New-York tribune., 1920-09-26

College, and upon leaving married and
| settled down in Hertfordshire to a
quiet literary career from which on,v
the war disturbed him. He worked
steadily and was gradually achieving a
soild reputation with his novels and
mis- short stories, Of which Port AL
iingsoa contains many good examples.
A Typical English Town
Fort Arlington may be geographi-
caliy situated in England. But suspect
1t has sisters scattered all over the
world. At any xate, / have come ACROSS
towns which bear so striking O. re-
semblance to it that suspect o family
relationship. Its Literary and Phileso-
ohic Society has many eonnterparts
and Its members are easily recogniz-
able, as will be seen from this extract
from the book:
THE thing that irked Mrs. Wather-
stone-the thing Of which she had at
times to complain-was that, though
ne had learned to submit to the quiet
influences which made of her {snd his)
house an intellectual center of which
any man might be proud; though he
had learned, in fact, to sit tRemblingly
on the edge Of an artistically con-
structed chair, on the occasion ef his
wife's at homes, Mr.. Watherstone had
not learned to assist at them, or to be-
come even in awkward gemblanes a
part OF them. He sat, he smiled, he
listened (or appeared to listen) to the
discussions, but he remained somewhat
aloof-absurdiy stout, absurdly aGabie,
absurdly out of drawing. Union with
one of the elect had indeed emphasized,
rather than softened, the fact that he
was a philistine. Even his silence
seemed coarse in the midst of such
delicate -parleyings as went on in
Mrs. Watherstone's salon on the first
and third Tuesdays. Some of her
friends had made faithful efforts from
time to time to draw him into the
charmed circle Of their talk He seemed
incapable of being drawn. Fer example,
the Rev. Upton James might invite him
to give "a plain mans views on the
appeal made to him by the doctrine of
Nirvana. Mr.. Watherstone would reply:
'Ah, you mustn't ask me. I don't un-
derstand it, A modest enough answer
perhaps, but one which--considering
that Mr.. James had explained the Budd-
histic theory at some length--was
humiliatingly tactless. Surely he could
have attempted an opinion. Every one
! at Mrs. Watherstone's conversaziones
did not understand everything, but they
all gave their opinion except Mr.. Wath-
erstone."
The stories about the Port Arlington
people are all delightfully."- amusing,
| but in the same volume are included
others as good as these, but belonging
to different type, tales such as "The
T.inker's Death" and "On the Raft
which touch the point Of preternatural
horror. Indeed, 1.-THE Tinker's Death"
is as fine a story Of its kind as ever
was written.
Verses Prompted by War
The verses are the direct outcome OF
the war; for it was not until Vernede
became soldier that he became poet
1t is evident, however, in many Of these
pieces that he was working in an un-
familiar medium, medium that fitted
the special thing he had to say at that
moment, but one that would not. we
feel, have fitted anything which he
would have desired to saw once the
war was over. The unpracticed hand is
apparent in some Of them, but In all
is apparent Vernede's sincerity, and on
several occasions he succeeded In pro.
ducing a poem excellent In ITS direct
and simple masculinity. OF these the
most notable are the opening lyric te
his wife and the Petition" in which
he asks that he, a dreamer, unversed
in arms,
Bnslana, aa"s9rAsh for sshs. to aia.r /
His petition was granted. On the 9th
of April, 1917, while leading his pla'
toon in "a attack on Havrincourt Wood
he was mortally wounded and died the
same day.
The attitude Of those men who an
swered the call, not because they loved
but because they hated war, was most
completely expressed in "Before the
Assault" which combines the personal
and the patriotic vision, and 10 Yer
nade's most powerful poem:
IL thro' this roar Of guns one prayer
may reach Thee,
Lord Of all Life, whose merciea never
sleep,
Not In our time, not now, Lord, we
beseech Thee
To grant US peace. The sword has
bit too deep.
We may not rest. We hear the wall OF
mothers
Mourning the sons who All some
nameless grave:
Past us, IN dreams, the ghosts march
Of our brothers
| Who were most valiant
whom we could not save.
, We sec ell Fair things fouled-homes
lnva,a handa hujlded