LITERARY.

Auckland Star, Volume XLV, Issue 128, 30 May 1914, Page 14

LITERARY.

Possibly there are more prolific authors than Miss Katharine Tynan, but is there any who at once m-iirtain so big an average of accomplishment and embraces so wide a range of literature? Her new novel. "John BuKeel. Daugh-i,-r," published last month, is prefaced by a list of sixty-five volumes including fiction, poetry, and autobiography. With the sanction of Queen Alexandra and King George, an authorised "life" of the late King Edward is now being compiled. It will prove interesting reading, but probably -will be less piquant than cither Sir Sidney Lee's "life., - ' in the '"Dictionary of Biography," or the quite unauthorised volume recently offered for «ale in Germany. But \: will ihe more intimate than either, for the biographer has access to the monarch's private diary. The publication of "The Making of n Bigot," Miss. Kose Macaulay's new novel, reminds us that with "'The lien shore" this clever writer took the first place m Messrs. Dodder nnd Stoughton's original £1.000 prize novel competition, the second prize secured by David Hennessey with .lis dramatic novel "The Outlaw." Their second £1,000 prize competition, which has just closed, was confined exclusively to .colonial writers— tihe first competition of its kind to appeal directly to colonial talcnl. In the interesting rcmini'iconces of his earlier life and career, which Mr. MH'lurc is publishing in his well known magazine, he mention*, the fact that when, the lirst j-par after its foundation, j "MoClurc's" was losing a thousand dol- ' lars a month. Conan Doyle, who was in j America at the time, wrote the plucky young publisher a chequo for 5000 dollars, saying he believed in the magnzine and its editor. Mr. McClure also, tells ns that Miss Ida Tnrbell's "1.-ifo of i i.iieoln" raised "the circulation of the magazine to 250,000 copies. In ISO.'i Kip!i:i_: offered one of his jungle stories for lii dollars ( il2o). Vive years afterwards MeClure paid Kipling £5000 for the serial rights only of "Kirn." The humblest and most harassod of men, if he be a fiction writer, may ltalte at any moment a mimic world and people it -with uoblo or diverting idiaractcrs. He may go further, eand place his talent in the control <rf one of his hidden personalities. a« did William Sharp when he Iharrded soul and mind into the keeping of tha-t part of himself which he called Fiona McLeod. But William Sharp's demonestnvtion of a double personality, although more artistic, is no more amazing 'than Unit of the late Thomas W. Hnneeshew, who wrote 200 stories, most of them novels, ami was known under the name of Bertha M. ('Jay, Charlotte May Kingsley, and, more recently, as tho creator of "Oleek of {scotland Yard." Of the hundreds •of thousands of women who read tho stories of Bertha M. day, it is doubtful if one suspected tihat tlic sympathetic dctailer of their trials and joys was not a woman. Ezra Pound, the Philadelphia poet, whose work has thrilled London, fteajd the other day of Alfred Noycs, his British rival: — . "Noyes declares that my torch of diluted Browningism, after a .coble sputter, has gone out. Xow, in revenge, let mc toll you a story about Xoyps and .Swinburne. ".Some time after Rossotti's death Noyes wrote a long memorial ]>oom. He was so proud of tJlis .poem thai, he wnylaid Wwrn'biirnc one morning on Ihitnoy Common and insisted on reading il to him. "Swinburne tried tn escape. hut Xoyes iVawlc.l the whole thirty stanzas into his p..or. deaf ear. Then, at. -the end. he said, with a complacent smile: " "There, sir is n,v poem on Kossetti. What do you think' of it .' "•It would have „een better.' Swinburne answered, 'if you had died and Bossetti had written the poem.'" We ar- reminded by the "Christian World" thai- tbe centenary occurred on Ma.reh '.'7th of the birth of tiie poet and journalist Charles Mack.iv. "the vindicator and supporter of all "that is good," as; Douglas .lerrold Raid of him. Tew prreems were more popular in their day than his "The Cnod Time Coming." George Dawson, of Birmingham, adopted it as a hymn to 'be eunjr at the services «>f his chapel, substituting Uie word "yet" for '"boys." The first two verses run: — There's a gnnd time enminc hoys. A good time coming. We may not live io see thp day. Hut earth shall cllsten In the 'my or the jrnoil time comlnff. r.-innnn-bnllK may aid the trnth. Hut then (tilt's v weapon stroncor: We'll win onr hntlle by lis atd7 Walt n little looser. There's n ennd lime rnrnlnfr, hoys, A stood time comlnjr. The pen shall supersede the sword. And Itifrlit, net MlKht, shall lie the lord In the iroo.l time ooroine. Worth, not birth, shall rule mankind. And be acknowledged stronger: Tlic proper Impulse has heen jrlven— Walt a little lnnjrer. Nearly all successful authors have, grown horribly tired, in time, of their most popular characters. A notable instance is Conan Doyle's feeling toward "Sherlock Holmes," about whom, however, to the delight of tho detective's many admirers, Sir Arthur has consented to write a new serial story, which is now almost finished anil will be published shortly. Sir Arthur wrotte some years ago to David Christie Murray: "Poor Sherlock Holmes is dead. I couldn't revive him if T would (at least not for years), fur I have had such an overdose ol" him that I feel towards him as 1 do towards pate de fois gras. of which I once ate too much, so that the name of it gives mc a sickly foelifg to Litis day." * Even Charles Dickens, it seems, got fired of hearing Mr. Pickwick eulogized, though perhaps this was because Dickens fancied himself even more as a writer "f I pathos than as a humorist. Jerome IK. Jerome, who himself has written i.i | thp Dickens manner more than once, has 'just told of an interview which he once' had with the master when hp, Jerome, | was only a little boy. The juvenile .1. |K. .1. sat down, it seems, on a seat iv one of the parks next, to a man tli»-_ ho firmly believes was Dickens. The two got into conversation anet the talk drifted into bookland. "Do you like Dickens?" asked the stranger. "Yes," he makes mc laugh." answered the boy Jerome. "Is that all —does he not ever make you cry?" asked the Btranger. "Sometimes: but I love Mr. Pickwick." replied the boy. | "Oh, hang Mr. Pickwick!" exclaimed , the stranger, angrily. "Don't, you like Mr. Pickwick?" asked the child, in fmrprii-o. "Yes—l suppose sn —at least. I usoel fo. but I've got rather i'red of him .lately." said the stranger.