Evening star., 1924-12-23
NEW BOOKS
AT RANDOM
BLIND RAFTERY. Don Byrne. T

BLIND RAFTERY. Don Byrne. The
Century Company.
In a couple Of days now the sea-
sonal frenzy of gift-giving will have
passed into the exhaustion of its own
excesses. With morning after
goneness at the pit OF the stomach,
and an overfed taint upon the tongue,
and a nat, protesting gasp from
an empty pocketbook, you will on
Christmas morn, And yourself wad-
ing through chromatic pillows of
baby-ribboned knick-knackery and as
tonishing male toggery-aI OF un-
imaginable uses. And your mird-no,
not your mind. That is quite gone by
this time. 1t is your feelings, rather,
that are turning backward in a deep
desire for the sanities Of everyday
existence, where holidays have no
thoroughfares, in longing for the
free spaces Of routine and the pleas
ant feel of the days grind.
Right here ! send to you a Christ
mas wish-a modest wish, ameliora-
tive in quality and intent. AS the
desert traveller does finally come upon
the reviving oasis. as old Noah's dove
did at last set foot upon tho satisfy
ing land, SO may you out of this
Of refreshment, some half-hour of Joy
and justification.
Let's play a minute. Let's play that
as you are wading about through the
depths of your particular Christmas
morning, you come upon a plain little
budget of books. No snowy wrap
ping of gauze, no ribbons, no holly
loo 1ad in nrfr 1rI t.,l
| three books snapped together with a
rubber band. the bundle pushed away
under chair, maybe, or set behind
the showier barter of Christmastide.
An odd, Cinderella-ish look about 1t
appeals to you. And so, not very
elate. but curious. you take UP the
small budget. THE Wind Bloweth,"
says one of them. And "Messer Marco
Polo" another. And the third is
last one from its tether. you sit down
right in the midst of the gay and
glittering Christmas mess of things
| to see what, perchance. a blind Raj
terry might be able to do for one
greatly desirous, for the moment, to
| fare out and away from the stresses
of holiday. time.
In an hour, or less. you are back
again, for this is not a prolonged
forth faring. That is, a part of you
is back again to the still clamorous
demands of the day. There is an
| other part, however, that never does
wholly get back TO the plain prose
of days after having adventured joy
ously in lyric fields of romantic in
vention. And this is the part Of you
| that still fingers. and long will linger
| in old Ireland alongside OF blind Raj
terry and Hilaria, woman of SPAIN"
Now the life and spirit of Galway
enwrap you as you seat yourself be-
side the blind bard Of Ireland in the
Withdrawing room OF Patrick Lynch's
inn. And just as sightless Raftery
himself does so do you, too, sense the
deep shadows of the room and the
May sunshine coming into 1t through
the open windows, yellow as yellow
wine" And to you also comes the
salt Atlantic breeze. sweeping east
ward from the islands Of Aran." And
the scents blowing on the wind. you
as well as Raftery, can pick out one
| by one. the odor of the tarred ships
riding at anchor in Galway Bay, the
smell of the Irish seaweed with it's
pungent iodine flavor; and there is
| the pathetic lonely virginia. scent of
the little flowers that grow in the
clefts of sea rocks and of the honey
like heather. and the tang of the peat
smoke from the cottages, nostalgia
as an ancient song"
Outside the inn there is hustle and
movement. With Raftery you can
hear the ring of his little mares
hoof on the rain-washed cobblestones,
| so impatient is she to be on her way
past the purple Connemara Mountains
to the County of Glare. Spring is
coming in with the Atlantic breezes,
and bird and beast know it. man and
| woman. too" There comes in to you
the sound of the voices without, IAN
occasional tag Of Spanish from some
sailor Of Barcelona, a peasants soft
liquid Erse, the voluble English Of
the landlord and his people as they
supervise the packing Of the boxes on
the led ponies. The nervousness as
| the harp in its great leather case was
| being lashed into position"
let you look out now, Shamus
Hennessy, let you look out and you
putting the harp O. my heart on the
beasts meager back, fort is how
I'd rather have every rib in my body
broken nor a Strlng OF great RaI-
tery's harp gone wrong.
"'Will you hold your whisht?'
Easy now, easy now, Shamus
Hennessy, tits not serving out pints
| of porter to the tinkers OF Galway
you are, and you handling that grand
melodious. thing"
will you hold your whisht, man
OF the house"
Then came the sweet low laugh
| ter OF Hilaria, like wood-pigeon's
| grooming"
And they would go then-you with
them-'Hilaria and he. on the long
road that rambled southwark to the
seaport Of Cork over the heather-cov-
cred braes Great drowsy Shan
non would go with them a part
of the way, and listening one could
hear the leap of trout and the plunge
| of the otter, and the soft grooming
! of the river as It's edge touched some
| little beach Of rounded stones &.
And on nights the moon would be up
| and they would ride on. the river
| singing beside them and the wind
| stirring the grasses, until one felt
| that accompanying them on the march
were a host of little people of the
| hills, the minute Irish fairies and the
| shy, light-footed leprechawns. called
up by the soft magic of the moon"
| And softer than any music be the soft
voice of Hilaria as she rode beside
him on the Spanish jennet. Better
than any eyes of his would be her
| eyes OF wonder
And so you ride on. q half-pace be-
Il