40 
LAND & WATER 
June 7, 1917 
For Members of the Expeditionary Forces % 
and Prisoners of War. I 
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I'uUy illu.strated. Hy K. E. DorUng, M.A., K.S.A. 
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Books to Read 
By Lucia n Oldershavv 
\\\'0 books that must find a place in any select library 
of War Literature sliiill be our first roneern this week. 
A sombre ami imi)iessive mominit nt to the V'aiulalisin 
of tlie Bofche is to be found in I'ictiircs of Ruined 
lielptim (John Lane, 7s. <)d. net). Tliis quarto vohiine, 
which in its general get-up is a credit to its ])iil)hsher, consists 
of s(>venty-two pen and ink sketches by Louis Harden, ;ac<nn- 
panied by an account, in I'rencii and Knglish, of the (lernian 
atrocities in Helgium, summarised iiy (ieoiges Verdavaine 
from the ortieial reports. Thisis a story that has been often 
told and must not be forgotten. It is peculiarly impressive 
■ in.its pn'sent setting. Here is no exaggeration, no theatrical 
■ etjccts. The ruins, starkly pictun^d, have no romance about 
theni, simply the sordid appear.ince of something that has 
been- destroyed. The rubbish heaps that were once the 
bemities of Termonde, Lieire and Louvain. ap]K'ar in picture 
after picture, not as gliosis, but as crii)ples crying out for the 
iilnis of the world and the vengeanct- of tlie Lord. 
♦ • * • * 
^ly.lS ( Heineinann, 3s. fid. net), has already beennci>g- 
nised as one of the great Imoks that tlie war jias product d. 
Its author, Paul Lintier, was a young French gunner, and the 
book is his diary recording without reserve or riiodoiiiontade 
his experiences and his impressions from the mobilisation till 
he was wounded towards the end of St-])teniber K)!^. He 
subsecpiently rejoined his battery and was killed at the 
beginning of last year. The book is. of course, thi; work of an 
educated man, somewhat self-conscious therefore, and used 
to handling the pen, but it gives one the impression of record- 
ing faithfully the feeling; of the averag.' French soldier during 
the epic of the first two months of the war - the sense of adven- 
ture on going out to figiit, the dull anger engendered by 
retreat, the elation of victory, and beneath all the solid 
pediment of patri(,tism. there is also the ])articiilar 
l)oint of view of the gunner, who, Lintier generously 
allows, is a fortunate ])erson compared w^th the foot soldier. 
In fine My 75 is truly, and not in the imchanical language 
of tired criticism, a human document of the first intcnst. 
• * • * * 
There are surely enougii poets in F2ngland to-day to make 
a Poet's Battalion. Here are another four of them. Bernard 
Pitt, who was an assistant mastei; at the Cooi)ers' Company's 
School, was killed in action on A])ril 30th ol last year. His 
friends have collected some of his literary remains and jnib- 
iished them in a little volume, Essays, I'oems, Letters (FVancis 
Edwards, 2s. bd. net). Pitt was obviously a man of un- 
common ability and of a particularly attractive character. 
A series of essays, forming, as they well might, the basis of a 
new primer of English literature, give testimony to his 
intellectual gifts. His letters show a warm heart and hi> 
poems a sense of style and a vivid imagination. Pitt's 
literary criticism is particularly stimulating. The ]>otms aif 
the well-fashioned literary e.vercises of one who knows well 
and loves well our native poets. , But there are lyrics wliicli 
are more than this, such j)articularly as "Kew Gardens in 
July" and " Aphrodite in the Cloister." Here are two 
verses of " Strand-on-the-Green ".: 
When I shall fight and hurl myself at the foe 
With a heart seething with anger, leaping with pride, 
1 will launch one well-aimed shot, I will drive one blow. 
For a dear little nixjk that 1 know of, down by Thames side 
Here have the men of my name walked at evening's end, ' 
Here have I loitered and dreamed through the bine noon-tide. 
Here are my heart-strings knit ; and if I can defend 
They shall build tlieir l;arge.s for ever down by Tliames side. 
***** 
Bernard Drew has a.Veady established some reputation as a 
poet, anel he will sustain it by his new volume, /I Garden of 
Dreatns (A. C. F'ifield, 2s. net). If he is not what Walt 
Whitman calls an " Answerer," he is a singer whose noies 
are always in tune. It comes as s^tmcthirg e>pectfd whir 
reading through the book erne tur ns up this 'To Catullus "1: 
For while on earth there are men, for while man yet draweth 
breath, ■ 
Down the long ages of Time, down the long rrons to be 
Shall the full tide of thy song swell in tumultuous glee, 
I.ydian laughter shall wake chimes on the fathomless dcop; 
Sirmio, happiest of isles, happv since dear unto thee, | 
Shall in the light Of thy smile like immortality kecji. j 
It is with themes like this that Mr. Drew is happiest, Injt I 
like l)est the little intimate ^pictures aL-nature__tli.at_ai^ear 
[Vunlinued on jtaiit 42) 
1 
