BOOKS AND BOOKMEN.

New Zealand Times, Volume LVII, Issue 2549, 29 June 1895, Page 1 (Supplement)

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN.

Tho popularity of the Scotch story and sketch, first revived successfully by Mr Barrio, seems to increase rather than to diminish, for I see it stated in tho London Spectator that over 40,000 copies have already been sold of Mr “ lan Maclareu’s ** book, “ Beside tho Bonnie Briar Bush/*

Mr Barrio’s many colonial admirers will bo pleased to hoar that he hopes to have his new story ready for publication by the end of September. Ho is also editing, as the term goes nowadays, a new edition of tho Waverloy Novels, of .which it is well known hb is a most devoted admirer. The edition is to bo published by Messrs Hodder and Stoughton at a very modest price. New editions of Scott seem to be plentiful just now, for in addition to tho Dryburgh and Border editions issued last year by Messrs Black and Nimmo respectively, yet another edition is now being issued by Messrs Archibald Constable and Co. It is said that Scott is losing his hold on tho reading public, but this flood of new editions certainly is strong evidence to the contrary. The best proof, however, of the remarkable popularity of the Waivcrley Novels is the fact that for the last thirty years no fewer than thirty hands have been uninterruptedly engaged by one Edinburgh printing firm in producing Sir Walter Scott’s works.

An entirely now edition is also to bo issued by Messrs Macmillan and Co. of tho novels of the lato Charles Kingsley. The volumes are to be pocket size, and are to bo sold at the very moderate figure of Is Gd each. Standard novels are getting cheaper every day, and for a very modest amount a country library or tho private buyer may stock their shelves with a goodly collection of excellent fiction. And some—-indeed, very many—of the old novels are very much better worth buying than tho now ones. How many of the novels published during the past ten years or so will bear re-reading ? Nob many, I fear.

The hardest thing ever written about Thackeray’s “ Vanity Eair” recently appeared in the American magazine The Forum, from tho pen of Mr El ederic Harrison, of Positivist fame. Mr Harrison says ;—“ There is something ungenial, there is a bitter taste left when we have enjoyed these books —especially as we lay down “ Vanity Fair/’ It is a long comedy of roguery, meanness, selfishness, intrigue and affectation. Rakes, ruffians, bullies, parasites, fortune - buyers, adventurers, women who sell themselves, and men who cheat and cringe, pass before us in one incessant procession, crushing the weak and making fools of tho good.”

There is a substratum of truth in what Mr Harrison says, but many Now Zealanders will agree with me that “ Vanity Fair ” is surely not all cynicism, not totally devoid of tho milk of human kindness. Amelia’s loving constancy, bestowed as it was on a worthless object, is assuredly a most beautiful touch. Then Dobbin, poor gawky, simple Dobbin—was there ever a better fellow at bottom than “ honest Dob ” ? Becky, Lord Steyno and his contemptible parasites, the hectoring plutocrat, old Osborne, and tho others may be enough to look upon, but Thackeray painted life as he saw it, and the utter worthlessness and downright vice of some of his characters only serve ns foils to show up tho purity and simple faith of Amelia and of Dobbin. As to tho insinuation conveyed by Mr Harrison in his phrase “ these books/* an insinuation that all Thackeray’s books are pictures of tho mean, the low, the vicious, I would scout it most energetically. Where can we find a finer sample of tho true gentleman than in Colonel Newcomo ? a more graceful, lovable girl than Laura Bell ? whore more honest fun than is contributed by Costigan, Fred Bayham and Captain Shandon ? Thackeray is on the side of truth and honesty, of purity, of decent living, all through. Where in English fiction can be found a more pathetic scene than, say, tho death of Colonel Newcome ? But why pursue the subject further? Thackeray’s fame will live when the very name of his latest critic has been, buried in oblivion.

The Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould, the author of the popular hymn, “ Onward, Christian Soldier,” is at onco a country parson, a country squire, a lord of the manor, a sermon-writer, a student of comparative religion, a popular novelist, and a poet. He has written fifty books, is deeply versed in mediaeval myths and legends, and at the same time is in sympathy with modern life and progress.- Ho is sixty years old, and lives in a beautiful old Elizabethan manor-house at Lew Frencbard, Dorsetshire, where the Gould family have lived over since the days of James I. Mr BaringGould is the author of that powerful “ Mebalah,” “ a story of the great salt marsh,” and of a perfect host of other stories. An extract from one of his latest novels, “ Kitty Alone,” appears in the Mail this week.

According to the late Mr Froude’s will, all the literary papers he left behind him must be destroyed, including the unprinted documents concerning the Carlyles which Thomas Carlyle bequeathed to him.

Alphonse Baudot, the famous French novelist, was London’s latest literary lion when the ’Frisco mail left. Dandet is a. Provencal by birth, being born at the picturesque old town of Nimes in 1840. How bo wont to Paris, a mere youth, and of his earlier struggles he has told in his charming hook, “ Thirty Tears of Paris.” In 1881 he became secretary to the famous Due de Horny, but his literary fame increasing, he soon relinquished the position. His most important novel is "Fromont the

Younger and Risler the Elder," in which the heroine, Sidonie, is a heartless little adventuress, curiously reminiscent, to my mind, of Becky Sharp. Nearly all Baudot’s works have been translated into English, his “Tart-arm of Tarasoon” being especially popular. Tartariu is a species of French Winkle and Pickwick combined, although with purely Gallic touches impossible to either. “ Kings in Exile ”is also a popular work, whilst others prefer “ Le Nabab,” a novel which haa not appeared in English and which gives a remarkable picture of Parisian life tinder tho Second Empire. In “Jack," a very pathetic story, Baudot reminds one of Dickens. He is incomparably at tho head of modern French novelists, and it will bo curious to compare his reception in London with the altogether exaggerated enthusiasm in English literary circles when Zola visited “ la perfide Albion.” As an artist, Baudot is immeasurably Zola’s superior, and only now and then—as in his repulsive, almost revolting, “ Sappho ” has tho former descended to the foul depths permanently tenanted by tho latter. The Times points out an amusing error in tho notice of Mrs Humphrey Ward in “Mon and Women of tho Time.” Her well-known translation of Amiel’s Journal Intime appears as Amiol’s “ Journal in Time.” The same error appeared in the last edition of the same book of reference. In time it will be corrected.

Poor Mr James Payn, the veteran novelist and editor of tho Cornhill, has been an invalid now for some time. In the current number ot the magazine is an article in his tendorest style, entitled “ Tho Backwater of Life.” "We cannot all be philosophers,” says tho writer, and it is almost unmixed sadness “ to find oneself in tho Backwater : crippled and helpless, hut still able to see through tho osiers on the island between us what is passing along the River—the passenger vessels and the pleasure boats—and to hear faintly tho voices and tho laughter ... to watch the lovers as they drop down the stream in their light skiff." There is only ono consolation, wo are told—the visits of friends.

Mr Thomas Hardy has changed the title of his now story, “ Tho Simpletons," because, as he recently discovered, one of Charles Eeade’s stories was called “ Tho Simpleton.” Talking of Mr Hardy, his admirers in this Colony may he interested to know that an entirely new and complete edition of his many charming novels is now being issued in monthly volumes by Messrs Osgood, Mollvaine and Co. Each volume contains two etchings, and the binding and general get-up is said to be very handsome.

The first voluno of the series is the everdelightful “Far from the Madding Crowd/* Mr Hardy, who contributes a now preface, reminds his readers that it was in this book that he “ first ventured to adopt tho word Wessex** from the pages of early English history. Ho writes: —“ The series of novels I projected being mainly of the kind called local, they seemed to require a territorial definition of some sort to lend unity to their scene. Finding that the area of a single county did not afford a canvas large enough for this purpose, and that there wero objections to au invented name, I disinterred the old one. . . . Since then tho appellation which I had thought to reserve to tho horizons and landscapes of a merely realistic dreamcountry, has become more and more popular as a practical provincial definition j and tho dream-country has, by degrees, solidified into a utilitarian region which people can go to, take a house in, and write to the papers from. But I ask all good and gentle readers to be so kind as to forgot this, and to refuse steadfastly to believe that there are any inhabitants of a Victorian Wessex outside the pages of this and tho companion volumes in which they were discovered/*

Mr Hardy adds that although when the tale was written there was a sufficient reality to meet the descriptions both of backgrounds and personages, this could hardly any longer be found. The lifeholds cottages arc gone, the malt-house of Weatherbury has been pulled down these 20 years, divination by Bible and key, the shearing-supper and the harvest-home have gone, and the love of fuddling has gone with them. The change, according to Mr Hardy, is due to tho recent supplanting of the class of stationary cottagers by a population of migratory labourers.

Mr T. H. Escotfc’s “Life of Lord Randolph Churchill ** w..s to be published shortly before tho last ’Frisco mail left London. When it apxiears, extracts from its moat prominent contents-will be given in tho Ma.il. Mr Escott was formerly tho editor of the Fortnightly Review, which ho had to resign through ill-health.

In the “Literary Letter” in tho Illustrated London News, “ C.K.S.” points out that Mr Isaac Zangwill was very nearly anticipated in tho title of his latest novel, “ The Master,” and that by no less a person than Charlotte Bronte. *' C.K.S.” says: “ Tho original manuscript of Miss Bronte’s ‘ Professor/ a story which was nob published until after her death, but which was written before ‘Jane Eyre/ has just come into my possession. The most interesting feature about the title-page is the fact that beneath the title, ‘ The Professor/ another title may bo found, and on holding it up to the light one discovers that Charlotte Bronte’s first intention was to have called her story ‘ The Master/ ”

By the way, I may mention that Mr Zangwill’s story, which was described by the Spectator recently as “ the best novel of artistic life ever published in England, is now on sale in the colony, Tho novel is also running in serial form in the Christchurch Weekly Press,

In an article on Epigrams, in tho Manchester Monthly , there are one or two that are not widely known, of which this of Lord Erskino’s is perhaps the best Tho French have taste in all they do, Which we are quite without; For Nature, which to them gave go fit, To us gave only gout.

Messrs Hutchison and Co, have issued an English translation of “ Chiffon’s Marriage,” by that immensely popular French writer, “ Gyp.” “ Gyp ” for years contributed a short story, always witty, sometimes somewhat coarse, to the Parisian weekly. La Vie Parisienne. Her later and longer stories are sold in groat numbers, but many, I should imagine, are decidedly too cerulean in tinge to be translated into English. “Gyp” is a grandniece of tho famous Mirabeau.

In Current Literature, an American magazine of extracts, which was highly recommended to readers of tho Mail in last week’s issue, I find the following good story:—“ It was a little New Hampshire village among the mountains, where the country store served as post office, circulating library, shoo store, and everything else combined, that a Boston lady, glancing over tho books, enquired : 4 Have you Browning?’ ‘ No/ said the attendant, somewhat regretfully, and not knowing just what kind of. an article Browning might be, f we have not/ Then, more brightly t 4 We have blacking and blueing, and have a man who does whiting. We occasionally do pinking. Would any of these do ?’ ”

Talking about Browning, local admirers of that author should not fail to attend the coming lecture on Browning which is to be delivered by His Honor Judge Richmond in connection with the Forward Alovement Literary Society. The date of tho lecture is the 31st of July.

A correspondent asks mo to state pub- t Usher’s name and price of an English translation of Omar Khayyam, the Persian poet, who lived in the 12th century, and who sang of “ love, wine and roses.” Mr Paradise, of Messrs Whitcombe and Tombs, has courteously informed me that the best, indeed, the only recognised, translation of Omar Khayyam is by Fitzgerald, and is published by Macmillan and Co., price 10s Cd. Another edition, with illustrations by Elihu Tedder, a celebrated American artist, is published by Houghton, Mifflin and Co., at prices varying from one to six guineas, according to paper and binding. There is now an Omar Khayyam Club in Loudon which includes in its membership some of the leading EngUah literary men of the day. NEW BOOKS RECEIVED. “ In Haste and at Leisure,” by Mrs Lynn Linton; Hoinnemann’s Colonial Library ; (London: William Heinnemanu). “The History of Monetary Systems,” by Alexander Del Mar; (London: Effingham, Wilson and Co.). “ Thirteen Doctors,” by Mrs J. K. Spender. “ The Burden of a Woman,” by Richard Pryce; MaomUlan’s Colonial Library; (London : Macmillan and Co.; Welllington: Messrs S. and W. Mackay). “The Marriage of Esther,” by Guy Boothby; “ God and the Ant,” by Coulson Keruahan (London and Melbourne: Ward, Lock and Bowden : Wellington: H. and J. Baillie). “ The Breehon Laws,” by (London: Fisher Unwin; Weßington: H. and J. Baillie). “The Jewel of Tnys

Galen,” by Owen Ehascomyl; Longman’s Colonial Library (Wellington: H. and J. Baillie). —“ C.W.” in the N.Z. Mail.