Evening star., 1937-10-16

go OF taking ana SO ne mere takes the
world into his confidence as to what
manner Of disaster overlook him.
He was an agitator for labor dis
turbances, having 1t for his profession
to 60 from one industrial city to an
other and persuade the working men
and women to strike. He had . hand
In bringing about those bloody ARRAYS
among the textile workers In Lawrence
and New Bedford, Is he tells here, and
then, covered with those laurels. he
invaded the South to see what he
might enect there. His chef d'ouevre
was the Gastonia strike where his
operations were financed by Commu-
mist funds. Subsequently tried for Sec
ond-degree murder, he with six others.
was found guilty and sentenced to the
penitentiary. There was ample reason
for believing that the trial was con-
Quoted with prejudice, and liberal
thinkers throughout the country raised
bail for the seven. They then went to
Russia, where six Of them, including
the writer, were speedily disillusioned
as to the beauties Of the workers para
disc there. Mr.. Beal for his own part
looked Russia over and decided that
he would rather be In an American
jail. He returned, was repudiated by
his former comrades and by the Rus
slams as well, and Is now, 1t seems,
nobody's darling. Living in hiding,
between an American prison sentence
and Russian vengeance for the unfa-
vorable picture Of life in the Soviets,
which he gave, he has written this
book. AS has been said, it is an un-
happy work. 1t is. in fact, a wall, an
unhappy proclamat ton, from beginning
to end, of that old refrain Of the re-
former taken in his own net, But
thought 1t was going to be 50 different!
After all, meant 80 well!"
And it is impossible, somehow, to
doubt the mans sincerity. He was an
ignorant boy. one who left school when
he was IA to engage in hard work at
miserable pay, and with no prospective,
it was natural that he should conclude
that the exploitation" Of the workers
was the only exploitation in the world.
He did not know enough of history to
be aware that exploitation is the COM
mon theme Of social growth and Or
ganization. So he joined those who
made him fine promises, and believed
that those promises were reliable, since
the promisers were not Of the hated
boss" class. They then used his
rabble-rousing eloquence for their own
purposes. and when they were finished
with him. took him for highly pre-
dictable ride.
His course is understandable-yes
and quite pardonable, on the grounds
OF lack Of education. The course of
those shrewd leaders who directed him,
however, is less extenuable. There is
little point in recommending "Prole-
tartan Journey" to the readers whose
mind is already closed to communism,
but those members of educated classes
who tend to consider the efficacy of
the new doctrine might well read the
work. A political party is always a
political party. That is q fact which,
perhaps, it would be Just as well to
remember.
MY IRELAND. BY Lord Dunsanv.
New York: Funk & Wagnalls.
THIS Is an utterly delightful book,
and the reviewer puts her word
behind it when she says that she has
got it for her own library-and how
often does that happen? Not often
at all. But this is Dunsany in de-
liberately provocative mood, not going
OH to the mountains behind Beth
moora. not club-talking with Jorkens,
not spreading himself over space and
the universe at all, in fact, but show
ing US instead how neatly he can do
acrobatics on dime ii it pleases him,
and the dime in question is his own
small island. In that little space he
has taken some very fancy turns and
some very subtle ones. He tells some
excellent stories and he casts every
where a cheerful mocking light OF
madness over the ordinary processes
OF logic and mental sequence. What
he actually writes about (though that
40 SCA euAAAAy A4OV Va AACt llllpOl
is his Irish friends, the sport of hunt
ing as it Is done in Ireland, the his
tory OF that land, legend or two,
cricket and running an Irish estate.
But, as has been said, these are not
Of first Importance.
The reviewer will give one story
from the book and then leave you to
decide for yourself whether you want
it. That story Is of DR.. MahafYy,
priest, who, says Lord Dunsany, was
a great wit. DR.. Mahaffy was ap-
preached on the street one day by a
member of an exhorting sect, and ad.
dressed as follows:
Sir, you may wear white tie,
but have to ask you: Are you
saved?"
And the doctors answer, as Lord
Dunsany gives it, was: "'Yes, but it
was damned near thing, and I don't
like to talk about IT,"
The reviewer does not often hand
out samples. But in this case the
sample seems to her better than any
possible review.
TIME OF OUR LIVES. BY Orrick
Johns. New York: Stackpole Sons.
THIS is another of those autobiog-
raphies Of . writing man grown
older-and what stream Of them has
been poured out this year! The pres
ent work is very much Of the prevailing
pattern; its chief individuality lies in
the circumstance that 1t begins with
the career of the authors father and
does not concern itself with the author
alone. The father was George S.
Johns, for many years editor Of Pull
litzer's st. Louis Post Dispatch. .
veteran of the days Of the great news
paper battles and crusades, hero Of
the undertaking period. fighting edi-
tor, indeed, Of the type now seldom
to be found. His son, rather minor
poet, does not write his complete biog-
raphy, to be sure, but uses the pa
ternal experience and point Of view Is
= means Of illustrating the differences
and relAtionxhing between the two