LITERARY NOTES.

New Zealand Times, Volume LVIII, Issue 2851, 20 June 1896, Page 2 (Supplement)

LITERARY NOTES.

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN. The second of the “ Lottery on Looks ” Huriiirf is unavoidably hold over this week. From n private letter received in town I loam that Mr “ Jrick" Baillie, of tho firm of 11. and ,X. Baillie, Cuba street, who went Home recently on a trip, was very hospitably treated by Mr Ooulson Kornahan, tho poet and novelist, to whom ho had a letter of introduction. Mr Kornahan took him to dinner at tho Savage Club, and introduced tho yomitf colonial to a host of literary and artistic celebrities. Mr Baillie was also invited to dine at the monthly dinner of tho now Vagabonds Club, when the eminent critic, Mr Frederick Harrison, in to take the chair. Mr Baillie has also been the guest of Mr Williamson, editor of tho Strand Magazine, and Mr Groenliough ■Smith, editor of the Windsor, and seems to be having a good time generally.

Tho many Now Zealander? who enjoyed Miss Ethel Turner’s book?, '■* Seven Young Australians” and “ Tho Family at Misrule,” will be interested in the announcement made by her publishers, Messrs Ward, Lock and Co., of a now volume, “ The Littlo Duchess,” from her pen. Yet another story by her, “ Tho Little Larrikin, v> ia announced to appear at Christmas,

The book of the day in Ragland just now is Mr Lecky’s “ Democracy and Liberty.” Mr Lecky, who is, as we all know, tho author 'of several famous works on tho eighteenth century, likoth not democratic progress, and deals in much Cassandra-like moaning over the ruin that is to befall the world if Democracy be not held in check. Tho English Liberals are understood to bo awaiting with curiosity Mr John Motley's reply to Mr Lecky, which is to appear in tho Nineteenth Cen~ bury.

In Harper 1 8 Magazine for May there is an excellent article on our lato visitor, Mark Twain. Mr Tw'ichell, tho author of the article, ro-tells a good old chestnut about Mark which runs as follows :—“ On one occasion, happening to see something at a house across tho road into which a family had recently moved, ho went over to them •and said, *My name is Clemons. My wife mid 1 have been intending to call on you and make your acquaintance. Wo owe you an apology for not doing it before now. I hog your pardon for intruding on you in this informal manner, and at this time of ‘lay, hut your house is afire.* One Sunday when the sermon had boon specially to his liking he waited outside tho church until the minister came out, and said to him, * I moan no offence, but X feel obliged to tell you that tho preaching this morning has been of a kiud that 1 can spare. I go to •church to pursue my own trains of thought, bub to-day X couldn’t do it. You have entorforod with me. You have forced mo to attend to you —and have lost mo a whole half-hour. X beg that it may not occur again/”

' *Mark Twain, it appears, found the nrrUing of “ A Tramp Abroad” unusually xiphill work, and very nearly abandoned the book altogether. The first draft wag begin at Heidelberg and completed at Munich; but what was written at Heidelberg was bo little to his taste that ho seriously thought of giving up the project, and was inclined to congratulate himself on having lost a Swiss note-book that would bo indispensable to going on with it. In a private letter (published in the article above alluded to) Mr Clemens wrote : —" When it was first lost I was glad of it, for I was getting an idea that I had lost my faculty of writing sketches of travel, therefore as the loss of that notebook would render the writing of this dimply impossible, and lot mo gracefully •out, I was about to write to my publisher and propose some other book, when the confounded thing turned up, and down went my heart into my boots. But there was now no excuse, so I wont solidly to work, tore up a great part of the MS written in Heidelberg—wrote and tore up —continued to write and tear up—and at last, reward of patient and noble persistence, ray pen got the old swing again 1 Since then I’m glad that Providence knew bettor what to do with the Swiss noto-book than I did.”

Mark Twain is about the last person in world who I should have imagined to bo a Browning lover, bub Mr Twichellsays that Mr Clemons is an ardont admirer of the .author of the incomprehensible ** Bordello.” Ho cares very little for Dickons.

Gossip about the late Kobt, Louis Stowenaon is surely getting somewhat over •done, but there is good excuse for ” Yailiraa Table Talk” by Isabel Strong (Stevenson’s stop-daughter) in the May Scribner’s (sent mo by Messrs H. and J. Baillio, Cuba street), in that the article contains reproductions of several most interesting photographs of Stevenson's and the Vailtma household. £t is evident that Mr Stevenson was simply worshipped by his woraenkind and was possessed of a moat lovablo personality.

Mias Strong’s account of Stevenson’s visit to Sir George Grey (at Auckland in 1893) is somewhat amusing. Grey heard Jill the novelist had to say about the Samoans and expressed a hope that “ the race vuuld bo saved ” (from tho Germans ?). Miss Strong adds : Louis was flattered by thsj interview and said so; and I was u;musod to find that not a word had been said about his books. The old man took him altogether as a politician and I was glad to hoar that Louis had complimented the politician oa his literary success.”

Mr Stevenson's opinions as to that muohdiacussod subject, “literary stylo” are perhaps worth recording. “ I asked him,” says Miss Strong, “ why Charles Keado was not a stylist, though his writing answered to the description. ‘ you are right,’ answered Louis ; ‘he is a good writer, and I take off my hat to him with respect. And yet it was in continuity that ho failed. In “The Ebb Tide’” (Stevenson’s worst failure) ‘that is now under way, wo started on a high key, and oh, haven't we regretted it.— If I wanted to say "ho kicked his log and ho winked his oyo,” it would bo perfectly flat if I wrote it so. I must pile on the colours to bring it up to the key. Yot I am wrong to liken literature to painting. It is more like music—■ which is time; painting is space. In music you wind in and out, but always keep in the key; that is, you carry the hearer to the end without letting him drop by the way. It winds around and keeps on. So must words wind around. Organised and packed in a mass, as it wore, tight with words. Not too short —phrases rather —no word to spare. There are two kinds of style—tho plastic, such as I have just described; the other, the simple placing of words together for harmony. Tho words should come off tho tongue like honey. I began so as a young man; I had a pretty talent that way, I must confess.’"

“I asked him,” continues Miss Strong, ”if ho thought his present full, entertaining novels, crowded with people and adventure, an improvement upon his earlier, honoy-dropping essays. But ho refused that. Ho could not, ho said, criticise his own work or see it well enough. But in others, ho had noticed that tho writers who began with honey-sweetness often developed in lator work a certain brusquenoas and ruggedness. ‘ Did they do it well ?' I asked. ‘ You bet they did !’ said Louis. ‘ Both Beethoven and Shakespeare are good examples of it, in thoir different arts. Shakespeare's earliest works wore plain, dull, unimpasaioned verso. Next came his first singing note—such as Borneo and Juliet; ah,’ ho quoted My love is boundless as the sea. -‘The words are like music. Then a strange thing happened—surely some evil woman must have crossed his path and driven him to tho hideous work of Troilus and Cressida; and yot. but for its indecency and brutality, it might have been his greatest work. He tcok the plot from Chaucer, who had told it quietly and prettily, and made of it the horror it is. Then came his later works, full of strength, and broken with flashes so delicate ho might have touched them with his tongue and passed on.’ “ I asked him if it were good for the young writer to wade in emotions." ‘ Good God, no!’ he said ; ' first make his words go sweet, and if ho can’t spend an afternoon turning a single phrase he’d batter give up tho profession of literature.’ ”

From the Bookman's (for April) list of most popular books I learn that "novels still load, and will probably continue to do so.” Maria Corolli, Dr Conan Doylp and S. K. Cruokutt—those aro tho throo favourites of fiction at present. From the Bookman's list of “Best Soiling Works” I extract tho following:—“ The Sorrows of Satan,” by Mario Corelli; "The Mighty Atom,” by Marie Corelli; “The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard,” by A. Conan Doyle; “ Tho Sowers,” by If. S. Merriman : “ Clog Kelly,” by S.. R. Crockett; “A Lady of Quality,” by Mrs Hodgson Burnett; “The Red Band of Courage,” by Stephen Crane; “ Tho Real Lady Hilda,” by B. M. Crokor ; “ Tho Prisoner of Zenda,” by Anthony Hope; Purcell’s “ Life of Cardinal Manning”; Slatin Boy’s “Fire and Sword in the Soudan”; W. E. Gladstone’s “In tho Evening of His Days”; and Mr S. H. Joyea’ “ Life of tho Rt. Hon J. Chamberlain.”

Mr Andrew Lang, whoso " Monk of Fife” (reviewed in the Mail last week) is said to bo selling well at Homo, is writing a Life of Lockhart, Scott’s son-in-law and biographer.

Mr Crockett is surely writing too much. His " Cleg Kelly " (reviewed in tho Mail last week) is only just out and already another novel from his pen is announced

for publication. This is “ Tho Grey Man,” a romance which has been running in serial form in several newspapers. A succeeding story is to bo called “ Ijochinvar,” the scene being laid in the quaint old Dutch cities of Groningen and Loeuwarden, tho time, 1085. These cities were great resorts for Scottish refugees owing to tho prevalence of Calvinistic opinions amongst their inhabitants. Mr Crockett’s story will be written, it is said, from tho Cavalier standpoint, a now departure indeed for tho author of “Tho Mon of the Moss IXags.”

Mr Wrn. Black’s new story, “Brcsois,” was to ho published in a few days before the last mail loft. “C.W.” in tho N.Z. Mail.