A LITERARY CAUSERIE.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1183, 2 November 1894, Page 13

A LITERARY CAUSERIE.

I. “ Utu : A Story of Love and Revenge,” by Tua-o-Rangi. (H. Brett: Auckland Star office.) 11. “ The Potter’s Thumb.” F. A. Steel. (London : William Heinemann Heinemann’s Colonial Library.) 111. “ Mad Sir Ughtred of the Hills,” by S. B. Crockett. (London: T. Fisher Unwin Unwin’s Autonym Library.) IV. “ Arne and the Fisher Maiden.” B. Bjornsen. (London: G. Bell and Sons —Bell’s Colonial Library.) Y. “No Heroes.” Blanche Willis Howard. (London: Gay and Bird.) VI. “An Australian Millionaire.” M. A. Blitz. (Melbourne : Ward, Lock and Bowden, Limited.) VII. “ Seven Little Australians.” Ethel S. Turner. (Melbourne : Ward, Lock, ■sL* Bowden and Co., Limited.) VIII. “In the Bough.” Louisa Blake. (Wellington: Edwards, Bussell and Co., Limited.) IX. “A Queenslander’s Travel Notes,” by A. G. Stephens. (Sydney: Edwards, Dunlop and Co.) “The Stable: How to Teach and Preserve the Horse,” by G. Bastin. (Wellington : Lyon and Blair.)

If “Utu: A Story of Love, Hate and Bevenge” (i.) be, as we expect, a first excursion into the pleasant paths of fiction, its author, who, we fancy, is of the fairer sex, must be complimented upon the indus-

try which she has displayed in bunting up quaint and gruesome Maori traditions, and the ingenuity with which she has woven them into her story, the first 60 pages of which, however, are so frightfully stagey, so reminiscent of the early days of the London Journal class of literature, as to he more provocative of weariness than amusement. The plot is decidedly clever in its working out, if commonplace in its inception, and it is a pity that the author or authoress has belarded his or her pages with such a quantity of French words and phrases. As a sensational story of the “ shilling shocker ” type “ Utu ” ought to find a wide and appreciative "audience, hut we cannot help thinking that it has been deliberately “ written down ” to a taste for which the writer should be above catering*. The story is illustrated by a number of sketches from the facile and graceful pencil of Mr Kenneth Watkins, a well-known Auckland artist, who has made a special study of Maori life and manners. Some of the illustrations are exceedingly well reproduced ; in others the process employed has given some blotched and very unsatisfactory results. The little book is admirably printed, but is disfigured by a cover which is common-place in design and poor in execution.

Our readers will remember that when, some months ago, we reviewed Mrs Flora Annie Steel’s book of Indian sketches, “ From the Five Rivers,” we remarked upon the brilliancy of the author’s style, and compared her work very favourably with that of Mr Rudyard Kipling. The promise of Mrs Steel’s earlier work has now been well fulfilled by her novel, “ The Potter’s Thumb” (n.), a copy of which has just reached us in Mr Heinemann’s beautifully-printed and tastefully-bound Colonial Library. We have no hesitation in saying that in onr opinion ‘* The Potter's Thumb' 5 is one of the best Anglo-Indian novels ever written, indeed, we would, go further and say it is the best novel of any class we have read this year. More vividly powerful descriptions, of Indian life, more skilful interweaving of native superstitions, with a dash of the supernatural, into the life history of a little greup of English residents in India, could[not well be imagined, and the book once taken up will not be put down till finished. The plot turcs upon the atterppts of a petty potentate to divert the waters of a canal so that his territory may be irrigated, and most extraordinary are the remits of his scheming upon the two English civil servants in whose charge is the work, and the English ladies with whom they have the ‘'love passages 5 ' inseparable from an Anglo-Indian tale. Very picturesque, too,if somewhat repulsive, are the pictures of life at the K court of the old Divvan, whose grandson, Avitb his thin veneer of English tastes—for billiards, the turf, and “long drinks 55 principally—is distinctly a novel and amusing creation, whilst a strong partis played by Ohandi, a native courtesan; a long-headed .intriguante, and by a cleverly drawn old native potter, who, although half-demented, has a gift for second sight which meets with a very curious and very pathetic exemplification.

Mrs Boynton, a charming widow, who is a typical specimen of Balzac’s “ woman of thirty” in her selfishness, her capacity for scheming, and her moral weakness, is also a most interesting character, aud the way she is outwitted by Chandi the courtesan, ’a woman who, although thoroughly vicious in character, is a born diplomatist and intriguer, is remarkably well done. A genial but unfortunate Irishman, a pleasant young English lad, both civil servants, a fussy and choleric old Colonel, of the true Anglp-Indian type, are all good characters, but perhaps the most charming, although very pathetic, of Mrs Steel’s many character sketches is that of the potter's daughter, a hapless native maiden, whose fate it is to love the young canal keeper and to have her love unrequited. The denouement of the story is tragic in the extreme, and novel readers of the old fashioned stamp, who love to see the characters in a story all duly paired off and happily- married at the end thereof will only find a moderate satisfaction in the closing pages of “ The Potter’s Thumb.” Readers of this stamp are, however in the minority nowadays, and we most strongly recommend Mrs Steel’s story as one of the most original, one of the most powerful and intensely interesting works of fiction we have met with for some time.

Mr S. B. Crockett is now well known to lovers of fiction by his fine story “The Raiders” and his cameo-like portraits of quaint old-time Scottish life in “ The Stickit Minister.” In the oddly-named “Mad Sir Ughtred of the Hills” (m.), a volume of Fisher Unwin’s Autonym Library (sent us by Messrs Lyon and Blair) he gives us a short but most dramaticallywritten story, which made a great sensation when published in serial form in the St. James Gazette. The time is that of the persecution of the Covenanters, the story that of a Scotch baronet, who sorely persecuted the minister of Kirkchrist, and upon whom, goaded to desperation, the minister,' Alexander Renfield, pronounced a similar curse to that which befell another persecutor of godly men, Nebuchadnezzar. The baronet is turned on the spot into a beast in all but the shape of a beast, and, leaving his wife and family, takes to the hills, , and is hunted by dogs as the dangerous maniac that he has become. It is a grim picture, vigourously drawn, no doubt, but altogether too uncanny to be pleasant ; but there is a relief side in the pathetic, loving trust of his wife, her prayers for his recovery, and the rescue from madness and savagery of the father by his little son Pierce, and the final lifting of the curse and happiness of Sir Ughtred—no longer mad—and his good wife Philippa. The style is quaint and slightly archaic, though not pedantic, but the simplicity, the fidelity, the “art” of the little story is well nigh perfect. No one who lias read “The Raiders” should neglect “Mad Sir Ughtred.” Mr Crockett is a writer whose every word, so far, lias been worth reading, aud in the days and doings of the Coven-

anters lie lias still a ricli field to explore for the reading public’s ultimate enjoyment.

Bjornsen is the Scandinavian national novelist and playwright of the day, and although “Arne” and the “Fisher Maiden” (iv.) belong to his earlier career and do not possess the same general interest as does his late work, they are pleasant and striking pictures of peasant life in old Norway. To speak correctly, they are not novels at all, but realistic photographs, as it were, with a strong poetical strain throughout and an occasional diversion into actual verse. Those who know Bjornsen by his “ Heritage of the Kurts ” and other latter-day and Ibsen-like work will find in these “ village novels,” as his countrymen call the two stories in the book before us, some very quaint, almost idyllic, pictures of peasant life, which, to our fancy at least, are much more pleasing than his brilliantly clever but somewhat repulsive studies in heredity. “Arne” and the “Fisher Maiden” appear in a volume of Bell and Sons’ Colonial Library, to the convenient size and tasteful outward garb of which we have already alluded in these columns.

Miss Blanche Willis Howard is, we believe, an American authoress of considerable reputation and popularity. A short story from her pen, entitled “No Heroes ” (v.), reaches us from Messrs Gray and Bird, London. It deals with an episode in the life of an American lad, a doctor’s son, whose mind is all agog for a life of romance, a persona l acquaintance with a life and types of character made familiar to him only in his books, but who voluntarily gives up a promised and long-dreamt-of trip to Cuba and the West Indies that he may stay in his humdrum native village and assist his father, the village doctor, to fight against an outbreak of small-pox. How the lad throws his romantic dreamings to the winds and settles down to nurse a crusty old villager, braving the contagion of a loathsome disease, and thus showing as true a heroism as ever displayed by his heroes of fiction, is very pleasantly told, the crusty old invalid with his pet parrot being a capital creation. Slight in motif, but excellent in moral, and prettily illustrated and bound, “No Heroes ” ought to be a useful and popular gift book for children, and may be read by adults with no small interest.

“An Australian Millionaire” (vi.), by Mrs A. Blitz, is far ab.ove the average in coloniallv-written fiction; indeed, we do not hesitate to say that in originality of plot and compactness of construction it is much superior to nine out of every ten modern novels by English writers outside those of the very first rank. The character drawing is sometimes really excellent, and the dialogue shows a freedom, an absence of all staginess which proves the authoress to be a very skillful hand at mastering the greatest difficulty in the writing of good fiction. The story is one of exceptional power, and deals with the evil which is brought upon innocent people by the sins of a beautiful but unprincipled woman, the young wife of a “rough diamond,” elderly millionaire and a worthless, selfish young man, who, himself a married man, is her lover. The woman—ambitious, vicious, for a time prosperous, but doomed to encounter the dreadful Nemesis of blighted hopes and madness—is a remarkably powerful creation. An equally well-drawn but much more agreeable character is one Washington Larry, an old-time mate of the milionaire, and as honest, cheery and truly good-hearted a soul as ever lived. He is the good angel of several young people in the story, and eventually restores prosperity and happiness to the young fellow who is the novelist’s real hero. There is nothing very distinctively Australian about the earlier scenes of the story, but towards the end of the book there are some capital sketches of life in the mining districts of Northern Queensland —sketches full of life and extremely readable. The book is one in which the interest is strongly dramatic, and is maintained, to use a hackneyed expression, “ from the first page to the last.” Issued in a cheap and handy form—the binding is, if uneesthetic, decidedly “wearable”—and very well printed, “An Australian Millionaire ” is a novel which should have a very good sale. For a long train journey or steamer trip, a better yarn could not be found, and we recommend intending travellers who have a dread of finding time hang heavily on their hands to make a note of the title. They will not regret it. The book is published by Messrs Ward, Lock and Bowden (Limited), from whose Melbourne house we have received a copy.

“ Seven Little Australians ” (vii.), by Ethel Turner, another book sent us by Messrs Ward, Lock and Bowden, is a very chatty and eminently pleasant study of child-life in Australia. It reminds us in some places of some of Miss Louisa Alcott’s books, and once or twice, too, of Mr Habberton’s ever-to-be-remembercd “ Helen's Babies," but it is so original, so quaint, and altogether so charming a little book that it almost savours of injustice to the author to even hint at its being a trifle “ reminiscent." The “ Seven Little Australians ” are a cheery, jolly little group, each, however, with some well-developed characteristic of its own. “ The General" is the nickname for the baby, whilst the nominal baby “ was four, and was a little, soft, fat thing-, with pretty cuddlesome ways, great smiling eyes, and lips very kissable when they were free from jam." “ Bunby" is a grand little chap. He “was six, and was fat and very lazy. He hated scouting at cricket, he loathed the name of a paper-chase, and as for running an errand, why, before anyone could finish saying something was wanted he would have utterly disappeared. He was rather small for his age; and I don’t think he had ever been seen with a clean face even at church, though the im- I mediate front turned to the minister might 1

ust be passable, the people in the next pew had always an .uninterrupted view of the black rim where washing operations had left off.”

Then thpre was Nell, the “ show child, ” Judy, a most delightful scapegrace, and Pip, who Avas fourteen, and “ had as good an opinion of himself and as poor an one of girls as boys of that age generally have.” Finally comes Meg, “the eldest of the family, who had a long, fair plait that Bunby used to delight in pulling, a sweet, rather dreamy face, and a poAvdering of pretty freckles that occasioned her much tribulation of spiiit.” The doings and sayings of the children, their little escapades, their joys and troubles, are sketched Avith a keen sense of humour and a light, graceful touch which is very pleasant. Sorrow conies to the Woolcott family, as it does to most families, and the death of poor little Judy (through the falling of an old ring-barked forest monster) is told with a pathos in which there is the true ring, and will bring tears to the eyes of the reader, of which he or she may not be in the least ashamed. For our own part, Ave can only say that we put doAvn the book, and had to finish it later on. But there is more sunshine than sorrow in this charming little story, than which, with its clear print and its host of appropriate and well-executed illustrations, one could not wish to find a better Christmas present for children. What /- is more, those of the “grown ups” who come, across “Seven Little Australians” Avill do well to make their acquaintance. This is the best book of its kind that the present writer has happened across for some years, and in families where there are children it should certainly have a place on the bookshelves. It will not often be on the shelves—not so' at least, until it has gone the full round of the family circle.

‘' In the Rough” (vni.) is the title of a very slim little volnme of verse by a Christchurch lady, Louisa Blake. Two or three of the seventeen or eighteen poems Avhich comprise the volume’s contents show signs of promise “ The Port Hills ” being the best, but as a rule the verses exhibit' no great depth of thought or originality of conception, and although no-doubt highly creditable from an amateur point of view, and most unexceptionab’e in moral tone, are at times almost painfully Aveak in literary workmanship. The neat and tasteful printing and get up of the little volume reflect credit upon the publishers, Messrs Edwards, Russell and Co., Ltd. ”

Mr A. G. Stephens is an “old hand” in Queensland journalism, and is now, so we read in a publisher’s note, on the staff of the Sydney Bulletin. That being so, there is no need for surprise that, having taken a trip to America and the Old Country, he should have produced in “A Queenslander’s Travel-Notes” (ix.) a very readable little volume. San Francisco, the Union Pacific Raihvay, Salt Lake City, Chicago, Niagara of all these we have read full many a time and oft, but Mr Stephens finds much to say that. is : fresh as well as readable, and he possesses not ’only .the pen of a, practised journalist and ready writer, but a pair of keenly-observant eyes and a capacity for collecting data as to racial problems and social questions, which he presents in an unusually interestino- form. The chapter on Canada we found particularly good, and when the Queenslander reaches the Old Country and discusses English men and manners, he says much that is shrewd, sensible and witty. The book is “illustrated” by pictures engraved from “Kodak snap-shots.” Most of them are hackneyed in subject and nearly all are very poorly reproduced.—-However, the letterpress is distinctly good, and at the modest price of a shilling Mr Stephens’ “Travel-Notes” should have, as they deseive to have, an excellent circulation. Messrs Edward Dunlop and Co., Sydney] are the publishers, and the little volume is extremely Avell printed.

Mr G. Bast-n was for some years head coachman to Sir Hercules Robinson, Bart., and in discussing matters equine he therefore speaks as one having authority. In the little work before us, “ The Stabler How to Teach and Preserve the Horse’’ (x.), he has written a very interesting and useful handbook. He corrects many errors in the existing methods of training the noblest and most useful of animals, and his book is one which should be put into the hands of every > oung New Zealander who has to do with 1 orses, either his own or other people’s. The practical value of the handbook is materially enhmeed by diagrams and illustrations, and an “expert” friend to whom we lent our copy speaks in high praise of its utility. Messrs Lyon and Blair, whom we have to thank for the copy before us, are the publishers, and the book is well printed, and neatly and strongly bound, as all such handbooks should be.

C. WinsoN