Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-01-26
THE LIBRARY TABLE
BY the B0Oklorer

more than love. 1t is a passion. We
make no secret of it, and people gibe
at us. saying, with a sheer that does
not speak we'll of their manners, Why
don't you go back to Ireland?' Which
is not merited, for every one must know
the intricate prison this life is, and how
this friendship. that grave, and even
the unutterable vulgarity of money
matters tie us to an alien land. So
that to many million of us, and
millions sons and daughters, Ireland
must be land of dreams" An ardent
lover of Ireland and proud of his
ancient North Ireland ancestry, Dom
Byrne was born in New York City. He
was taken to Ireland, however, in his
infancy and there his childhood was
spent in the wooded County of Antrim.
When, after graduation from the Uni
versity of Dublin, he began to write,
he found his impoverished country
poor place in which to market his
literary productions. So he came back
to America and found a living in
editorial writing. His fortune seemed
made when he had story accepted by
the Saturday Evening Post" Other
stories followed and his first published
volume, "Stories Without Women" APP
peared in 1915. For some years he and
his wife lived in Riverside, Conn, but
finally when the ''vulgarity of money
matters" no longer tied him to IAN
alien land" they returned to Ireland
and lived at Castle Goldman, in County
Cork. His death near there this past
Summer seems more tragic because so
unnecessary. With the recklessness one
familiar with his romanceS would eX-
pect of him, he refused to give up driv-
ing his motor car. even though the
steering gear was badly out of order.
and was killed when the car ran on
the road and over the sea wall.
Lovers of the delicacy of Dom Byrne's
Celtic mysticism and subtle Irish char
acters felt pang of sadness at the cut
ting short of his life before he was 40.
at the thought that no more stories OF
rare quality will come from his brain.
He has been called the leader OF the neo-
Celtic school-a school of revival OF
Celtic culture. But no school explains
him. He is different from Yeats, Synge.
Russell (E) Lady Gregory and
other Celtic revivalists. His chief vol
umes of tales and romances are stories
without Women, 1.-The Strangers Ban
ouet," 1.-The Foolish Matron," THE
Woman God Changed" ''Messer Marco
Polo" THE Wind Bloweth." "Changellng
and Other Stories" Blind Raftery."'
"O'Malley of Shanganah,' "Hangman'ss
House." Brother SAUL" Crusade" and
Destiny Bay"
X X n
DESTINY Bay" was published this Au-
tumn. after his death. 1t is collection
of tales. held together in sort of unity
by their relation to the MacFarlane
family of Destiny Bay, on the west
coast of Ireland, near Donegal. The
first tale, Tale of My Cousin Jenico at
Spanish Mems Rest" has added flavor
when it is known that Dom Byrne' S
ancestors were dark-skinned 1berians.
who found home in Ireland, and that
in later period some of them returned
to Spain to learn warcraft. The name
Dom is a form of the Spanish Don.
The style of these Irish-Spanish tales
is of distinction not often encountered
in the fiction of today-or of yesterday,
for that matter. In brief foreword
Dom Byrne asks that nothing in the
stories be interpreted as having any po-
litical significance with regard to the
rival governments of Ireland. Dom
Byrne, the artist. cares nothing for poll
tics. 1.-THE author" he says, has never
vet seen a government that brought
heavier apples to the trees or heavier
salmon in the rivers or a more purple
heather, and for this reason politics
mean nothing to him" The first two
tales and the eighth are the best-"Tale
of My Cousin Jenico," Tale of My
Aunt Jenepher's Wooing" and Tale of
Kerry" The charm of Destiny Bay
pervades all the tales. "Northward of
us roars the Atlantic to the Pole, now
gentle as lake, as blue lake at noon,
as violet lake when the evening star
comes out, now ruthless and fierce as
the Ancient of Days, grey and horrible
as the Baphomet of Templar tradition,
and as merciless. And south of us is
the brown belt of bogland. white in
Summer with the lonely canavan, the
white bogflowers. and the gentle sally
trees, from which harpS are made;
brown bog and black water. AL
ways Destiny Bay was a good place to
return to. The hawthorn trees heavy
with moss, the shrubs near the cliffs,
flying like sphinxeS landward, because
of the weight of the Atlantic storms.
the crying of the curlew and the peewit,
the vast sailing moon-all these were
things not to be duplicated elsewhere.
Always there would be my Aunt Jene-
pher with her gracious beautiful pres
ence and her understanding. and my
Uncle Valentine, who is the easiest
man in the world to borrow money
from" In the third generation small
girl is born, and Kerry, who is telling
the family story, describes her, with
poetry and philosophy: MY cousin,
small Jenepher, sleeping in his arms,
had life before her. and my heart went
out suddenly to her butter oloured hair,
her face like warm ivory, her hands like
curled rose leaves. God bless you. little
too much heartbreak through the in
tricacy of life, and give you peace in the
end among the blue hills of Derry at
Destiny Bay!"
1.-THE Slight thing staggered a little.
Under the strokes of her tongue, which
softly touched him here and there, he
drew himself together and stood STILL
His little red coat. that was still some
what tousled, bore fine white spots, and
on his vague baby face there was still
deep, sleepy expression" Such was
Bambi, faun hero of Felix Salten's
forest tale "Bambi." The story of
Bambi's life is told from this hour of
his birth to the end His friendship
and discipleship toward the old stag
Prince and his love for the doe Faline
are POLITICALLY described. The other
animals of the forest are the friends
and neighbors of Bambi The transla-
ton of the book is by Whitaker Cham
bers.
X X X X
On February Is. 1880. the first wire
less telephone was ready. for an outdoor
test. notes Catherine Mackenzie in her
biography of alexander Graham Bell"
just published. 1T was a beautiful clear
day. brilliant with sunshine. fainter
took the transmitting apparatus to the
top of the Franklin School building, q
little over $50 yards away Listening
i'll the workshop, Bell heard. Mr.. Bell.
Mr.. Bell. If you hear what say. come
to the window and wave your hat!'
Bell rushed to the window and waved.
The photophone was born. BeH forgot