LITERARY LETTER FROM LONDON.

Press, Volume L, Issue 15017, 11 July 1914, Page 9

LITERARY LETTER FROM LONDON.

'j-tOM a'-OKBKSPOSDKX- 4 .) LONDON, May 23. Mrs Humphry Ward has this week put the finishing touches on a novel to j be entitled "Delia Blanchflower," that will probably stir up somo commotion, not only because it is, I am told, more j of a straightaway exciting story, like "Lady Rose's Daughter" and "The Marriag- of William Asche" than anything she has written for a long time, but also because it contains some episodes that will not please the more militant of the suffragettes. It is said, however, not to bo an anti-suffrage novel, or a story with any other purpose than to be a good story. London's literary world is sitting back arid holding tight at the moment, for the ominous news has just been flashed from Rome that that most mercurial picturesquo and gorgeously clad of authors, Gabrielo d'Annunsdo, is negotiating for a house here, and that ho°means to reside in this capital permanently in future. It is a wonderful thought truly to picture d'Annunzio packing up his forty-eight suits of pyjamas and his multitude of dressing-? gowns—one to suit each of his varying moods—his 150 neckties, his ten green sunshades and his eight violet umbrellas his fifty pairs of gloves in hyacinth and straw, and his twenty-soven pairs in old gold, and all the rest of his weird wardrobe, and one fancies that he will need more trunks to hold it than even the King of Spain the latter royal receptacles being said to number exactly forty-four. In one respect, anyhow, Signor d'Annunzio will be in his element here, for he is one of tho greatest tea-drinkers— tea-devotees, as ono might say--*on record since the days of Dr. Johnson. Once when he was staying in France, a maid who brought him a cup asked him whether it was not a very popular drink >in England. "I havo looked through many English novels, and I think it must be," she said. "What! Do you know English?" the poet asked in surprise. "No," replied the girl, "but whenever I turn over the page of an English book I read the word 'the' on every gecond line. It is awful to think the amount of it that must be drunk in England!" And the poet had to explain that the English "the" and tho French "the," which means tea, were not quite tho same thing.

George Kett, of South Africa, is angry. Tbe Briti_h Press, it' seems, refuses to recognise him, although there are not a few, so he says, who regard him as one of the big literary geniuses of tho present day. In fact, according to Kett, bis literary works "have been bracketed for power and: technique, by practically the whole of the South African Press, with such writers as Keats, Tennyson, Browning, -tilton, Spencer, and Shakespoare, and this fact i 6 known to tho editors of British journalism," yet tho latter won't give the author sa mucfi'as a single review. This is what annoys Kett, who addresses a passion* a to plaint, dated Johannesburg, to the editor of a literary weekly here. Evidently Kett believes there is a conspiracy against him here- for in his screed, which is addressed "To the Public of Groat Britain," and hegins, "Fellow Countrymen," be declares: —"To the eternal disgrace of the Press-cum-Pub-lisher combine of our common country, I have to put o« record tbe fact that from A.D. 1900 to A.D. 1914, although not less than fifty copies of my various 'Poetical Works' had beeu distributed for review—at a time when British journalism was continuously deploring tho supposed circumstance-that tbe country 6eemed unable to produce any mongreat work —not one—from the London" 'Times' downwards—cohdescended to

give ono lino of review to the aforesaid 'Works.' and only one—'Tho minster Gazette'—even acknowledged their existence." Kett thinks that such treatment of geuius by the British Press is a but mistake. "What chance has England." ho asks wrathfuliy, "to maintain her position in the world of letters, when her Press acts in such a way? It is not as if tho 'Works' in question wen? of tho ephemeral sort; they wero classics or nothing. Was it not for tho British Press to havo shown cither that tho South African Press had given the world a falso estimate of these works, or to have vindicated its judgment.' My experiment would seem to have been ot the nature of easting, pearls before a class of animals popularly supposed to prefer husks. If they wero not pearls, it was for tho British papers to say so, and to prove it, because literature is a matter of national importance. Since then I have challenged the world ol today to exhibit any other so great litcraAfter which modest challenge. Kott concludes: "To the literates of our land, niv final word is: 'Write, it you will: give the land immortal work, if you can: but don't expect any fair may for it.' " Really it is too bad of British editors and publishers—not to lot us havo our Kett.