LITERARY GOSSIP.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1618, 4 March 1903, Page 29

LITERARY GOSSIP.

Mr Stanley Paul, cf Hutchinson and Co., publishers, of 34-6, Paternoster Row, London, was the recipient of a complimentary dinner given by a largo number cf his confreres at Anderton’s Hotel, London, on .the occasion of his departure on a long journey through Australasia and'South Africa. Mr Paul arrived in Fremantle on January Ist by tho s.s. Rome, and may be expected in New Zealand at an early date. *****

A new weekly paper, entitled “Men and Women,” Is the latest venture in London journalism. Mr George R. Sims is tho editor.

“Myrtle and Oak,” the title of a book of verses just Issued, by Sir Rennell Rodd, is another example in that fashion in book nomenclature that recently gave to New Zealand “Heather and Fern,” and to Australia “’Twixfc Wattle and Heather.” Rodd’s collection of poems aro designed to draw England and the United States together.” * ft « «r «

“Journalism as a Profession in France” is a ragged .sort of business, aooording to Mr R. H. Sherard, who writes on the subject in the “Leisure Hour.” It is largely recruited, he says, from men who have failed in other careers; and tho object of the average j ournalist is to entertain his readers, above all things. The veracity of & report is a very unimportant matter. * «• * • #■ *

Apropos of the grandiose style that used to be affected by London newspaper writers of the past generation, the following story .is told': —“How would you say in a ‘Times’ leading article that a man was a ‘good fellow’ ?” asked Sydney Smith of one of the breed, even yet, unhappily, nob quite extinct. Tho “Times” man _ was nonplussed for a moment. Suoh a phrase was untranslatable into his sonorous jargon. Then he smiled, and said quite simply: “Well, we wouldn’t say it, you know.” #*** » { * The late Bret Hart-e used to tell some good stories of his own experience. One of the best related to" the time when his consular duties called him to Glasgow. He described how he arrived in the dreary greyness and dirt and how uninviting and oold his rooms looked, so that he loft his keys for his landlady to unpack, and betook himself to an hotel for dinner. When he came back he found his landlady standing on the doorstep with arms akimbo, and she said, “I’ve unpacked your kists, and wihaur's yer Bible?”

Mr F. C. Kitton is to publish through Messrs Chapman and Hall a little volume entitled “Charles Dickens’s Fugitive Verse.” This will contain a number of stray poems* mostly of a frivolous nature, that appeared in the “Ehcaminer,” the ‘tDailjy News,” and “Household Words.” Some poems have also been taken from Dickens's comic opera, “The Village Coquettes.” » * » * •

A .very plausible explanation of the famous telegram from Kaiser William 11. to President Kruger is contained in a short story in “Pearson’s,” being the first of a series entitled “Underground History.” Whether it be the true explanation or not, it certainly shows how easily suoh a message might have been sent without the knowledge of the Emperor and -how exceedingly difficult it was for him publicly to disavow it. The suggested motive for the forgery—gain on the part' of the instrument of a foreign Power (Russia) that wanted to sow discord between Germany and Great Britain—is nob so very far-fetched as to be excluded. * * * * * *

Bret Harte made many frieoids in London’s literary and Bohemian circles in 1880, when on his way to take up his consular duties in Glasgow; he refturned to Loudon after five years in - the northern city, and took up his residence in the world’s metropolis. But (says a writer in the “Literary World”) tho real Bret Harte never appeared in London again; both person and appearance changed; he put it down himself - to two accidents that happened to him -—first, he met Oscar Wilde, and immediately went and had his hair cut; and secondly_ in showing a friend how to pull the trigger of a gun with his toe, he shot himself in the mouth,, and though not seriously injured, the lips never had the old mobility which had given such charm to his story-telling and his smile. «*•**»

The late Mr Frank Norris, whose death at the early age of thirty-two a few months ago robbed the world of a sound writer, took a serious view of the novelist’s responsibilities. In an article he contributed to an American literary journal he elevated the novel to a posL tion higher than the newspaper and the pulpit as a moulder of public opinion and public morals to-day. “The pulpit,” he urged, “speaks hut once a week; the press is read with lightning haste, and the morning ‘newspaper is waste-paper by noon. But the novel goes into the home to stay. It is read word for word, is talked about, discussed ; its influence penetrates into every chink and corner of the family.” Hence Mr Norris is very severe tupon those novelists who prostitute the Truth for filthy lucre*