BOOKS.
STORIES, OLD AND NEW.* THERE is unquestionably much virtue in a good title. Mr. Caxton demonstrated this fact in a masterly and convincing manner nearly half-a-century ago, and perhaps it has never been disputed. Many cases are known in the literary world of talented writers who have never been able to gain at least a popular audience, chiefly from their deficiency in this respect, while others have been led astray by the desire to attract at- tention at once into vulgar catchpenny titles, suitable, as it is supposed, to this "end of the century," of which people speak as if it were the only conceivable century, and could only be followed by the end of the world. But when we do find a really good title, we naturally expect to find also a book that lives up to it, and if it falls in the least below the standard which is thus suggested, we rather consider ourselves to be taken in. This is most of all the case when the title appears to challenge comparison with some well-known work, as in the case of the Indian Nights' Entertainment, which is now before us. We do not suppose for a moment that Mr. Swynnerton had any idea of setting a false value upon his book, or entrapping the unwary reader into any exaggerated anticipation of the merits of his collection ; but we certainly think that he has done himself harm by the com- parison that he practically forces upon us with the wonderful tales that were the delight of our childhood. "I have not read these stories," said a friend, as he handed the book to the present writer, "but I suppose they are much the same as the Arabian Nights." That is just where the mischief is; they are not in the least the same ; they are not worthy to be mentioned in the same breath with those delightful and won- derful legends. No Laureate of the future could turn three rhymes on anything that happened in the golden days of G-holam Badshah, or any of the other uninteresting sultans with whom Mr. Swynnerton's tales deal. Very possibly, the editor sees the tales he has collected himself through rose- coloured glasses, which may make him think them equal to those that tell of good Haroun Raschid, though the ex- tremely modest tone of the introduction makes this appear rather unlikely ; but in any case, we fear that many readers, misled by the title, may form much too high an idea of what they are to read, and be cruelly disappointed. We do not mean to say that the stories are bad, because this is not the case. In any ease, they would be of interest from the character which Mr. Swynnerton assigns to them as the national tales of the Punjaub, many of them of immemorial antiquity, and all, apparently, still current among the people of the remoter districts, where they "form the delight of the village Wrap or guest house." Some of them have European counterparts ; Mr. Swyn- nerton himself quotes an exact parallel to one of his stories from the Liber Facetiarum of Poggio Bracciolini, He is doubtless aware that the same story has long been well known and commonly told in England and Scotland. The short tales are usually the best ; the longer ones generally becoming exceedingly involved and showing a want of direct sequence in the incidents, which is, perhaps, a not unnatural characteristic of the village story-teller. Perhaps the best long story is that of Ulphoo and Shurphoo, the two half- brothers, of whom the one is clever and the other stupid. The latter goes forth into the world and falls into all kinds of troubles, and his wiser brother afterwards goes over the same ground to avenge him upon his various oppressors. Among other misfortunes, Shurphoo, the fool, takes service with a Moghul, whose practice it is to put out the eye of any servant who gets angry with him ; should he, however, show anger to the servant, the latter may put him to the same punishment. Shurphoo is easily irritated into showing anger, and loses his eye; but when Ulphoo in his turn becomes the Moghul's servant, the tables are turned, and it is really amusing * (1.) Indian Nights' Entertainment; or, Folk.Tates ,front the Upper Indus. By the Rev. Charles Swynnerton, PALA. London : Elliot Stook. 1892.— (2.) The Now Border Taloa. By Sir Osorge Douglas, Bart. London: Walter Scott. to read of the troubles of the unhappy master, exasperated by the intentional blunders of the mischievous attendant, who is perpetually striving to betray him into a confession of anger. "No, I am not angry," the poor man is constantly obliged to say, " I only mean to point out that your conduct is infamous ;" bat ultimately, of course, his patience gives way altogether, and the wrongs of Shurphoo are avenged according to the strictest provisions of the lex talionis. The story of "Ali the Merchant and the Brahmin," at least contains within it another good one,—that of the maiden and the three bride- grooms, which we have read before in an Indian collection ; though in that case the tale ended, as many Indian stories do, with the question left to the reader, which of the three the girl should marry. Ali's solution of this problem is at least curious. But the more elaborate legends, such as those of " The Prince and the Vizier's Son," " Gholam Badshah and his Son Malik," " The Adventures of Roop and Bussunt," &c., are both involved and tedious. In the shorter tales, we find more interest, especially those which deal with beasts only; one of these, " The Friendly Rat," contains an incident which strongly recalls the story of the overthrow of Sennacherib as told by Herodotus. Many have for their subject the simplicity of weavers, which appears to be a standing joke among Mr. Swyn- nerton's Punjabi friends; they are not, as a rule, excruciatingly funny.
The editor has contributed of his own part an unassuming introduction, an elaborate classification of his stories on a system initiated by Mr. Baring-Gould, and recommended by Mr. G. Laurence Gomme, President of the Folk-lore Society—which Mr. Swynnerton says is not exhaustive, and which we regard as superfluous—and an index, in which he has chosen to put his explanatory notes. It is not quite the place where we should expect to find notes ; but it is, at any rate, a better plan than that of foot-notes, which only serve to weary and distract the attention of the reader, who haply desires nothing beyond the stories. It is a wise writer who puts the heavier parts of his books where they can be easily and innocently passed over. With regard to the illus- trations, Mr. Swynnerton thinks highly of them. " They are," he tells us, "the work of purely native draughtsmen. They are quite in the Indian manner, which was the object aimed at. In their way they are learned, since every caste-costume, every style in turban or dress, every interior, every scene of whatever kind, is technically correct, representing with careful fidelity a condition of things which has remained unchanged for thousands of years. Their historical accuracy of domestic and personal detail no European artist could possibly have depicted, while at the same time they breathe the very spirit of the tales which they are intended to interpret." All of which, though it is much, we are ready most powerfully and potently to believe. Our own ideas upon the subject might be summed up in the old Scotch saying : " They may be good, but they're no bonnie."
Sir George Douglas has not had to go so far afield for his stories, and challenges no such comparisons, though perhaps his mode of collecting copy may be supposed to present some faint resemblance, of the feeble nineteenth-century type, to the Caliph Haroun's manner of informing himself as to the doings of his subjects. But the Commander of the Faithful only gave instructions in special eases that the result of his experience should be written in letters of gold for the benefit of posterity; he never thought of writing, them out himself and reading them to the Vizier Jaffar and. Mesrour the Negro, doubtless fearing that, had he made a practice of doing so, both those estimable officials would have thrown up their situations. Nor do we hear that he ever mixed up the search for knowledge with the pursuit of game, as appears to be the reprehensible habit of Sir George Douglas. It seems that the latter gentle- man, selecting for his companion his gamekeeper, who doubles the parts of Jaffar and Mesrour, is wont to go forth on quasi- sporting expeditions in search of various game. The simple partridge offers no sufficient sport for the cultured mind; the nimble rabbit is at once more commonplace and more apt to escape than the country legend which hardly requires even salt to be put upon its tail. " Too often when the day was over, the game-bag would be light, the creel empty—your despair "—that is, the despair of Mr. George Landels, the gamekeeper aforesaid, to whom we hereby tender our pro- found sympathy—" but, despite apparent failure, I was well content, for seldom or never did I come in at night otherwise than enriched—it might be by some new racy word or phrase of our dear Border language, it might be by some naïve and genial trait of peasant manners, or by the limb or the torso of a tradition disinterred." Thereafter the author talks over the information acquired with his faithful retainer, and requires him, in addition, to give a " first patient hearing " to each story when written. In recompense for all of which, the retainer's name stands at the head of the dedication addressed to him by his " ever attached friend and master," and such immortality as The New Border Tales obtain, will be his also. Perhaps this may not be very much, for the tales are of little account. As a rule, they deal only with very slight in- cidents, such as are hardly sufficient to make even one of a collection of short stories ; or if they have any real succes- sion of events to go upon, as in "The Chief Mourner" or " The Brither Stanes," these are drawn out to such length, that the larger compositions present as barren an appearance as those which are most trifling. Some of the stories, such as " A Dark Page from a Family History," or " The Nabob," we seem to have heard before ; but the writer does not profess to be always original. " John Bunch)" reads very much like one of those improving apologues which, " as they had never heard them before," the excellent Mr. Barlow was wont to relate to Harry Sandford and Tommy Merton. Perhaps the best attempt is the " Pot of Gold," to which, though he has singu- larly little material to work upon, our author has succeeded in imparting some genuine interest, showing at the same time a certain skill in the delineation of homely rustic characters. We wish there were more examples like it. The two more elaborate and more ambitious efforts, with which the collection ends, are vapid and tedious. The illustrations call for no remark, though we should like to ask either illustrator or author if mourners at Border funerals usually wear white hat- bands.
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