LITERARY NOTES.

Lyttelton Times, Volume XCIII, Issue 10596, 4 March 1895, Page 6

LITERARY NOTES.

[COKBESPONDBNT “ CANTERBURY TIMES.”] London, Jan. 4. Stanley Weyman, wa are told, is earning ,£6OOO a year from his books, £2OOO of it coming from America, I should not myself have guessed this novelist made as much, but every year the prices paid for “ The Man of tho Hour ” grow larger and larger. New novels complete, and about to run serially through the magazines, are Mrs Lynn Lynton’s The Evolution of Dulcie Ever ton,” Adeline Sergeant’s “A Dead Man’s Trust,” Anthony Hope’s “ Chronicles of Count Antonio,” W. E. Norris’s “Billy Bellow,” Lily Bengali's “The Teitgeiat,” and Gilbert Parker’s "The Seats of the Mighty.” I was almost forgetting to advise you to put on your library list'. George Qisaing’a “In the Tear of Jubilee.” Like “The Odd Women,” it is a novel with a purpose, the said purpose being the furtherance of a rational marriage contract. To this end wa have pictures of a number of unions unhappy in various degrees. Though one cannot agree with the anther, his book is readable enough. Antipodean bibliomaniacs who desire to possess the Edinburgh edition of poor Stevenson’s work must look sharp, unless they wish to pay through the nose for them. The price has already risen from. £l2 10s to £2O, It is stated, by the way, that Mr Stevenson was a great smoker, consuming from one hundred to cue hundred and fifty cigarettes a day, and that this habit probably brought on the attack which proved fatal. Mr Alfred Austin poses in the National Review as “ our patriot poet.” “To the conception of Federation by Tide-waiters, Federation by cricketing-ball, Federation by K.C.M.G., he has enriched the plant of the Empire,” sajs the Westminster, “by adding the sublimely pointless idea of Federation by——»Xmas tree! ” “ Blood of our own blood, in every clime, Eace of our own race, by every sea. To you we smg the Xmas rhyme. For you we light tbe Xmas tree,” The first volume of “The Memoirs of Barras ” is promised for February, and will, according to the Paris correspondents, create a huge sensation. The public cannot (says one) fail to be startled on reading the revelations made by Barras, but their attitude will not improbably resemble that of St Augustine, w’ho, at a theatrical entertainment, put his hand before his ejes because the spectacle offended Divine Majesty, but was careful to spread his fingers. Mr Arthur Morrison, whose powerful “ Tales of Mean Streets ” are attracting so much attention, is just thirty years of age, and has written for quite fifteen of them. He began as a journalist, taking up sporting in the first instance, and drifting gradually into doing “ turn-overs ” for the Globe, general magazine articles (such as “Zig-zags at the Zoo”), and, finally, fiction. Mr Morrison lived at the Bast End for many months as secretary of a charity, and his personal experiences thus suggested a series of stories. In October, 1891, “A Street” (which now forms an introduction to the “Tales of Mean Streets”) appeared in Macmillan’s, and was approved by. amongst others, Walter Besant and W. E. Henley. For the latter, in the moat prosperous days of the National Observer, Mr Morrison wrote “L'zerunt,” “Squire Napper” and “Three Bounds.” He has also done well as an inventor of detective problems, a la Sherlock Holmes, and his “ Martin Hewitt, Investigator,” contains at least two yarns which would have done credit to Gaboriau. .

During the twelvemonth just closed, the world’s most serious losses have been amongst men of letters. In 1893 the lights that failed were mainly academic— Jowett, Symonds, Tyndall. 1892 was the year of great teachers whose work wae done—Tennyson, Owen and Manning; and 1890 saw the last of three famous divines —Newman, Church and Liddon. "What makes the losses of 1894 specially hard to bear is that two out of the four immortals —Stevenson, Wendell Holmes, Froudeaud Pater—who have passed away, were in the very meridian of their powers. Stevenson is said to have been haunted by the dread that he was losing his capacity, but there are no signs to justify this notion in the later books we so far knowWalter Pater certainly seemed to be do. ing greater work every day, and his' ideals were stupendous. Froude and Wendell Holmes,'of "course, had long and splendid careers behind them and leave ua the undoubted, best of which they were capable.’ Lord Coleridge and Sir James Pitzjames Stephen were also ready to sing l Nunc ; dMnittis after : loag lives of admirable. work : conscientiously done. William .Robertson, Smith and . James Darmesteter, were,' however, in the ■, -midst of important undertakings, which must be left to other and less skilled hands to complete, and their’loss is irreparable. The -Realmi ; which is ! improving every issue, and seems to be ihoslt.capably edited by Lady, Colin Campbell’s., partner, contained lest week a pungent, article by J. Davidson oh “ Discords.” That extremist venture in decadent fiction has been very generally and severely "slated.” Mr llicbsrd Le Gallienno alone ventured to bleat a few feeble apologies for it. Mr Davidson says, “ ‘ Discords ’ is a harsh, brutal, sincere book written by an emancipated woman; not a ‘new woman,’ nob a ‘pioneer,’ but an individualist, standing alone, feeling herself superior to all men and women. * * * ‘ Discords ’ will be called immoral, is may even be preached against in actual pulpits, and John Bull will be shocked at the presence of other than * hypocritical British truth ; ’ but here it is and must be scanned—a lurid picture of the seamy side, painted in colours mixed with tears and blood. British fiction has travelled far in a short time.” If Mr Davidson will permit me to say so, the-"hypocritical British truth” cornea much nearer facts as they exist than “Discords” doss. No one denies that such filthy tragedies as those described in “ Virgin Soil ” or “ Gone Under” have happened, end will happen occasionally. To imply, however, as Mrn Clermont doss, they are happening around us and in our midst day by day, is sheer stuff.