The Birmingham age-herald., 1911-02-26
Night Letters By Wire To The Age
 Herald Readers About New Books

waiting to take her to his very conven- tional home. Sancha, after loving and learning too much of the idiosyncracies of an Ingram, would never in reality find a Senhouse freed, just in time to dream the prophecy of her loveliness coming to him across the field, bare of foot and clad in heavenly blue. Good novels are to be read, not to live by; they are homilies for that.
 My Lady Good-for-N Nothing by Sir A.
 T. Quiller-Cou Charles Schribners'
 Sons, New York, S150.
 A misft title to a marvellous motley made of pieces and patches. Suggestions for several good and diverse stories jum- bled into an incongruous whole. The boy. Dick Vyelle, wins the readers interest only to be relegated to a minor place in later chapters. into utter oblivion before the close of the book. An impossible ser want girl masters Greek, musical litera- ture, courtly etiquette in the short space of three years, task that would strain the powers of even young Sidis. There is an impossible palace in colonial Vir- ginia, an equally impossible cabin above the falls, built by my lady's hands. There is a glimpse of one of the beautiful Cunning sisters, set like a bit of rich brocade upon an old lady's patchwork, A good bit about the Lisbon earthquake is finish to the mismetched while. This is work that will add little to the high and else deserved fame of @
 "The Singing Mouse Stories,'' by Emer-
 son Hough. (Bobbe- Merrill Co.,, Indian
 apolis, Ind), $150.
 There are those we feel sure, who will be bored by Emerson Houghs Singing Mouse Stories.' Yet such irreverent souls pass it by.
 But the thoughtful reader will be moved by the spirit which lifts the narra- tive into something near akin to poetic form both rich ard striking.
 The stories express with great felicity the momentary and thrilling emotions of one who broods over the scenes both of human life and of nature. Rays have been gathered in and treasured by That inward eye which is the bliss of solitude. ' The range of mans real vision is not bounded by his outward sight. This gracious second sight may be every body's, though some men fling it away, some close their eyes to it. Is it not real as tragedy and as familiar to see man drifting through life with close shut eyes? "IIe that might have chosen here below. tropes shuddering at the gates oi night" And many men miss the vision by looking too far afeld for it, not so the author of these stories. He recalls past days and lives over again scenes, com monplace enough in themselves, but lifted by the transforming touch of his pen into the realm of beauty.
 As a sudden whiff from a spray o1 sweet-brer comes the description of the river and of other scenes loved in child hood Along the rivers banks we are carried and share the secrets that nature has whispered to the author. Dear scene of childish joys. The afternoon 5corchine hot, the flowers droop. but birds flash over the river and the little fish lies deer in the shadowy pool, a glorious, irrides- cent, radiant prize. "AlI, little river, lit tie river, who does not long to come back to thee.'
 Of all Mir. Hough's stories that of the Oak is the longest and most important ''As it whispers anew the benediction oi the years, like new sunshine to glide into cne's life" The story pictures only hail tints and quiet places. with no concentra- tion of form and color; For the oak and the shadows of the past were friends, but that past is a very sad, but tender thing.
 "'The younger man is there, although lie has grown gray and stopped. Year unto year, day unto day, the beads hayi slipped along the string Once young now old, he keeps the camp alone. But is he then alone? Is not the shadow of c shadow-the apparition of the soul-there too? Whisper again the benedctions ol the years, and let me hear once more tlis Inurmur of the oaks Amen!'
 Did ever summer day elicit from poets fancy more apt and graceful descrip