LONDON LITERARY GOSSIP.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1202, 15 March 1895, Page 11

LONDON LITERARY GOSSIP.

From Our Own Correspondent. London, January 26. The excellent detective stories called “ The Investigations of John Pym,” which appeared in the Woman At Home, and which I have once or twice commended, turn out to be by David Christie Murray, who was anxious to show that Dr Conan Doyle had not the monopoly of this description of narrative. The six tales are now bound up in a little shilling book and will occupy an odd half hour pleasantly enough. Much the most ingenious is the “ Case of Muelvos Y. Sagra,” in which a rascally Brazilian murders one child and all but succeeds in murdering another with the aid of “ the most formidable of the Mygaledoe,” commonly known as the great South American hairy spider. The “ Story of the Unmade Dynamite ” also deserves a word of praise. The incident on which Mr Murray founded his story actually occurred during the-first dynamite scare, and has been utilised before in fiction, though never quite so cleverly.

The latest addition to Hutchinson’s Colonial Library is Mr Frankfort Moore’s clever novel “ One Fair Daughter,” which I noticed at some length when it came out in three vols. The colonial editions of this firm are a great advance as regards binding, paper and print, on any others I have seen. You practically get for 3s or 3s 6d the same book that we in England will presently pay 6s for.

The success of Mr Simpson Newland’s “Paving the Way” has led to Messrs Gay and Bird feeling a certain amount of confidence in Australian authors, and they have several colonial works either in preparation or under consideration. The first to appear will probably be “ The Darleys of Dingo Dingo,” by Mr Justice Chas. MacCartie, author of “ Making His Pile,” a fiction which (doubtless through bad luck) did not set the Thames afire. "[“Making His Pile” was about the greatest rubbish we have ever read, a stupid and shameless libel upon commercial morality in the colonies, and contains a specially-in-sulting sketch of Dunedin life. — Ed. We are assured, with a superior sniff, by the paragraphist who gnnounces ff The

Dingoes of Darley Darley ” that “ the bushranger and the old-type gold-digger will be conspicuous by absence from its pages,” and that “the story deals with Australian country life in these latter days of civilisation.” I cannot say myself I think this is anything to be uppish about. The doings of the bushrangers and golddiggers of those old times make, in the hands of a good story-teller, very good reading indeed, I should doubt if upcountry life to-day yielded half as good subjects.

Mr H. B. Marriott-Watson’s “The Souse of Shame,” in the new Yellow Boole (midJanuary number) is a pretty strong order, even for that enlightened periodical. A more repulsive subject it would, I should think, be difficult to discover, and Mr Watson's treatment does not err on the side of over-refinement. If he doesn't call a spade a blanked shovel, the missing Words are so obvious that even the maiden of bashful fifteen could hardly overlook them. You must not suppose from this “The House of Shame” is commonplace, coarse stuff, such as Zola’s name suggests. Its cleverness, its lurid imaginative power and its polished style are remarkable. But ewi bono f One lays down the book with a shudder and a sigh. Some day, let us, however, hope, Mr Watson’s fancy may recoil from those weary sexual and sensual complications and return to the tales of stirring adventure wherein he made his name.

“ Kangaroo and Kauri,” by J. K. Arthur, reminds me of James Payn’s advice to the young reviewer, viz., “Be just, be generous, but if you meet with an egregious ass sling him up.” Mr Arthur may not be the egregious quadruped aforesaid, but he is certainly a singularly ingenuous gentleman. Calmly regardless of the hundreds of admirable works extant on Australia and New Zealand, he seriously informs us that he “ felt it a duty ” to record for the benefit of the public his own exceedingly commonplace experiences and observations in your part of the world. Had Mr Arthur confessed that he wrote and published “ Kangaroo and Kauri ” to please himself and his friends, I should have had very little to say. But the fact that he “felt it a duty” to instruct us renders it imperative we should return the compliment and enlighten him somewhat. Bet me then assure Mr Arthur there is nothing in his book that hasn't been said again and again before. Moreover he doesn’t possess the gift of making vain repetition interesting. Bald facts are crudely strung together without either intelligent or amusing comment. It is, however, the appendix of which Antipodeans have most reason to complain. This contains a number of samples of what are called “ Australian and New Zealand Humour,” and is a libel on the colonies. I leave your own papers to quote therefrom and to revenge themselves on Mr Arthur. The case calls for severe treatment from the Sydney Bulletin and other professional jesters.