which Elizabeth felt is drawn with the sure hand of the great creator ; and then, while we are still absorbed in the swaying fortunes of the principals, there quietly creeps upon the scene one of the most famous characters in comedy, Mr Collins.

His interview with Elizabeth when he formally proposes to her is in Jane Austen's richest and happiest style. So long as humour lasts that chapter cannot fail to bring joy to the human heart.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who " if she accepted any refreshments seemed to do it only for the sake of finding out that Mrs Collins's joints of meat were too large for her family," is another character over whom the Comic Spirit sheds its harmless but mirth- provoking rays.

The whole novel abounds in rich personalities without whom the world would be the poorer, but we are most of all concerned with the happiness of Elizabeth, who, like others of Jane Austen's heroines, finds that true love which is all- powerful can spring from " the cold fountain of grati- JANE AUSTEN 63 tude no less than from the volcano of passion.

After Pride and Prejudice, in popular estimation, comes Mansfield Park. Tennyson, for one, preferred the latter, but the general run of readers know their Pride and Prejudice well and Mansfield Park not at all.

There is, of course, more emotion and drama in the earlier of the two, but Mansfield Park is freer from exaggeration and contains the never-to-be- forgotten impertinent and meddlesome Mrs Norris.

In no novel do we so quickly pick up the thread of the plot ; by the third page, as Mr Cornish says, we are quite at home, know everybody, and even begin to look forward to the final event.

After the ill-natured Mrs Norris, who will not ex- tend her hospitality to Fanny Price because " I should not have a bed to give her, for I must keep a spare room for a friend," Jane Austen probably hated her sister, Lady Bertram, more than most of her other odious characters.

Emma is the most consistently cheerful of all the novels. Lucas considers it to be her best, her ripest, and her richest, the most " readable-again " book in the world.

No one is very wealthy or very poor : the whole action takes place in the village of Highbury among a set of people who meet daily. The gradual dawn and growth of love between Knightley and Emma, who makes matches for every one but herself, is uncannily well brought home to the reader, and their final love-scene is one of the happiest in litera- ture.

The vulgar and patronising Mrs Elton and talkative Miss Bates are a joy for ever, particularly the latter, who, though " neither young, handsome, rich, nor married, without beauty and cleverness, was yet happy and contented.

She loved everybody, thought herself a most fortunate creature and sur- rounded with blessings. Catherine Morland's discovery of the roll of paper which she is convinced are love- letters is one of the most successfully satiric studies in the whole range of Jane Austen's work.

A violent gust of wind, rising with sudden fury, added fresh horror to the moment. Human nature could support no more.

Groping her way to the bed, she jumped hastily in, and sought some suspension of agony by creeping far underneath the clothes.

The storm still raged. Hour after hour passed away, and the wearied Catherine had heard three proclaimed by all the clocks in the house before the tempest subsided and she unknowingly fell fast asleep.

She was awaked the next morning at eight o'clock by the housemaid's opening her window- shutter. She flew to the mysterious manuscript.

By this one blow did Jane Austen clear the ground for the manly, healthy, historical romance of Scott and disperse the whole gang of foolish f right eners of youth who filled the minds of young girls with unimaginable horrors and sentimental tomfoolery.

Persuasion, the last of her novels, begins with as famous a sentence as that which I quoted from Pride and Prejudice, describing the joy which Sir Walter Elliot took in " the Snob's Bible," the Baronetage, and is famous for the fact that it contains about the only memorable incident recorded in any of her work : the accident that befell Louisa Musgrove on the Cobb at Lyme Regis.

Here, too, occurs one of those rare descriptions of natural scenery, of which, as a rule, Jane Austen is so sparing. She shows that she could observe, when she wished, inanimate objects in Nature with as acute an eye as she usually brought to bear on humanity.

It was only that her fellow-men interested her more than Nature did. She watches them lynx-eyed, and, as her biographer says, " she never drops a stitch.

In all her gallery, as Macaulay noticed, she left scarcely a single caricature, and it is in this that Jane Austen approaches most nearly to the manner of Shakespeare.

To be humorous, it has often been pointed out, it is necessary to exaggerate abundantly. Scott and Tennyson both spoke of her work in glowing terms, and from their day to this she has had no detractors among the greatest critics with the sole exception of Charlotte Bronte , but only increased the circle of her readers.

Her plots, like Shakespeare's, were not in a high degree original or ingenious ; her work is almost devoid of incident : she repeats, not only her situations, but in a lesser degree her characters.

But, as G. Chesterton says, no other woman has been able to capture the complete common sense of Jane Austen.

She knew what she knew, like a sound dogmatist ; she did not know what she did not know, like a sound agnostic : she knew more about men than most women, in spite of the fact that she is commonly supposed to have been pro- tected from truth.

If that was so, it was precious little of truth that was protected from her. When Darcy says, " I have been a selfish being all my life in practice though not in theory," he approaches the complete confession of the intelligent male.

Womanly foibles have never before been so merci- lessly exposed ; compared with her astringent tonic properties, the satire of Addison or Stecle is as barley water is to ammonia.

Her pen has the point of a stencil and the sharpness of a razor-edge : there is nothing in her work of the vague or the shadowy ; every character stands out like a cameo, every sentence was true to the ordinary speech of her day, and yet possesses that unfathomable universal quality which makes it ring as fresh and as true after a hundred years as it did on the day when it was first written.

Why the book was not censored I cannot understand. Those of us whose prime care in life it is to see a wholesale reform in education must owe her a very considerable debt, for she has attacked the existing system with an amazing insight into its weakest and most vulnerable places.

I have spent many years in trying to prove that our great stum- bling-block was the lack of interest in intellectual and artistic occupations, and that all would be well if we could once stimulate the youth of the country to care about learning in the same degree that it cares about athletics and now a self-confessed amateur comes along and knocks all my pet theories down and tells us that the problem is quite different.

To put it tersely, it is not the brain, but sex that is wrongly developed and neglected. Every school- master knows that one of the most perplexing features of boarding-school life lies in the question of boy- friendships.

We of the public schools rigorously keep boys of sixteen and over apart from the juniors. In spite, however, of the harshest rules perhaps because of them, in some instances irregular friend- ships are formed, hideous scandals take place, and wholesale expulsions follow.

But strange as it may sound to the uninitiated, these friendships rapidly develop into love-affairs, and the element of passion is introduced.

We talk of boys " being keen " on each other, of girls having " a craze " for one another. If we could dismiss these cases as mere ebullitions of " sloshy " sentiment we might perhaps have cause to complain that they were a waste of time, but we could scarcely condemn them as pernicious.

I do not wish in a paper on the art of the novel to introduce a disquisition on unnatural vice, but I never met an author who dared even to suggest the preva- lence of this poisonous habit in schools.

We have bound ourself in a conspiracy of silence to the detri- ment of all progress. It is quite time we started to enlighten the parents of our charges.

But while we professionals funk the problem, a mere outsider throws the bomb with complete assurance and leaves us aghast. It is we who are to blame, it seems.

Instead of keeping to our r61e of stern autocrat, unapproachable despot, we choose to descend from our dais, become friendly and companionable and inspire hero- and heroine- worship, quite without meaning to.

A kindly word here, encouragement over a piece of work, an inspired talk about History or Mathematics or Divinity even the dullest of us is inspired some- times , and we are regarded as only a little inferior to the Deity : our lightest word is regarded as a CLEMENCE DANE 69 dictum straight from Heaven, our ill-considered judg- ments as the voice of God.

I quite grant at the outset that I cannot seriously bring myself to believe, even after fifteen years' experience, that I have ever caused any boy of any age to regard me with any feeling in any way related to hero-worship.

I have been regarded as slightly mad, slack, a martinet, impartial, grossly unfair, an impractical idealist, shockingly material, a human companion, an inhuman beast, almost everything except a god.

Most schoolmasters among my very varied acquaintance would confess to much the same experience. Girls may be more inclined to bestow their affections passionately I was going to say unhealthily on their mistresses than boys do on their masters, but no one in his senses would conclude from this that a boy is less passionate than a girl : to whom then does he turn, failing his masters?

On his companions, not usually of the same age. Here lies the danger of bringing up boys of all ages from thirteen to nineteen together.

There is no question that such companionships lead to terrible situations and unmentionable crimes.

The point is how to avoid them. By far the best thing to do to begin with is to read Clemence Dane. Regiment of Women is an astounding novel to launch on the world as one's initial effort.

It requires courage to attempt to interest a public, nourished on love-stories, a public exceedingly conservative in its tastes in the daily round of a girls' school.

Yet she grips our attention at once and never for a moment loses it. All the characters are drawn with an almost diabolic insight into the human mind.

She it is who is chosen to exemplify the force of John Knox's judgment that " the monstrous empire of a cruell woman we knowe to be the onlie occasion of all these miseries " ; the miseries being inflicted on an imaginative lonely child of thirteen who commits suicide because her mistress alternately pets and bullies her, and a young assistant mistress who has to choose between her devotion to the same tyrant and her love for a man.

Miss Dane puts her case with a force which is undeniable, emphasising each incident with such care and full detail that the denouement is quite inevitable, and there is no trace of the machinery, no noise of engine or whirring of wheels as one would expect after hearing the bare outlines of the story.

It is inevitable that the pretty, young, enthusiastic, simple-minded Alwynne should fall a prey to Clare Hartill's carefully-spread net, and just as inevitable that the lonely thirteen-year-old Louise should respond to Clare's attentions.

That Louise should be precocious in her reading, acting, and thinking is no anomaly. Every school- master and mistress must know of hundreds of cases where a quite young child shows sesthetic appreciation of a most advanced and mature kind while he or she retains the most childlike attitude to many of the problems of life which are no longer problems to the adult, either because they are solved or shelved sine die.

Louise, for instance, can talk glibly about Mere- dith, but is completely woebegone when she finds that her mistress is ignorant of the Bible and will not commit herself to any positive assertions about God.

There are critics who rebel against the suicide incident : they deny that any small girl could feel so depressed at the harshness of a beloved mistress as to kill herself.

But Louise, to me at least, rings true no less in her death than in her life. She is ex- ceptionally impressionable and came under a ghoulish influence : taking the part of Arthur in King John had unsettled her completely.

Her failure to satisfy, her inability to fathom, the shallows of Clare's mind, led her to destroy herself rather than continue an exist- ence which had suddenly, inexplicably, become un- bearably hateful.

After all, boys and girls at school have committed suicide in real life before now, not solely because they failed to pass examinations.

There are more ways than one even of killing a child. It may be urged, not unreasonably, that Miss Dane is altogether too bitter : that she feels deeply is evident on every page, that she is extremely sensitive even to the least sinister usage must be plain to every one.

Sensibility and depth of emotion lead to bitterness, if not cynicism, when thwarted, and it is possible to be thwarted objectively.

How else account for such a passage as this? There have been moments when the idea that he is Messi with a mohawk has been joyously realised.

Yet you have to shudder at the burden that Neymar the man, not Neymar the uninhibited kid, must face in the 18 months leading up to the World Cup, which he is expected first to decorate, and then to win, on home turf for Brazil next year.

No player at Brazil will be lumbered with the expectations of the Santos striker. He is not just the thoroughly modern face of the Selecao, so omnipresent in the Cup's marketing that the only danger is of a nation wearying of discussing his latest haircut; more, he is the symbol of a nation's pride and ambition as the first real superstar of the Brazilian game to turn down the irresistible lure of the Euro to instead keep plying his trade at home.

How happy this makes Brazil, long since so wearily resigned to seeing its finest inheritors of Pele's mantle being shipped off. At the weekend came reports from Spain suggesting Neymar will definitely join Barcelona in July, yet Brazil has heard all this for a long time now.

Some say you have to leave to develop but I don't agree. This is something to love him for, his compatriots believe. There is a soft drinks advert on Brazilian TV in which Neymar loafs around on the beach in just his shorts and a mate asks: "Why haven't you gone to Europe, dude?

It prompts Neymar to then start imagining himself trying hopelessly to pull off his samba footballing tricks while dressed like an Eskimo in a snowstorm.

Snapping out of this nightmare back on the beach, he tells his mate with a smile: "Not now". Then, naturally, he returns to snake-hipped dancing with some bikini-clad beauties.

Do not laugh at this comic caricature. What else will he want? Murray, M. Finn, L. Wednesday: Mixed Social, optional dress, 1. Thursday: Self-selected open fours, casual dress, 1.

Sunday: Mixed Social, casual dress, 1. On Wednesday July 22nd all green fees will be donated to the Ravenshoe Fire Victims so please come and support this special day.

Games will commence at the usual time of 1. Skinner, R. Hubbard, J. Phillips and Greg Johnson defeated A. Jones, F.

Sloan, P. Vardy and T. McCarthy Mahar, K. Wheat visitor and D. Lord, D. Parker, M. Hubbard and Y. Brown and R. Gibson and Y. Thompson, D.

Gibson and D. Coutts, M. Hubbard and K. Milloy defeated D. Sweedman and J. Whykes and B. Titlow defeated L. Thompson and M.

Mahar defeated P. Stien Skinner and R. Hubbard versus G. Pritchard and J. Mixed Pairs - Gavin Johnson and C.

Milloy versus P. Jones and R. Johnson versus R. Least putts Mark Johnson Thursday was a little wet for the ladies and no comp was played.

Next Thursday the. Least putts Annette Seawright and Dawn Faulkner with 29 putts. Atherton Bowls Club. Wednesday, July 8 winners M.

Mackney and S. Short and C. Leinster who defeated T. Sorrensen and J. Friday was a wonderful evening of bowls and dinner shared with the Condamine Travelling Bowlers.

Cook, F. Payne, J. McHenry and W. Zieth defeated L. Santin T. Johnson, M. Barron and T. Fanna, M. Marsh, M. Collins and J.

Marriott were defeated by C. Next Games to be played - Thursday July 16, T. Hylands team to play E. Krucks team, and Saturday July 18, J.

Marriotts team to play E. Krucks team. Roach Mclean Altman Ranclaud Campbell Saturday, July Pistol Practice. Rifle Practice. Sunny with changing winds and heavy mirage.

Results for double , 15 shots comp. Target Rifle — J. Kuchel Durham Mareeba F Standard — P. Burg FTR — C. Allman Anderson Padgett Congratulation to all the Mossman OPM winners, check it out at ravenshoerc.

Next shoot in Ravenshoe: Sunday, July Double , 10 shots competition 8. It was a vintage display from the hosts, who controlled the midfield battles throughout and provided a hatful of quality chances.

For the cellar dweller Rangers — it was yet another disappointing afternoon — who were far too hesitant going forward; generating only one shot on target for the entire match.

Contending with five or six defenders at any given time early on, the home side took the lead on six minutes through David Ruiz. A wonderfully telegraphed cross looped lovingly into his path on the edge of the 18 yard box, with Ruiz delicately placing his finish past an outstretched Chris Couesnon in the Rangers goal.

The visitors would have their only notable attempt on goal in the 13th minute, when a surging Tommy Meath could have made Bulls keeper Julian Madrid pay for his lack of positioning.

Meath was wayward in his effort however, with a subsequent follow up from Alex Reith failing to test Madrid. When the Rangers did enter their attacking half, they were relying on the long ball into space; which was routinely dealt with by a compact home defence.

This defensive unit included club legend Victor Madrid, who came out of retirement to fill in for his old club, due to a few players being unavailable for selection.

Once in control of the ball, Bulls midfielders very rarely relinquished possession and routinely earmarked their forwards in acres of space along the flanks.

The goal was a result of three consecutive chances, with Leonardo Cisterni in the thick of the action throughout the build up of each move.

Ruiz had no fewer than four excellent opportunities to score during this period — but was either denied by brilliant goalkeeping or by slightly mistiming his shot.

Livewire Anthony Mete had no such hassles with finding the net, snaring a tidy brace in the space of five minutes; his cheeky chip definitely making the highlights reel.

Icing on the sweet victory was secured five minutes from time, with Robert Pendenza coolly slotting his spot kick; with a special celebration in regard to his impending fatherhood.

Games start at 1. Regularly pitted against metro and international opposition with vastly greater recruiting pools, the girls were competitive in every match.

The ladies began their campaign against ACT Metro, where they suffered a heartbreaking defeat. This was quickly forgotten, as the girls then achieved one of the upsets of the tournament, thrashing a powerful NSW Metro, Consecutive defeats against SA Metro and Vic Country followed, but the girls were anything but disheartened from these performances.

Wins against WA Metro and the Northern Territory set up an intriguing quarter final matchup against Vic Metro, however the Vics had too much in the tank on the day.

The girls wound up their campaign with a thrilling contest against New Zealand, before signing off with a comprehensive victory over the ACT.

Currently decimated with injuries throughout all grades, the visitors struggled to keep up with an improving Leprechauns outfit.

Roosters senior official Darryl Day said coach Jamie Blain was satisfied with the performance, considering the amount of selection shuffling before the match.

The club has decided that all proceeds on the evening will go towards the Ravenshoe JRLC, with a free bus service from Atherton being organised for supporters.

Contact the club for bookings and times. In light of recent tragedy, the match will provide an opportunity for the Tablelands to stand shoulder to shoulder and reaffirm support to those impacted.

ALAN Lane is a man who has experienced tennis at the highest level; gracing the grass courts of Wimbledon five times. But almost as impressive, is his unique ability to provide education and instruction through a dedicated coaching regime, which can be understood regardless of skill-level.

People will queue in line and there will be no arguments. Junior players from the Mareeba United Football Club travelled to Townsville during the school holidays to take part in the annual Filippo Mele Carnival.

I had it lucky; I could put a two line ad in a local newspaper and get requests. Now for my coaching career, it was probably the best thing I ever did, because I had so much tennis; so many lessons, so many different people.

No statutory warranty on vehicles over 10 years old or , kilometres. Tur n to pages 6, 7 and 10 for a ph oto wrap and results from the weekend!

Several predictions were made on the likelihood of particular projects within the Mareeba Shire jurisdiction; and make for interesting view- cCloshh therise.

The Express Newspaper The team Ten Pin Bowling! The service would be based around the existing kerbside waste collection service routes and would attract a specific fee for the service.

Including a schooner Great Northern 3. SNTR www. Mobile: Office: Tickets can be purchased from the driver when boarding the bus.

Worth a look Phone tonivigar bigpond. Catchment progression takes flight THE Barron River Catchment Care group is maintaining its intent to help ensure the longterm viability of the iconic river.

Home of yesteryear brought to life This magnificent home has just become available to the market. Complete with security screens and airconditioners throughout, plus a unique evap- www.

Hayley Shelton Office: Website: www. Joe Torrisi www. April 21 to May 21 May 22 to June 21 Be prepared to lose friends or alienate other people if you insist on being stubborn.

Scorpio Oct 24 to Nov 22 You could easily lose your temper at work. Sagittarius Nov 23 to Dec 21 You should be able to make major career gains if you plan your intentions carefully.

Aquarius Max 24o Min 18o Method Advancement can be yours if you are assertive in your approach. Phone the Express today The Express Directory has an affordable option to suit every business.

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It is as if Mackenzie definitely set out to prove that a University turned out all its pupils cut to -pattern. One other trait they have in common which finally places them beyond the pale of our favour.

They are, without exception, incor- rigible snobs. One could forgive their interminable empty chatter, their futility, even their woodenness ; but their appalling self-complacency destroys any possible interest on our part in their welfare.

They have money, therefore they are the salt of the earth. I have seen Mackenzie compared with Thackeray, for what reason I cannot fathom.

But this gallery of callow undergraduates might well be included in the modern Book of Snobs. Lastly we come to the limitation of label. It is customary to classify all modern authors.

Mackenzie has been hailed as the leader of the " realistic " school. This is no place to enter into a discussion on the connotation of critical labels, but if " realistic " is meant to be synonymous with " actual," Mackenzie is no more a realist than Dickens was.

He has the comic spirit much too fully developed thank God he possesses what none of his heroes has, a sense of humour to depict life as he sees it.

Unfortunately, we don't expect Lord George Sangers to be artists. Compton Mackenzie is an artist to the finger-tips, and he has therefore been persistently misunderstood.

Disappointment lies in store for those befogged critics who think that Compton Mac- kenzie is of the family of Hugh Walpole, J.

Beres- ford, or Gilbert Cannan. Is it after all a limitation not to belong to the introspective school? The riddle of the universe is not necessarily to be solved by the novelist.

Is it a crime to revert to the tradition of Tom Jones? Mackenzie is in the direct line of Fielding. Is not that enough?

Why complain that he falls short of an achievement which he never set out to attain? So much for limitations.

What has this wayward genius, then, to offer if he has no gospel, and can't paint an endurable well-bred man? In the first place, he is a consummate architect.

Young modern novelists for the most part are so taken up with analysing their emotions, and sifting their psycho- logical experiences, that they have eliminated form and technique altogether.

They rather pride them- selves on their lawlessness. Mackenzie flans on a colossal scale, but rarely makes a mistake : his edifice is not only beautiful few living writers have quite such a feeling for the best word : his sentences are exquisitely balanced, pellucidly clear, and rhyth- mical , but it is utilitarian.

Guy and Pauline is so beautiful that we are almost drugged by the sweetness of it. Every season of the year, every flower, and every changing light is seized and put on to paper perfectly.

When he sets out deliberately to paint a landscape, whether it be of a Cotswold village with its cobbles overgrown with grass, of Cornwall in December with its blue and purple veronicas and almond-scented gorse, or Ana- sirene with its anemones splashed out like wine upon the green corn, and red-beaded cherry-trees throwing shadows on the tawny wheat, we sit dumb as before a picture by a great master.

It is the presence of beauty that never fails to show Mackenzie at his best. He is one of Nature's great interpreters and I am not sure that he is not woman's best interpreter.

Jenny is not the only pearl to be cast before swine. Pauline, Sylvia, each in her own individual way, is equally precious and adorable.

We have seen two of the inimitable trio giving up their boundless maiden treasures, in each case to a puppet and in each case so deftly and delicately has their passion been portrayed that we can think of no parallel outside the pages of Richard Feverel.

Mackenzie has an uncanny insight into the hearts of his heroines. Women do shower their love on to the most undeserving men.

It is quite true that Pauline will never forget Guy ; she is like the nymph on the Grecian Urn. It is partly because they are so virginal in cha- racter, partly because they so hate men to make love to them, that when the flame is kindled these heroines descend a little lower than conventional angels on being scorned.

Mackenzie is never happier than when he is transcribing the dialogues of his women : one can hear their very accents if we are not snobs they do not grate on our polished ears , and we fall desperately in love not with their physical beauty so much as with their wonderful vivacity, never-failing spirits, and extraordinary bonhomie.

The tang of bitterness on Sylvia's tongue adds to her charms. These are the lips we wish to hear at carnival-time when we drop the mask of our respect- ability whispering " Viens done.

From the crowd of Pierrots we draw our lily-white Columbine, and cease from banging other roysterers on the head with bladders : we set out on an amazingly incredible crusade, and mix with the wives of lavatory-attendants, decadent artists, maniacs who think that they are inside out, Treacherites, priests, murderers, harlots, pseudo- Emperors of Byzantium, chorus-girls, and procurators If we tire of one set of companions we can shake them off by taking the first 'bus that passes.

Her mother would go mad on the very day that Jenny gave herself to Danby : the young wife of seventeen in such a world may well know her Petronius and Apuleius, and give her judgment on Aristophanes.

The secret is that these are not real people : Mac- kenzie's is not the world as we know it. Everything is possible on the cinema, and Sylvia Scarlett is the finest film I have ever seen.

We go to the pictures to get away from realities, to indulge our senses in a riotous phantasmagoria. We, too, want to join the laughing nymphs who sing to the guitar beneath our window.

Transported for the moment into golden asses, we try our hand at the game only to be rebuffed sadly in our search for the real Sylvia we meet no daughters of joy, but files de joie, no " lazy, laughing, languid Jenny," but only some desperately dull drab whose sole resemblance to our dream-heroine is that she actually calls us " soppy date " and bids us " ching- a-ling " if our purse is too attenuated to glut her desires.

No the wise man will be content to take Compton Mackenzie at his own valuation. You can never come to life however hard we pray and we are realists enough in our soberer moments to breathe quite candidly, " Who cares?

In many cases they certainly coincided with mine : my excuse for not having publicly proclaimed my affection for these was simply due to lack of space.

There are so many novelists writing to-day whose works I infinitely prefer either to those of Thackeray or Dickens that it would be impossible in the length of one essay to maintain my separate reasons for them all.

I tried last time to show what my favourite authors had in common : this time I propose rather to let each one manifest his good qualities individually, no longer as members of a school, but as a fresh delineator of life, relying on no precedent, following in the footsteps of no greater contemporary.

First among these is Mr Norman Douglas, who in South Wind has produced a book totally unlike any other that I have ever read, inimitably humorous, packed full of philc sophy, rich with irony, and interesting throughout.

That it completely mystified the critic of The Daily Mail, who self-complacently asserted that he could not understand what it was all about, may be in itself a recommendation.

After all, what is it all about? The characters are all eccentric in so far as they do not conform to the common standards of life. The book opens with a description of the landing thereon of a sea-sick colonial bishop and a philander- ing priest.

We are then invited to follow a delicious biography of the local patron saint, Dodekanus, so called, perhaps, because he met his death by being sawn asunder into twelve separate pieces while bound between two flat boards of palmwood : another current legend has it that he owed his name to a missive containing the two words Do dekanus ; give us a deacon.

The grammar is faulty because of the natives' rudimentary knowledge of Latin : they had only learnt the first person singular and the nomina- tive case.

A certain Mr Ernest Eames was at that time making it his life-mission to bring up to date a full history of the island and its legends.

Of him we learn that " it was not true to say that he fled from England to Nepenthe because he forged his mother's will, because he was arrested while picking the pockets of a lady at Tottenham Court Road Station, because he refused to pay for the upkeep of his seven illegitimate children, because he was involved in a flamboyant scandal of unmentionable nature and unprecedented dimensions, because he was detected while trying to poison the rhinoceros at the Zoo with an arsenical bun, because he strangled his mistress, because he addressed an almost disrespectful letter to the Primate of England, beginning ' My good Owl ' for any such like reason ; and that he now remained" on the island only because nobody was fool enough to lend him ten pounds requisite for a ticket back again.

The colonial bishop fresh from con- verting Bitongos who had taken to the Gospel like ducks to water, wearing top-hats at Easter and M'Tezo who filed their teeth, ate their superfluous female relations, swopped wives every new moon, and never wore a stitch of clothes fell quickly in love with Nepenthe.

He indulged in arguments over educational reform with Mr Keith, who advocated the introduction of sociology and jurisprudence into the school curriculum, and the abolition of practically all the existing subjects ; he revelled in the endless colour-schemes with which the island provided him, houses of red volcanic tufa, windows aflame with cacti and carnations, slumberous oranges glowing in courtyards, roadways of lava pitch-black, skies of impenetrable blue.

He met Freddy Parker, the Napoleonic President of the local club, who swindled every one right and left ; Count Caloveglia, who had " faked " an antique, the Locri Faun, that he sold for thirty-five thousand francs ; the Duchess, who was not a duchess at all ; Miss Wilberforce, invariably clad in black, who indulged immoderately in strong drink and denuded herself of her clothes on frequent occasions ; Denis and Marten, young rivals for the love of Angelina, who was as pretty as she was sexual.

Each and all of these chatter at random as the mood takes them, sometimes satirically about our national vices of the deification of strenuousness, our failure to elevate the mind, our ridiculous struggle with the elements, and incessant bother about the soul.

The conflict between the idealist and the brutalitarian is superbly told. One delicious trait of Norman Douglas is his habit of returning to a subject when he thinks that it can still amuse us.

All these things, and a good many more, had been said. Kind friends had seen to that. She was known as the ballon captif. She had nearly seduced Mr Eames into marrying her when her husband turned up, and Mr Eames luckily was saved.

Of a love theme there is but little in the book. One of Mr Marten's many escapades in this direction may be taken as typical.

Nemo sapit nihil. Duchessa in barca aquatica cum magna compania. Redibit tardissimo. Niente timor. Amare multis- simo!

Ego morire sine tc. Non capire? Oh, capire be bio wed," Denis heard him murmur, " tremolo agitato, con molto sentimento " to Angelina in the Cave of Mercury.

There is more about drink than love in this Rabelaisian medley. The picture of Miss Wilber- force singing to the night- wind, " Oh, Billy had a letter for to go on board a ship," unlacing and un- buttoning the while, sticks in the memory more forcibly.

There is shrewd philosophy strewn hither and thither for those who patiently allow the author to pursue his own path and do not hurry him.

They who are all things to their neighbours, cease to be anything to themselves. Even a diamond can have too many facets. Avoid the attrition of vulgar minds, keep your edges intact.

A man can protect himself with fists or sword, but his best weapon is his intellect. A weapon must be forged in the fire. The fire, in our case, is Tribulation.

It must also be kept un- tarnished. Delve deeply : not too deeply into the past, for it may make you derivative ; nor yet into yourself it will make you introspective.

Delve into the living world and strive to bind yourself to its movements by a chain of your own welding," he says in one passage ; in another, " What is the unforgivable sin in poetry?

Lack of candour. He personifies the Revolt from Reason. He understood the teachings of the giants, but they irked him.

To revenge him- self he laid penny crackers under their pedestals. His whole intellectual fortune was spent in buying penny crackers.

There was something cheeky and pre-adolescent about him a kind of virginal ferocity. He lacked the male attributes of humility, reverence, and sense of proportion.

The tail of a cow was just as important to him as the tail of a comet : more important, if it could be turned into a joke.

Look at the back of his mind and you will always see the same thing : horror of a fact. In chapter xvi, how- ever, in the list of the many fountains of Nepenthe, we find that same love of cataloguing that is so prominent a characteristic of Rabelais.

One of the most successful chapters in the book is that which tells of the " good old Duke," Nepenthe's most famous ruler.

His method of collecting taxes was a marvel of simplicity. Each citizen paid what he liked. If the sum proved insufficient he was apprised of the fact next morning by having his left hand amputated : a second error of judgment was rectified by the mutilation of the remaining member.

He had a trick of casting favourites into dungeons and concubines into the sea that endeared him to his various legitimate spouses. A comparison between the Russian temperament and the English leads to the following acute observa- tion : i " The Russian has convictions, but no principles.

The Englishman has principles, but no convictions, he obeys the laws : a criminal requires imagination. He prides himself on his immunity from vexatious imposts.

Yet whisky, the best quality of which is worth tenpence a bottle, is taxed till it costs five shillings ; tobacco which could profitably be sold at twopence a pound goes for fivepence an ounce.

Englishmen will submit to any number of these extortions, being persuaded that such things are for the good of the nation. That is an Englishman's method of procuring happiness : to deny himself pleasure in order to save his neighbour's soul.

She looked people straight in the face and spoke from her heart ; a falsehood, before it left her lips, had grown into a flaming truth. Her death leads to some aphorisms on the subject of mortality on the part of Mr Keith, which I find it hard to refrain from quoting.

But I must hurry on, past the story of the marrowfats and the reason why so many American women are as flat as boards, in front and behind a hundred guesses NORMAN DOUGLAS 35 would leave you as far as ever from the truth here ; past the murder of Muhlen yes, things do happen, even on lotus-eating Nepenthe , and the amazing speech for the defence of the supposed criminal by Don Guistino " He had a mother : he had no mother " to St Eulalia, patroness of Nepenthean sailors.

St Eulalia, like St Dodekanus, arrests our attention. She was born in , took the vow of chastity at the age of two years and eleven months, never washed, nor changed her underwear : she put baskets of sea-urchins in her bed, and as a penance forced herself to catch the legions of vermin that infested her brown blanket, count them, separate the males from the females, set them free once more, and begin over again.

She died at the age of fourteen years and two months. Her corpse forthwith became roseate in colour, exhaled a delicious odour of violets for twenty weeks, and performed countless miracles.

On dissection, a portrait of St James of Compostella was discovered imbedded in her liver. For twelve days did the colonial bishop remain on this amazing island in a kind of merry nightmare.

Purifying, at the same time. It swept away the cobwebs. It gave you a measure, a stan- dard, whereby to compute earthly affairs.

He had carved out new and round values : a workable, up- to-date theory of life. He was in fine trim.

His liver he forgot that he ever had one. Nepenthe had done him good all round. And so, if we read this book in the right spirit, our visit to Nepenthe will do us good all round.

Our visit, if it does nothing else, ought to make us more tolerant. On one reader, al any rate, it has had the effect of wishing for more so strongly that, in spite of the generous fare of closely printed pages given in this volume, he prays night and day that Mr Douglas may continue for the rest of his life to write down all that he knows about his Treasure Island.

For surely its treasure is inexhaustible. This book has no beginning and no end. It just stops when the author thinks he has said enough for the moment.

But let him not imagine that he said enough for all time. I for one could go on reading about Nepenthe were the book as long as the Encyclopaedia Britannica, but then I am fond of humour, and humour in our literature is rare indeed.

Yet he is as well able to reproduce the atmosphere of life in the successful and unsuccessful suburbs of Weybridge and Kennington as Stephen McKenna is in the aristo- cratic world of Mayfair and Kensington " where the dialect songs come from ".

He is far more alive than Mr McKenna : his vision is larger, his sympathies broader. In Nocturne, a wonderful tour de force, in which the whole action is confined to six hours, we actually share every minute of the young milliner's experiences.

The small house in Kennington Park, where laughing, loving, passionate Jenny lives with her paralysed " Pa " and jealous Martha-like sister " Em," is put before us perfect in every detail : we see " Pa's " appetite for romance satisfied in the shape of murder and sudden death in the newspaper, as his appetite for food is by mountainous apple-dumplings.

Her vision had been far different from this scene. It carried her over land and sea right into an unexplored realm where there was wild laughter 37 88 KS AND THEIR WRITERS and noise, where hearts broke tragically and women in the hour of ruin turned triumphant eyes to the glory of life, and where blinding, streaming lights and scintillating colours made everything seem different, made it seem romantic, rapturous, indescribable.

From that vision back to the cupboard-like house in Kennington Park, and stodgy Alf Rylett, and supper of stew and bread-and-butter pudding, and Pa, and this little sobbing figure in her arms, was an incon- gruous flight.

It made Jenny's mouth twist in a smile so painful that it was almost a grimace. Emmy was harder than Jenny on the surface, but weaker below.

Jenny was self- sufficient, self-protective, more happy-go-lucky, more humorous than Emmy. We see these sisters who love one another deeply first quarrelling over Alf.

He prefers Jenny, and she treats him like dirt, while Emmy is furiously jealous. But he's quiet. Sort of man who tells you what he likes for breakfast.

I only go with him. Well, you know why, as well as I do. But he's never on for a bit of fun. That's it : he's got no devil hi him. I don't like that kind.

Prefer the other sort. While Em, who is overjoyed, goes out of the room to dress, Jenny and Alf have a heart-to-heart row which reveals their naked sculs to the reader in a way that almost shocks one, so real does it sound.

It is as if we were held by a vice in the room, compelled to listen to confidences of the most private sort. Eventually Alf and Em go, and Jenny is left at home to look after Pa and work out in her mind exactly what she has done, gradually rising into a frenzy of rebellion at the dullness and slavery which is her life.

While she is lost in reverie there is another knock at the door, and she opens to find a large car, a chauffeur, and a letter for her from a sailor she had met some months before, requesting her to come to supper on his yacht.

After a sharp conflict with her conscience she leaves Pa and drives off in an intoxica- tion of bliss.

Keith, her dream-lover, meets her on board and takes her down to the cabin. It seemed, because the ceiling was low, to be very spacious ; the walls and ceiling were of a kind of dusky amber hue ; a golden brown was everywhere the prevailing tint.

In the middle stood a square table ; and on the table, arrayed on an exquisitely white tablecloth, was laid a wondrous meal. The table was laid for two ; candles with amber shades made silver shine and glasses glitter.

Upon a fruit-stand were peaches and nectarines ; upon a tray she saw decanters : little dishes crowding the table bore mysterious things to eat such as Jenny had never before seen.

Coming as we do from the stew and bread-and-butter pudding of Kennington we are all the more likely to succumb, as Jenny does, to the soup, whitebait, trifle, peaches, almonds, and won- derful red wine which Keith had so cunningly prepared.

The love-making that follows the meal is astoundingly real : Jenny, loving him with all the force of her passionate nature, yet struggling with herself all the time, believes that it is all no use as he didn't love her as she wanted him to.

In the end he tells her quickly the story of his life. It was no good. She went off with other men because I got tired of her : I told her she could stick to me or let me go.

She wanted both. Then I got engaged to a girl married to her when I was twenty-three and she's dead. After I'd been with her for a year I broke away.

I haven't got a very good record : I've lived with three women, all of whom knew more than I did. I've never done a girl any harm intentionally : the last of them belongs to six years ago.

You're the girl I love. Having at last got into bed she begins to judge her own conduct. To Keith she might, she would give all, as she had done : but he would still be apart from her.

Away from him, released from the spell, Jenny knew that she had yielded to him the freedom she so cherished as her inalienable right.

She had given him her freedom : for her real freedom was her innocence and her desire to do right. She could not forgive herself. She struggled to go back to the old way of looking at everything.

In a forlorn, quivering voice she ven- tured : " What a life! Golly, what a life! She threw her- self on the bed : " Keith.

Shops and Houses is a novel of quite another sort. Here we are shown the narrowness of suburban society.

Liv- ing in Beckwith is like living upon glass. It is both slippery and brittle. Nearly all the women suffer from aimlessness, an insatiable egomania.

Mr Swinnerton is exceedingly bitter in his irony about this suburb of his. It was like a backwater. Only time was consumed. That was the secret, terrible aim of dwellers in Beckwith.

Restlessness demands an outlet, not in constructive action, nor in clear thinking, nor in real festivals or in the cultiva- tion of growth ; but solely in the destruction of time and the resuscitation of exhausting excitements.

A certain William Vechantor, cousin to the Vechantors, takes over a grocer's shop in the town, and society is horrified, aghast.

Louis Vechantor can't see why his family are so upset, and says so, whereupon his father turns on him with fierce comments about shallow democratic snobbery.

Louis is suddenly diverted from the problem about the cousin-grocers by being made the confidant of a weak young man called Eric Daunton, who has become engaged to an " impossible " girl.

Louis advises him to marry her in spite of all opposition, and then does something himself which sets the wheel of fate in motion for him ; he calls on his cousins and meets Dorothy, the grocer's daughter, completely different from the Beckwith girls, who were tough, and superficially emotional, who seemed to live for excite- ment and to make it for themselves out of nothing.

He begins to ruminate over the curious anomalies in the other sex, the insensitive cruelty of Veronica Hughes, who could gloat over the agony of a bleeding bird.

Dorothy was not at all Beckwithian : she was not devout, she took nothing on trust. A spying gossip, by name Miss Lampe, sees Louis and Dorothy getting out of the train together, and spreads malicious rumours, and Louis is tackled by Veronica for going about with "that common girl.

The gossip even reaches the ears of his father and mother, and he is told to cease from seeing any more of his cousins ; he refuses and leaves home in consequence.

He has an abortive interview with Veronica, and then Daunton come's to lament over his failure to cut loose from his traditions. It's the punishment they're keen on.

It satisfies their cruelty : Veronica, for instance, if she got hold of a man who'd cut all meetings in the dark, all the hysterical little smothered kisses and cowardly secrets, she'd very likely fall in love with him and be a woman.

Ah, if Louis loved her : even that did not matter, if she could only be important to him! It was enough to live and love.

As time passed she became fearful : no one seemed to have heard any- thing of Louis : Dorothy was in a panic lest he should be ill. Then came the night of the concert when she discovered that Veronica was also in love with Louis, and was betrayed by her emotion into calling Miss Ultimately they, of course, fall into each other's arms.

I mean, whether it isn't a sort of disease. If you live in London you hardly know your neighbours you have your own friends.

Nobody else cares twopence about you. But London isn't England. I've been wondering if, directly you go to England to live, you don't find Beckwith.

Isn't Beckwith any small town in England? Isn't the choice between London that's heartless and Beckwith, where your life's everybody's business?

Lovely Beckwith poor poor people shut up in their houses and their shops, and never seeing out- side I think I hate stupidity worse than anything on earth, because it frightens me and crushes me.

He had already written novels before this which apparently no one read, which were nearly as good as, if not better than, the one over which the public chose to rave.

He is a born raconteur : but there is very little depth in him : most of his work scintillates with an obvious harshness : he indulges in epigrams : like Oscar Wilde he does not seem even to realise that there are any classes of society other than the aristocracy : his horizon is bounded by Half-Moon Street on the one side and Clarges Street on the other : he has a gift of wit which in Ninety-six Hours' 9 Leave, a book that couldn't have taken more than ninety-six hours to write, is thoroughly adapted for readers of The By- stander and undergraduates generally.

It is as well that there should be novelists who exactly suit con- valescents. I cannot think him a genius : talented?

Admirable for reading in a train or when the brain is tired. And this is not to depreciate his value. There are very few really satisfactory novels which can hold our attention and yet not probe into the problems of life.

The problem of poverty as seen by George Gissing gives genius full scope, but genius regards the problem of Midas as quite a good joke. We thank God for Stephen McKenna because he occupies our very necessary hours of ease.

It is so delightful to find that he knows his job. There are scarcely any people in his pages who are not titled : the joy of discovering that they do actually talk as titled people do talk that is, like every one else above the local grocer is a very real one.

Most novelists have a special vocabulary for dukes : they move stiffly in their presence : it is hard even for an Honourable to unbend. But; it is not the whole truth.

Let me test it by taking The Reluctant Lover as an example of his art at its best. There are few more readable books on the market : there is a rattling good plot, un- expected denouement, human characters, adorable heroines, quite a number of them : Mr McKenna has the deftest touch in limning the features and probing the minds of attractive young girls : his dialogue is always clever, if at times unnaturally artificial and stilted : he is a master craftsman in avoiding loose ends and polishing rough edges.

In some ways this story of the selfish, but entirely lovable boy, Cyril Fitzroy, is the story of the development of every man : " He affects to study women as he studies men, in the light of specimens : and sometimes as works of art by an inspired hand.

From a sexual point of view he is completely indifferent and extra- ordinarily cold-blooded. The description of Lady Delaunay's ball, where the pair first meet and dance together for six hours in succession, is inimitably told : the intellectual sparring between the two is a watered-down Meredith, and therefore more like life as we know it than it is in Meredith.

This is not to suggest that Mr. McKenna can compare in any way whatever with this or any other genius : I still maintain that he has no genius : but his talent is unmistakable..

I could find it in my heart to wish that he would quote less Latin, and not hark back so frequently to Oxford experiences. He writes like the elderly uncle he pretends to be in Sonia.

Even as an undergraduate he must have been very like a don. Not for him the follies and extravagances of youth. One reads some- thing of himself in the character of Rodney Trelawney, the young Oxford don prematurely aged and world- weary, knowing little of sympathy, inexperienced in life, a little crabbed, a little inhuman, a little lonely, yet immensely complacent and self-satisfied.

He must have his Oxford lunch of dressed crab, quails, green peas, marasquino jelly, croustade au parmeson, strawberries, and iced hock cup ; his clothes must fit him perfectly, and there must always be the white silk pyjamas ; there must be a persistent dredging of the waters of the memory to recall old Oxford " rags," old Oxford tales discreditable to Balliol, upholding the prestige of The House.

But all this, again, is a trifle unkind and only partly true. There is plenty of intellectual stimulus, and very little beating about the bush, no morbid psychology here : on the other hand, there is some very straight talk at times, as in this illuminating passage : " Give a thing for nothing, and it will be valued at nothing : give poor people free education, and they regard it as value- less.

If Rodney [it is Myra speaking] gives me the whole-hearted adoration you speak of and I don't have to struggle for it I shall count it as valueless, and in course of time it will die of neglect.

Which is not a good condition for ' sickness and health, weal and woe,' for life. The remedy is to find some one who attracts me and force him to love me whether he wants to or not.

He is not just the thoroughly modern face of the Selecao, so omnipresent in the Cup's marketing that the only danger is of a nation wearying of discussing his latest haircut; more, he is the symbol of a nation's pride and ambition as the first real superstar of the Brazilian game to turn down the irresistible lure of the Euro to instead keep plying his trade at home.

How happy this makes Brazil, long since so wearily resigned to seeing its finest inheritors of Pele's mantle being shipped off. At the weekend came reports from Spain suggesting Neymar will definitely join Barcelona in July, yet Brazil has heard all this for a long time now.

Some say you have to leave to develop but I don't agree. This is something to love him for, his compatriots believe.

There is a soft drinks advert on Brazilian TV in which Neymar loafs around on the beach in just his shorts and a mate asks: "Why haven't you gone to Europe, dude?

It prompts Neymar to then start imagining himself trying hopelessly to pull off his samba footballing tricks while dressed like an Eskimo in a snowstorm.

Snapping out of this nightmare back on the beach, he tells his mate with a smile: "Not now". Then, naturally, he returns to snake-hipped dancing with some bikini-clad beauties.

Do not laugh at this comic caricature. What else will he want? Two cars? A plane? Hence the great debate there.

McCarthy Mahar, K. Wheat visitor and D. Lord, D. Parker, M. Hubbard and Y. Brown and R. Gibson and Y. Thompson, D.

Gibson and D. Coutts, M. Hubbard and K. Milloy defeated D. Sweedman and J. Whykes and B. Titlow defeated L. Thompson and M.

Mahar defeated P. Stien Skinner and R. Hubbard versus G. Pritchard and J. Mixed Pairs - Gavin Johnson and C. Milloy versus P. Jones and R. Johnson versus R.

Least putts Mark Johnson Thursday was a little wet for the ladies and no comp was played. Next Thursday the. Least putts Annette Seawright and Dawn Faulkner with 29 putts.

Atherton Bowls Club. Wednesday, July 8 winners M. Mackney and S. Short and C. Leinster who defeated T. Sorrensen and J. Friday was a wonderful evening of bowls and dinner shared with the Condamine Travelling Bowlers.

Cook, F. Payne, J. McHenry and W. Zieth defeated L. Santin T. Johnson, M. Barron and T. Fanna, M. Marsh, M. Collins and J.

Marriott were defeated by C. Next Games to be played - Thursday July 16, T. Hylands team to play E. Krucks team, and Saturday July 18, J. Marriotts team to play E.

Krucks team. Roach Mclean Altman Ranclaud Campbell Saturday, July Pistol Practice. Rifle Practice. Sunny with changing winds and heavy mirage.

Results for double , 15 shots comp. Target Rifle — J. Kuchel Durham Mareeba F Standard — P. Burg FTR — C.

Allman Anderson Padgett Congratulation to all the Mossman OPM winners, check it out at ravenshoerc. Next shoot in Ravenshoe: Sunday, July Double , 10 shots competition 8.

It was a vintage display from the hosts, who controlled the midfield battles throughout and provided a hatful of quality chances.

For the cellar dweller Rangers — it was yet another disappointing afternoon — who were far too hesitant going forward; generating only one shot on target for the entire match.

Contending with five or six defenders at any given time early on, the home side took the lead on six minutes through David Ruiz.

A wonderfully telegraphed cross looped lovingly into his path on the edge of the 18 yard box, with Ruiz delicately placing his finish past an outstretched Chris Couesnon in the Rangers goal.

The visitors would have their only notable attempt on goal in the 13th minute, when a surging Tommy Meath could have made Bulls keeper Julian Madrid pay for his lack of positioning.

Meath was wayward in his effort however, with a subsequent follow up from Alex Reith failing to test Madrid.

When the Rangers did enter their attacking half, they were relying on the long ball into space; which was routinely dealt with by a compact home defence.

This defensive unit included club legend Victor Madrid, who came out of retirement to fill in for his old club, due to a few players being unavailable for selection.

Once in control of the ball, Bulls midfielders very rarely relinquished possession and routinely earmarked their forwards in acres of space along the flanks.

The goal was a result of three consecutive chances, with Leonardo Cisterni in the thick of the action throughout the build up of each move.

Ruiz had no fewer than four excellent opportunities to score during this period — but was either denied by brilliant goalkeeping or by slightly mistiming his shot.

Livewire Anthony Mete had no such hassles with finding the net, snaring a tidy brace in the space of five minutes; his cheeky chip definitely making the highlights reel.

Icing on the sweet victory was secured five minutes from time, with Robert Pendenza coolly slotting his spot kick; with a special celebration in regard to his impending fatherhood.

Games start at 1. Regularly pitted against metro and international opposition with vastly greater recruiting pools, the girls were competitive in every match.

The ladies began their campaign against ACT Metro, where they suffered a heartbreaking defeat. This was quickly forgotten, as the girls then achieved one of the upsets of the tournament, thrashing a powerful NSW Metro, Consecutive defeats against SA Metro and Vic Country followed, but the girls were anything but disheartened from these performances.

Wins against WA Metro and the Northern Territory set up an intriguing quarter final matchup against Vic Metro, however the Vics had too much in the tank on the day.

The girls wound up their campaign with a thrilling contest against New Zealand, before signing off with a comprehensive victory over the ACT.

Currently decimated with injuries throughout all grades, the visitors struggled to keep up with an improving Leprechauns outfit. Roosters senior official Darryl Day said coach Jamie Blain was satisfied with the performance, considering the amount of selection shuffling before the match.

The club has decided that all proceeds on the evening will go towards the Ravenshoe JRLC, with a free bus service from Atherton being organised for supporters.

Contact the club for bookings and times. In light of recent tragedy, the match will provide an opportunity for the Tablelands to stand shoulder to shoulder and reaffirm support to those impacted.

ALAN Lane is a man who has experienced tennis at the highest level; gracing the grass courts of Wimbledon five times. But almost as impressive, is his unique ability to provide education and instruction through a dedicated coaching regime, which can be understood regardless of skill-level.

People will queue in line and there will be no arguments. Junior players from the Mareeba United Football Club travelled to Townsville during the school holidays to take part in the annual Filippo Mele Carnival.

I had it lucky; I could put a two line ad in a local newspaper and get requests. Now for my coaching career, it was probably the best thing I ever did, because I had so much tennis; so many lessons, so many different people.

No statutory warranty on vehicles over 10 years old or , kilometres. Tur n to pages 6, 7 and 10 for a ph oto wrap and results from the weekend! Several predictions were made on the likelihood of particular projects within the Mareeba Shire jurisdiction; and make for interesting view- cCloshh therise.

The Express Newspaper The team Ten Pin Bowling! The service would be based around the existing kerbside waste collection service routes and would attract a specific fee for the service.

Including a schooner Great Northern 3. SNTR www. Mobile: Office: Tickets can be purchased from the driver when boarding the bus.

Worth a look Phone tonivigar bigpond. Catchment progression takes flight THE Barron River Catchment Care group is maintaining its intent to help ensure the longterm viability of the iconic river.

Home of yesteryear brought to life This magnificent home has just become available to the market. Complete with security screens and airconditioners throughout, plus a unique evap- www.

Hayley Shelton Office: Website: www. Joe Torrisi www. April 21 to May 21 May 22 to June 21 Be prepared to lose friends or alienate other people if you insist on being stubborn.

Scorpio Oct 24 to Nov 22 You could easily lose your temper at work. Sagittarius Nov 23 to Dec 21 You should be able to make major career gains if you plan your intentions carefully.

Aquarius Max 24o Min 18o Method Advancement can be yours if you are assertive in your approach. Phone the Express today The Express Directory has an affordable option to suit every business.

Phone: or Email: aemgraphicdesign1 bigpond. Dru ThursTon Visit our website: www. We have the perfect venue! For Lease Mini storage 6x3m and 6x2.

Green bird found. Vicinity of Mason Street. To our darling Granddaughter Mayah Lilly Wishing you a happy first birthday! Memoriam Dear Dad, I thought of you today, but that is nothing new, I thought about you yesterday, and days before that too.

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Home supporters headed into the half time interval a lot more relaxed, once Ruiz was able to add his second of the afternoon on 40 minutes.

Waylon Joseph makes a break through the defence. Mareeba Bulls V Leichhardt Lions 3.

2 Comments

  1. Nim Tajas

    Wacker, die Phantastik))))

  2. Arashilmaran Mezisar

    Sie soll Sie sagen Sie irren sich.

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