LITERARY NOTES.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 467, 30 April 1890, Page 3

LITERARY NOTES.

(FROM OUR LONDON CORRESPONDENT.) London, February 28. From the title page of a delightful little book called “Old Melbourne Memories ’ (would I could, by hook or crook, procure a copy), by Rolfo Boldrewood, which was published by George Robertson in 1885, I gather that “ Robbery Under Arms” must have been written some time before it was tendered to the “ Sydney Mail.” Anyhow, “Melbourne Memories” is described as being by the author of that remarkable work, and also of “ The Squatter’s Dream and “Ups and Downs.” If. any of your readers can oblige me with either or both of the latter works I shall be delighted to send books or coin in exchange. They are unattainable in London and out of print, I’m told, in Melbourne. The volume of “Australian Tales,’ by Mrs Praed, Iladdon Chambers, and others, which Mrs Patchetb-Martin is arranging for the press, is to be published by Trischler early next month'. The 2s edition of Benzon’s book has not boomed a little bit, and Trischler must have lost considerably on it. It seems the late Lord Lamm gton was more than once offered the Governorship of an Australian colony, but could nob bear the idea of leaving his beloved “ Pall Mall. This, at least, is his son’s statement. Lord Randolph Churchill (who loves to startle the high and dry old Tories) created a rare sensation in the House on Monday by passing high encomiums on “ Problems of Greater Britain,” from which he quoted apropos extracts concerning the success of the eight hours working-day movement in_Australia, and its beneficent effect on the masses, especially with regard to checking agitation and revolutionary tendencies. “This,” 1 quoth Randy, extending Sir Charles Dilke’s bulky second volume, “ was written by a student of modern history and society who did nob attempt to excite public opinion for any object of his own, but wrote to demonstrate fact 3 and facts alone. These references were worth infinitely more than the speech of the hon. member for Lanarkshire (Cunningham Graham), or the fervid rhetoric of the hon. member for Northampton (Bradlaugh).” The friends of Sir Charles Dilke noted with regret that the mention of his name (which Randy gave with the empress ament of a man who expects a burst of applause) and the references to “Greater Britain” were received with painfully significant silence by both sides of the House. Mr William Leatham Bright ought, it seems, to have stayed much longer in New Zealand. He is better, but still too. weak for Parliamentary work, and ha 3 resigned his seat for Stoke. Fresh editions of work's worth noting include “ Robert Elsmere ” at half-a-crown, and “ Micah Clark,” at 35.6 d. Trie hitter is, in the opinion of some judges, fit to be placed on a par with Stevenson s romances. A one-volume edition of Lewis Morris’ poems, similar in size and appearance to the six-shilling (complete) Tennyson, may bring this comparatively little-read poet within ken of the masses. As a prominent candidate for the next Laureateship one ought, I suppose, to know something more of Morris than that ho wrote the “ Epic of Hades.” T i t>> Mrs Lynn Linton’s “About Ireland, which explains that eminently hard-headed and common-sense lady’s conversion from Home Rule to Unionism, should be read by independent students of the question of the day. “Price one shilling,” as advertisements say. Those who laugh at Mr Stead seldom laugh long. Despite his arrogant egotism and frequent blunders, there is a sterling ability in the man which makes itself unmistakably felt in every enterprise he undertakes. The “ Review of Reviews ’ is proving no exception to this rule. The first number was a semi-failure. The original articles were pretentious and prosy, and the “ clipping ” but, indifferently done. The editor of “ Tib Bits,” one felt, might, probably would, have selected matter equally well. The second nuinber of “ Review ” will not, .if my judgment be correct, strike anyone like this. The original “ copy,” notably a most remarkable character sketch of Parnell (dealt with fully elsewhere), contains a quantity of highly interesting information, and should on no account be missed. The burglarious selections, too, are varied, and thoroughly well chosen. Altogether, number two of the “ Review ” is a great contrast to number one, and kept up to the present standard, may nob prove such a contemptible rival as magazine editors last month fancied. This is the . age of “ snippets,” and Mr Stead knows it. Mr J. M. Barrie, who has been visiting Edinburgh, was amazed and not a little amused bo find himself quite a l'on in the Scotch capital. Everybody seems to have read “A Village in Thrums ’ and “Auld Lichb Idylls,” and to wish above all things to know the author of those works. Invitations poured in upon him, till aD last, in sheer dismay, the busy journalist had to fly. Kerriemuir, the original of the village described as “ Thrums ” in Barrie’s book, has in a small way become quite a tourist’s resort. . The sixpenny edition of “Vanity lair, about to be issued by Smith Elder, in anticipation of tho expiration of the copyright, will not, I hear, be equal m the matters of type and convenient size to Macmillan’s Kingsleys. There is such a lot of “Vanity Fair” ib can only begot into reasonable sixpenny form at all by using small type. . The “ Speakers advertisements, which have fallen away to nothing since the first number, tell a significant tale. Its literary matter continues solid and somewhat prosy, but high class. G.A.S. has an amusing article this week on the “Apotheosis of Toole.”

In “ Part of the Property ” Miss Beatrice Whitby tells a simple, wholesome love story with excellent effect. It is quite as safe as Miss Yonge’s goody-goody novels either for reading aloud or any other family purpose, and considerably cleverer and less didactic. At the age of nineteen Margaret Chamberlain, an orphan, who has been "brought up in comparative solitude by a kindly governess, goes to live with her fiery imperious old grandfather, who is devoted to his adopted son Jocelyn Carew, and simply looks on the girl as “ Part of the Property. As Jocelyn refuses to be benefited pecuniarily at Margaret's expense, Mr Anstruther hits on the idea of marrying the pair, and is very wroth with his grand-daughter when she demurs to the plan. Though unaware of the fact Margaret is already half m love with Jocelyn as he is whole in love with her, and she soon bitterly repents certain indiscreet confidences made in anger to the local parson. This well-meaning marplot and an unhappy wife between them spoil Margaret’s happiness. On the evening of their wedding Jocelyn dies, and Margaret remaining faithful to his memory, becomes an old maid.

“ Charles Franklyn of the Camel Corps ” is, as the title suggests, a story of Abuklea, Metemmeb, and the futile attempt to relieve Gordon. The author, who chooses to hide the identity of popular officer on

the late Sir Herbert Stewart’s staff under the mysterious pseudonym of “Hasmbit,” went through the campaign himself, and there can be small doubt that (barring the incidents of his capture by Arabs., and roscue by a rascally trader) the experiences related are his own. The plot is thin to a degree, but that doesn’t matter, as the account of the battle of Abuklea and what followed forms the really interesting por- • tion of the book. I recommend you to read “ Charles Franklyn,” especially if you can borrow it. Six shillings is perhaps rather much to pay for the privilege. Reminiscers should be careful. Old folks, even when they’ve become celebrities, don’t always like the amours of their early youth publicly disclosed. A Rev. Chas. Yeld has just got himself into rare hot water with the Poet Laureate. In the columns of some provincial paper this indiscreet cleric recalled, with more gusto than good taste, a boyish passion of Alfred Tennyson’s for a certain Miss Bradshaw (currently believed to be now Mrs Yeld). In proof of the affair he, moreover, produced some distinctly doggerel verses,alleged to have been addressed by the embryo poet to his inamorata. These lines were published, and excited some amusement, Andrew Lang even going so far as to snigger politely over them the whole business in the “Daily News,” Lord Tennyson did not disclaim the versicles (as they were in

his handwriting ib would have been difficult), but he promptly repudiated Miss Bradshaw. The “youthful passion” be avowed had no existence save- in tho imagination of the Rev. Yeld, and the amorous verses were (poor Miss Bradshaw) a joke ! As for the Rev. Yeld’s conduct in exhuming the erotic fragment, well, tho Laureate (or rather Mr Hallam Tennyson) could nob trust himself to express his feel-

ings. Obviously strong words, and unpoetic words would alone do it. To bo sab upon thus by a Lord and a Laureate, reduced the poor clergyman to an abject condition. He apologised humbly and so the episode ends. The London agents of Messrs Thacker, of Calcutta, were sold out of all Rudyard Kipling’s books when I went to buy copies on Monday, and the Strand and Holywellsbreet booksellers (including Mr Hindley, whose knowledge is seldom at fault in such matters) laughed at the idea of my getting them in London. “Every other booksellers’ collector has had ‘ Plain Tales from the Hills ’ on his isb for the last six weeks,” said Mr H. ; “so that any copies there were about must be gone.” Nevertheless, I resolved to draw ono or two likely covers bofore despairing, and the very next day at Bickers’, in Leicester Square, the coveted volumes turned up. Mr Kipling, who is the son of an Indian Civil servant, and quite a young man, will make a big name. Nothing in the least like his series of sketches has appeared be c ore. Mrs Croker, in “ Proper Pride” (a book Gladstone made famous by reading it throughout an important debate in the Commons), and Judge Cunningham in “Chronicles of Dustypore, have given us fair pictures of Indian life, from the Anglo-Indian point of view. Mr Kipling does this too, bub it is when he becomes a native, and relates some incident from a native standpoint that ho is really most interesting. Every man who cares to realise something of the wavs, customs, thoughts, and feelings of Native India should read “ Plain Tales from the Dills.” They are nob of course all equal. Amongst the best may be mentioned “Thrown Away,” “ Watches of the Night,” “ A Bank Fraud,” “ The Other Man.” “His Chance of Life,” and “In the Pride of His Youth." The central figure of Rider Haggard’s new story is a Zulu king whom he calls “Charcoal.”

Genial though G.A.S. seems, he is an awkward customer to offend, as many have found out to their cost. Some time ago now, Furniss, the “Punch” man, gave a lecture on Art, in which, you may remember, he said certain things both untrue and unkind about Sala. The great journalisb was furious, and pursued every paper which published the statements with actions for libel, refusing apologies, and insisting on tho extremost damages the law would give him. Last of all he went for Furniss himself. This case is on the brink of being tried. Mr Bernand and other mutual friends of the two men have done their bes 1 '; to patch up the quarrel, bub G.A.S. remains inexorable. “I intend to have my pound of flesh,” he says, grimly, and he means it. As an instance of Mrs Oliphant’s extraordinary versatility, a correspondent of the “Speaker” mentions that she once proposed to the editor of “ Blackwood’s Magazine ” that she should write the whole of one number, i.e., the serial story, upon which she was then at work, and five articles on different topics. The novel referred to is one of her best, though it has never been reproduced in cheap form. It is called “ The Story of Valentine and His Brother.”

Miss Olive Schreiner, author of the “ Story of an African Farm,” which Sir Charles Dilke pronounces the one really great fiction that has emanated from a colonial novelist, is Fending Home the MS. of a volume of allegories, which will be published by Blackwood’s. Sir Charles does not approve of “Robbery Under Arms.” The slip-slop English obliged him to lay ib down. Walter Besanb, who has recently read ib, was greatly interested, but protests against the morale, which seems to him all wrong. The reader's sympathies, he says, ought to be with the guardians of law and order, and not (as of course they are) with Starlight and the Marsfcons.