Reviews.

“Camps, Tramps and Trenches,” by Eric Miller (A. H. & A. W. Reed, Dunedin and Wellington) is the diary of a New Zealand Sapper during one year of the Big War, 1917. The title of the book sounds uninteresting and yet the book itself is one of the most interesting war volumes I have read. It is an unimpassioned, sincere record of a soldier who appears to be singularly unaffected by the great tragedy in which he is a very active participant. His unassailable humour enables him to describe war events as though recording the happenings of a very interesting tour. Because of this we obtain a direct view of a war warrior's daily routine without being harried with accounts of the horror of it all. Incidentally, the author illustrates his own book, a talent he used in several very helpful ways in the course of his soldiering. The author's photograph appears with this article.

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“The Spur of the Moment,” by Walter Murdoch (Angus & Robertson, Sydney) is another collection of essays from Australia's cultured writer of prose. The book is a literary tonic against the multitude of wordy microbes to be found these days between covers. Although I must sound like a radio announcer on one of our Commercial stations I will nevertheless recommend with sincerity the taking of one or two of these Murdoch literary pick-me-ups, morning, noon and night. They are delightful brain bracers. Professor Murdoch has a clean, keen, honest mind. We have only one writer in this country who can approach him—J. H. E. Schroder. In his latest collection Murdoch has written over thirty essays on a variety of subjects from tin-openers to tyrants—on literature, democracy peace and war. I would like to comment on each essay but will (because of space considerations) remark briefly on one—an essay on “The Great Victorian.” The subject is Anstey, the author of “Vice Versa.” Murdoch describes him as “the last of the great Victorians.” I suppose this is just why I like Professor Murdoch, because he is in his writing an example of the culture and refinement of the older days. “Our time may have been all they say in dispraise of it,” he observes, “but it was a jollier time than the present.” Murdoch gives us such pleasant draughts of this jollity in his essays.

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“The First White Boy Born in Otago,” by H. Beattie (A. H. & A. W. Reed) comprises a series of reminiscences related to the author by Thomas Baker Kennard, one of the oldest of the pioneers who died recently at the age of ninety-five. Mr. Kennard was evidently a man of character, with a splendid memory, keen observation and very outspoken. The book is like a series of newspaper articles linked together under many headings. The stories told are full of human interest and incidentally provide quite a who's who of the earlier Otago residents. The colonial life of the period is related in colourful style with many of Maori incidents, stories of whalers and gold diggers and other anecdotes of the early days. This is just another important addition to the Centennial historical library and makes excellent popular reading. There are several illustrations.

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“My Silent World,” by Dorothy Donaldson (A. H. & A. W. Reed) is a collection of simple songs from the heart of one who, though blind and later deaf, triumphed over her misfortunes during her brief life. The splendid courage of Dorothy Donaldson and her great love of the birds she could not hear and the flowers she could not see are reflected in her verse. Her spirit sought for and seemed to find happiness in the silent world she lived in. The booklet is artistically produced.

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“Beyond the Kubea,” by J. G. Hides (Angus & Robertson, Sydney) is the story of the author's last expedition in New Guinea. It is a tragic story with an almost prophetic note of the author's own death which occurred later, largely as a result of the expedition on which the story is based. In the author's own words the book is the story of a search for payable gold in Central New Guinea “where untamed men still fight and make peace—where men still dance by the light of the stars and sing the songs of the Stone Age. It is the story, too, of good companions, white and brown and of a tragic journey's end.” Hides' sole white companion on this perilpathed journey was David Lyall, who became dangerously ill just when it appeared that success was to be achieved. In a vain effort to save his mate Hides makes a terrible return journey. The author gives a fine picture of the untamed interior of New Guinea and expresses his love and gratitude for the grand devotion of his native servants. This is one of Australia's best stories of exploration.

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