LITERARY CORNER

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 7419, 22 April 1911, Page 9

LITERARY CORNER

(BY "LIBBE.”) ' SOME HBCBNT* FICTION Hugh Walpole's two previous hooks, "The Wooden Hor.se" and ’‘Alaradick at Forty,” were* both, so good that his latest ►lory, "Mi* Perrin aud Mr Trail TTagi-Comedy” (Mills and Boon), m somewhat disappointing. Tho authors ironic .hunioiM* is as keen, ns ino.rciicaSiy keen, as ever, but it U difficult to work up much interest; In the jealousy of tho mean-spirited, elderly assistant master, Mr Perrin, who -sees himself cut out, m more ways, than one, by a smart, goodlooking, and athletic junior. The background is a large- public school ui Cornwall. .The headmaster is a mean, suspicion -s ineffably selfish creature. .Ji “Dr Motfatt” Iras been drawn from life, all I can say is X am sorry for the boys under his control. There is not a little comedy in tho story, which ends, however, oa a tragic note.

I alwavs enjoy Mrs Alfred Sidgwick s hooks—“Cvnthiu'rt 'Way” and "Tho Severing” aW titles which recall specially pleasant memurles—a-iKI although her latest volume, "Odd Conic Snorts” (Mills and Boon), partakes of the nature of a hotch-potch, consisting of three compk'ti* stories, and a bundle of humorous os-ays entitled “The Opinions of An* gelaV* the quality is excellent throughout. The opening and longest story,

”A Woman with a Future,” contains a carefully drawn portrait of an utterly selfish, frivolous, and unprincipled wife, a completely- detestable creature. in agreeable contrast is a delightful old lady whom "tho reader cannot help loving. In ‘Mane aud Peter” Mrs Sidgwick gives another of her capital studies of German character. “An Extravagant Woman” is tho-record of a clever Jewish lady’s efforts to preserve heir children, from the consequences of her husband's folly. As for “The Opinions of Angela”—on gardening, on holidays, OU chess, on winter coats, on cooks, and a host of other subjects, they make most amusing reading. With Mrs »Sidgwiok’K book in my bag, I could contemplate the prospect of u long railway, journey with absolute equanimity.

Our old friend, May Oromraelin, is Always inclined to be a trifle over-senti-mental. not to say “gusliy.” bub she paHsessL-s the art of concocting a very neat little* plot and her dialogue is always bright and entertaining. “Madam Mystery, a .Romance of Toitrain-e” (Hutchinson), is a very readable eto-ry of the adventures of a gay little party of English people who make a trip through, the picturesque Loire country, visiting tbn castles and abbeys of Touraine, and enjoying themselves hugely. There is home pretty love-making, and although Iho supply of guide-book “padding” is liberal enough, it is introduced very cleverly, without any <?igu of intrusion. A story which many lady readers .will vastly like is “Madam Mystery.“

> The novels of E. Everett-Green are, so ' ray bookseller friends inform . me, highly popular with a largo number of readers. Personally, I find the lady's sentiment just a little cloying and her plots more than a little stagey and smacking of the style of fiction which once ruled good—l suppose it does still—in tile columns of that estimable periodical, the “Family Herald.” In “Tho House of Silence” there is a rising young author. Francis Grey, whose private secretary is a lovely young lady. Silence Desart by name, • who largely influences his style, at least so the author .says. But the ungrateful Mr Grey breaks off his engagement with the lovely and gifted Silence, and is “hooked” by- a designing American heiress, Ida Dexter. Ida is murdered, and Grey is suspected of the crime. But, of course, he is innocent, and finds -happiness with Silence. Here are the concluding sentences: Hand meets band in close, throbbing pressure. For a moment words are too inadequate; tbey are not spoken. He looks into her eyes, she into his; and slowly, very slowly, he draws her into tho embrace of his xrras. . ' “I hare come back. . . “Francis . . . my love. ...” “I have com© back ... to love . . to rest. . . His lips touch hors; for a moment they cling together. Then bis bead droops till it •touches her shoulder. ... “The . nest ... is . 4 . Silence. 1 ' There you havo Miss (or Mrs ?) E.’ Hverett Green in her most approved stjde. Those who like* that kind of 1 thing will find it in plenty in “The Houso of Silence.” Personally, I prefer even Mario Corelli.

A very '‘'blood and 'thundery” . production is Mrs Coulscn Kernahan’s “Houso of Blight” ,(G. Bell), wherein tho reader is introduced to a gambling spendthrift, who loafs on his iviiVs money until SJIO finds out what a scamp he is and stops the supplies. After which ho takes to drink—and the diversions to bo afforded by tho “bad girl” of the village, and goes to tho “demnilioa bowwows” generally. Also, there Is a lovely creolo girl, Asile Morelle, who comes from Antigua, and wants to find tho man who deserted her mother. Also, ■ again, a terribly wicked person, a Mrs 1 Perry, a divorcee, who .gambles, and drinks cognac in her bedroom, and ,is frightfully jealous of poor Asiie. These and other characters all meet in a brig mansion, in the Black Country, a mansion where peoplp are afflicted with a mysterious sloping sickness, Mrs Perry tries to ."murder Asilo, but fails, and bolts to Paris, whilst the wicked hus»band and. three of his boon companions go to sleep in tho haunted rooms and never wako up. Finally it is discovered that fumes from some buried slag—“carbon mompxido”—have been the cause of t'h-e mysterious sleeping sickness, and tho story ends with two happy marriages.

[Review .copies of all the above books received through Messrs Whitcomb© and Tombs.]

A LITERARY LETTER

(BY “LIBER.”) “Down Our Street” anti its Author. Every now and then some “new writer” is trumpeted forth, either by his or her publishers or by some complaisant or “worked” fashionable literary critic, as being a genius of the first water. .Many of these newly discovered stars flicker out all too quickly, and. indeed, fade bang out of the literary firmament • with all the dazzling amd provoking rapidity of a “shooting star.” Occasionally, at rare—very rare—intervals. a star stops and gains so much in radiance as to bo remembered quite six months or even a year—which, in the case of new literary “discoveries” is quite an era. “J. E. Buckrose,” otherwise Mrs Falconer Jameson, is, I think; a “star,” who, or which—lot the * grammarians. fight out tho correct relative — h‘U> “come to stop,” as tho Yankees put d- r A Little Green World” and a Golden Straw” gained this writer many friend®. Affer these came that curious I’nd- me, most disappointing story. The Pilgrimage of a FooL” .Mrs Jameson s fourth story, “Down Our Street,” has “caught on” in England in a most abounding way. “Tho Times,” the Morning Post,” the solemn “Specta-

tor"—a whole host of papers—praise the story, the chief figure in. which is a middle-aged, shiewd, keen-witted, sharptongued, but warm-hearted Yorkshire woman. Mrs Bean, tho lady in. question, lias been described as a “daisy/’ “She is,” says the “Morning Tost," “inimitable in her way,” and the “Post” then proceeds to compare her to Mrs Wiggs, Airs Wiggs of tho Cabbage Batch: “Sho has all Airs Wiggs’s Joveableness and goodness of heart, with a heroic power of making a fool of herself. and .standing confessed and impenitent. She keeps tragedy out of her house—her husband is only a butter traveller—and out of ‘The street” by tho fine arts of humour, wisdom and by. as “Tho Times” writes, “locking sentimental lovers in her scullery, or giving a little soothing flattery to tho local poetess.” Yes, tho literary critics all like Airs Bean, for she is a “character,” a creation, a living, very much alive, natural woman. “You’ve, got to lake, anxiety with your children, just like a crust of bread, and make the best of it,” says Airs Bean in one

“J. E. BUCKROSH/^ Who is Mrs Falconer Jameson, the author of that much praised “Down Our Street” (AliLls and Boon), (From a portrait in “Tho Book Monthly.”)

of her wisdoms while you wait. She fills the book with those, being a mistress of homely .epigram; aye, and of that lieautiful thing pathos. ‘T say, EtheJ,” quoth tho butter traveller husband to her, “why don’t you ever wear any jewellery now’?” She had pawned ,it "all -while he was ill, in. order to pay tho bills, but she wouldn’t tell him for a world, not «die. “Oh, brooches are not now fashionable/* .she answered, jauntily, flushing to tho roots of her hair. “If you notice in the fashion papers tho really great ladies arc nearly always photographed with their plain necks 1“ Tho “Observer” says: “Mrs Bean is a joy for ever.” I am not prepared to .go that Icngtji, but “Down Our Street” is certainly one of the most human stories I have, read this many a long day.

“Edwin Drood” Once Again. Mr Andrew Lang, and Mr Cuming Walters, to say Mr Archer, and, in the old days, Mr P• A. Proctor and a host of others, have all had their guesses at the real solution of the “Edwin Drood” problem, bub personally, like the old farmer, who, at the rout dinner had to slake his thirst with weak claret—“l get no forrader.” Yet another theory as to the disappearance ot Edwin Droad has now been «cfc forth by “H.J.” (Dr Henry Jackson), who, through tho Cambridge University Press, publishes a book bearing the short and simple title of .“About Edwin Dreed.” Most people who endeavoured to solve the mystery of Dickens's unfinished story have agreed that Jasper did certainly attempt, to murder Edwin Drood, but tho three questions loft without conclusive answer are: What was the scene of the murder? Whore did Jasper deposit Edwin's body? DidDrocd escape, and, if'so, how? Who is Datchery? The new inquirer's doctrine is, that Jasper “bonneted” Drcod with his scarf as they descended tho staircase of tho Cathedral tower, and flung him down the steep steps that Jasper buried the body in a heap of lime in the Cathedral crypt; that in fact Drood was really dead and done Tor; and that Datchery (whom Mr. Proctor and Mr Andrew Lang supposed to bo Drood himself, saved, and secretly watching tho man who believed ho had murdered him) is Helena Landless. Commenting upon tin's a writer in “Tho Times” Literary Supplement says: “About this identification of Datchery, first suggested by Mr Cuming Walters, there is a difficulty which Mr Walters himself does not seem to have perceived. Datchery is already watching Jasper before Helena receives the information which leads him to pro-, 1 pose that ■ Jasper should bo watched. 1 That, in the case of a record of a real criminal would be conclusive; and it -would be very, nearly conclusive in the case of a finished detective story of which the end had been lost.

Notable English Trials, The series of “Famous Scottish Trials,” published by an Edinburgh firm, has been so successful that a similar series dealing with famous English trials is in course of preparation, under the general editorship of‘Mr J. B. Atlay, whose book on “The Chancellors of England"” is so well known. The first volume will be “The Trial of the Staimtons.” Other volumes will deql- with tho following trials: “Franz Muller,” edited by 11. -B. Irving; “Dr William Palmer,” edited by G. If. Knott; “I>r George K. Lamsou,” -edited by. H. L. Adam; “Lord Lovat,” edited by D. N. Mackay; and “Thomas and Henry Wainwright,” edited by H. B. Irving. Mr Irving is the famous actor-manager, son. of the yet more famous actor-man-ager, the lato Sir Henry Irving. Mr Irving has already written a biography of the infamous Judge Jeffreys.

“0 for a Booke/’ etc. I notice, by the - Publishers' Circular, that the authorship of the oft-quoted, lines.;.

“O for a book© in a shadi© nook© Eyther in-a-dool‘ or out; "With the greuo leaves whispering ov©r- ' bed© Or the street© cries all about. Whore I maie Read© all at my. ease. Both of the new and olde. For a jollio good Book© whereon, to look© Is better to m© than gold©,”

has one© again been a subject for discussion. Mr Austin Dobson, in “Notes and Queries.” says: “The late Mr John Wilson, bookseller, one© of No. 03, Great Russell street, and afterwards of 12, King William- street, Strand, informed mo not long before his death that he made them up as a motto for one of his second-hand catalogues, where I think I saw them. 110 was amused at tho vogue they eventually obtained.” But a correspondent of “Th© Globe” asserts that tho verses, attention to which was first directed when they appeared in “The Book Lover’s Enchiridion,” edited’ by Alexander Ireland, and published in. 1890, were written by Lord Chandos in tho sixteenth century. Sven Hedin’s Latest. “Overland to-India,” by Sven Hcdin, the intrepid Swedish t traveller whose book, “Trans-Himalaya,” gained its author widespread fame, is remarkable for th© fact that the writer is particularly successful in conveying to bis readers not a little of tho‘spell, the fascination of his desert journeying?. Kero is a fairly exemplicutiro extract: -Two caravans are making ready for the‘night’s march. The camels

are brought forward in hmg rows to receive their loads. All the cumeJbolls ring and their beats meet together In a. single msMcuous peal. Bow charming i* the s.cenc, how soothing and lulling the music, accompanied by the shouts of the men to tile camels ami their talk as they hoist the leads eti to tho bearers! There is something grand and imposing in caravan life in Tersia, the Jong wanderings through tho desert tracts, the, longed-for rest at rabats. . f , The large bells ding heavily and slowly, smaller bolls chime in, innumerable- small tinklers give forth a metallic sound, and tho whole loud carillon moves off on the way to Airshed, in two places in the train merry singers are heard, but they are drowned by tho clang of tho bells, which also dies away in. the distance on the road to Imam Xfiza’s tomb, worn for centuries by pilgrims and caravans. Persia of To-day. - Not a few volumes have, during tho past few years, been written, on Persia and tho Persians. . Major Sykes’s books ar.o esx>ccialiy, good. But {Sven Hcdm has his own point of view and manages to say not a little that is novel. Nowadays, he admits, there is nothing particularly attractive about travel in Persia. That onco great land, witli its lair cities and gardens, it?* proud people and historic monuments, is hut a wreck and a shadow of its former feelf. The author docs not diverge much into politics, but he gives nu interesting description of the* late bhali, Nazr-ed-din, and of his son, •tiio ox-Shah (deposed in 1900), to both of whom he- was presented. There is a tradition, that tho Knjar dynasty produces alternately a strung and u weak ruler, *o that tho little grandson of Nazr-ed-din, who is now Shah may stand a chance, but ih is not a very hopeful onjo. Sven Hedin had many opportu-nities-for judging of the evil effects of a system of government which gives every village ns a milch-cow to one or other of the Shah’s followers or family. As overlords these are able to fax tho wretched people at will, and the_ consequences are only too plainly visible on. the, face of tho country.

A Corpse Caravan. Amidst tho many curious incidents of caravan life in Persia, described by the Swedish traveller, is t his encounter with a “corpse transport”: Tim Shi-itos believe that the nearer •they are interred to the grave of Imam Hussein the hanpier will bo their Jot after death, and that they will make their entry into Paradise led by the hand of that }ioly martyr. He, therefore, who baa tho means willingly leaves in his will a sum of monev for purchase of a grave, in Kerbefa, where tho prices vary in differing concentric- rings round tho!central point of salvation, besides an additional payment for transport. For tho men who accompany. the. body, on. its last earthly journey are also well paid for their trouble. It seldom pays, however, • to convey a -single body for a long distance, so .the corpses have' to, wait for each other, and only when, a fairly large party is, assembled do they set out through the abodes of tho living.

The "Persian Spider. Dr Sven Hcdin is not the kind of traveller who make© much of tho discomforts he endures, and he spares us. as a rule, the studies in insect-life which necessarily form a considerable part of tho .preoccupations of those who “leave civilisation behind and wander with the primitive and unwashed peoples of Central Asia. His stories of the Persian spider are. however, umnsually vivid--more what we should expect from the typical American globe-trotter than from a matter-of-fact savant: ; Then there is a large, swift-footed, hairy spider, probably a kind of phu-j lunger, which is said to give -a/very, severe and piiinifut-bitc.. It lives out in the desert,; especially on" sandy ground and crn. th© boundary of the Kcvir. Its curiosity ,is .roused by light,’ and when men camp in the desert it makes for the camp fire. If they abstain from lighting a fire they may be -sure of coming off scotfree. It is said not to strike for defence or out of maliciousness ; • but if a mail passes the night in a lighted tent the spider may creep up inside the tent canvas and fall down, on ani'-one, sitting or lying below, and to get a fresh hold it strikes its mandibles into any object it meets with', and if that chahces to be a man's hand, the blood is inflamed by the poison. The people in Tebbes assured me tbafc if a man .kills a female, her mat© gives himself no rest till he has exacted vengeance. He will follow the murderer'even for three farsakh, and is as swift-footed as a galloping horse. He' does not nm like an ordinary ' spider, but leaps forward in hops. He ‘ never Ic-ses sight of the murderer’s track, and watches for a suitable opportunity tp deal his blow of revenge. Farther east, and in Baluchistan, still more monstrous stories are told of the tarantula’s watchfulness and vindictiveness.

Old-Time “Sports” and Sporting. There are not a few good yarns in Ralph NeviUs pleasant rechauffe of old facts, fancies, and stories of what have been railed the “good old days” of British sport, “Spiting Days and Sporting Ways,” recently published by Duckworth®. Mr Ncvili makes a lot of good “copy” out of the adventures, in search of pleasure, of the old-time “buck” and “man about town,” of the type Pieroo Egan was so fond of depicting in his “Tom and Jerry” book®, now mainly remembered by reason of George Cruikgha.uks’s clever illustrations. They were great gamblers, our worthy forefathers. Mr Kevil'l tells of “a party of highly {speculative paupers who, not being able to obtain cards, actually- improvised a pack out of their old pawn-tickets, the various articles indicated on the tickets taking the place of the usual suits. “Hang it!” said one of tho player®, after, losing a game, “how unlucky I ami But there, I never seem able to win when trousers are trumps.” 'We got.a passing glimpse of Gretna Green' and its famous blacksmith: “On one occasion two couples presented themselves ait Gretna Green, one of the would-be brides being sixty and the other seventeen. , The latter, was anxious to have the nuptial knot tied first, but the matrimonial Vulcan would not' be- hurried.” “There is no need for hurry,” said he. “You are young and can wait a little. I see your grandmother is impatient. Let infr put her fetters on first.” • / The Knights of the Highway. Not a few of Mr NevilFs stories relate to the “Knights of the road,” who infested the highways leading to and out of London, right up to, and, indeed, for the first few years of the Victorian era. , Occasionally the .highwayman, daring a® ho was, was outwitted. Lord Berkeley, for instance, cleverly disposed of one ragcal : Being driven over Honnslow Heath, he was awakened from sleeo by his coach being brought to a standstill and a threatening faco looking in at the window. “I have you at last, my lord,” said a gruff voice, “though you said you would never yield to a robber. Deliver I” “Certainly,” was the Earl's reply,* but, tell me first who is that looking over your shoulder?” The highwayman turned his head j to look, and at tho same moment | Lord Berkeley' shot him dead. And the Duellists. •Tho days of tho gamblers and of the highwaymen wore * those also of ‘ tho duellirts. Concerning these gentlemen,

Mr Nevill lias much to say, going hack even, us far as Charles the Seconds time to recount the oft-repeated but always amusing story of Van Tromp tho fiery French man who challenged hua to a combat a inort. Mr Ncvxll wij s: Admiral Van Tromp, a large, heavy man, was challenged' by a tnm, active Trench officer. “\Ve not upon eciuul terms with rapiers, said Van Tromp; “but call upon me tomorrow morning and we will adjust the affair better/’ When the Frenchman called he found tho Dutch' Admiral bestriding a barrel of gunpowder. “There is room enough tor you,” said Van Tromp, at the other end of tho barrel. Sit down. There is a match, and as you are the challenger, light the powder.” Iho Frenchman remonstrated, but tho Dutchman would light no other way. So they made up the quarrel.

But probably the most extraordinary duel on record was that which, took place in 1803 between two Parisian gentleman who quarrelled over a celebrated opera-dancer. They elected to fight in balloons, each attended by a second in tho car. The weapons -were blunderbusies. When they, had risen to a •height of about 900 rt, and were about SOft apart, the challenged party fired and missed. The challenger then * returned. the fire, and the* ball pierced his balloon, which oamo down with a rush, and dashed its occupants to pieces on a house-top. This mode of duelling should commend itself Co aviators.

The Odour he did not like. One more extract from Mr Nevill’s entertaining collection. It relates to. the effort-s. made by, tho people, of Twickenham, tho pleasant Thames-side suburb, ‘ to suppress as a public nuisance a peculiarly smellful manufactory; . ‘ Opposite to ‘this manufactory dwelt a superannuated admiral, who . was supposed not to have been in his best fighting humour oa solne im- ' portant occasion at se.l. -Ho .was a witness in tho case, and, having already declared upon, oath that the stench of tho works was .Intolerable, he* was required to say what this intolerable smell resembled. It is not always easy to hit upon a comparison, and tho veteran puzzled, lie could only repeat, “Like, like—l don’t know what it’s like; it’s like tho horrideet smell I ever smelt in my life I” “Was it like gunpowder?” asked the malicious‘counsel. Joan of-Arc. Voltaire wrote a horribly disgusting satire on “The Maid,” French historians generally have never done her justice, and Anatole _ France, carr‘\V away by on all-dominant spirit of aivtyclericalism, has not only scoffed at tho now memorable “visions.” but insinuated that the “heroism” or Jeanne was, after all, but an- outward ebullition of some sort of spiritual hysteria. But “mystic,” “neurotic” “’witch” as she may have been, the undeniable virtue in Joan of Arcwas her personal courage. Mystics, and neurotics, and people who are apt to go "off” into trances, are not as a rulo those from whom we should usually expect’ exhibitions of xjorsonal x>hysical courage. But “The Maid” was no mere visionary. She might, when wounded, hear, or fancy she heard, the Voices, those’ Voices which spurred her on to deeds most gallant; but which landed her, alas, in the long run, at'the martyr’s stake at Rouen. But Voices or no Voices, she never lacked a natural, personal courage. From Mr'Andrew Lpuig’s recently published work, “The Maid of France,” I take tho following passages On tho 6th of May, when sho had seen heavy fighting, and was about to ‘see more, she ©poke thus to Pasquerel, her confessor, as, ho says: “Rise to-morrow morning even earlier thaii you did today; do your best, keep always near me, for do-morrow I shall have much to do and much '.greater things! To-mor-row blood slialll flow from my body above the breast.” Accordingly, on the next day, which was a Saturday, a little after tho hour of noon, as the Maid stood on. a scaling-ladder in tho forefront of the assault, an arrow or a bolt pierced through the shoulder-plate of her arwounding her cruelly just above the :right breast, ami standing out a hand’s-breadtb at the back. 'She gasped and fell, and some of lier people carried lier a little apart into a meadow. At this all the French wore discouraged; but the English were very .glad,, pecans© they* believed they liad drawn blood from a witch, and*tlius broken her power of sorcery. Joan lay on the meadow grass while Brother Jean Pasquerel and .Mugot, a page, bent anxiously over her. She was very much afraid, and wept piteously for terror and for pain. But after a Tittle space her Voices came and comforted her. Soldiers rtood round, and being greatly distressed to see her suffer, some of them wished to “charm” her; that is. io sing a song or incantation over'her wound, and thus to staunch the flow of blood and to heal it. But this she would not have, and said, even in her pain, “I would rather die than do such a tiring, which I know to bo a sin. X know well that I must die one day, but I know not when, nor in what maimer, nor on what day. If my wound may be healed without sin I shall be glad enough to be cured.” Then they drew off part of her armour as gently as might be, and dressed the wound with olive oil. After which the Maid confessed herself to Brother Jean Pasquerel, woex>ing and lamenting as she did so, for she was all unstrung. Nevertheless,- before long she rose, and armed herself and returned to the assault. But the sun went down, and her men were weary and lost heart, and Illinois, the Captain of Orleans, eaid there was no more hope of victory that day. therefore he bade them sound the retreat. But the Maid came to him and

besought him io wait a very little time more. Then she mounted her horse and rode away into a vineyard alone, ihoro it is well to think .that she prayed, in© voices of her dear “Brothers of Paixir dise,” inaudible in the crash and din of battle, might well come to her, bonio upon tho little evening airs. It waw yno sweetest: time of .the year and the quietest of the day. Tho tender green leaves were opening on the vines. “.She remained there about half an hour,” .says Illinois; “thqii returning, and seizins herbanmer by both hands. »lie placed herself on - tho edge of tho trench. At tho sight of her tho English trembled, and were seized with sudden fear; our people, on tho contrary, took con rage, and began to mount and assail the Boulevard, not. meeting any resistance. Thus was the Boulevard taken, and the English therein killed or put to flight.”

Tho Throes of Creation. Tho'“Pall Mall Gazette” throws a sidelight upon genius and tho labour of great men. Tno humiliation of the man who fails in literature is felt by all, but the searing lire that scorches the Vulcan ot letters is less understood: “John Holiingslicad, who knew Dickens personally amt well, called it in these columns once' tho wear and tear of genius. Ho .describes in. his reminiscence© how Dickens at tho summit of his powers used to wrestle of 4i night with the task of composition in front of him; then, pushing it away from him, and leaving Tavistock House, in tho quiet and darkness would ’tramp away in the small hours through tho heart of London, away to tho Dover s road and. open country, to wear down twenty or thirty miles, perhaps, before ks came back in broad daylight, a spent and dusty figure, but supremely contented, for, as a rule, the knot was at last ■unravelled ami the solution, of the problem plain. It,does one good to smile at tho thought of his taking lessons from his -daughter in. the polka—a new importation of the period—and than in the middle of the night hopping out of bed to practise for fear he might have forgotten tho knack of it. But perhaps tho. co nude test proof that his vein of invention was inexhaustible are tho chapters hb was writing when death overtook him; and if ever I hear it said that he was written out, I take down ‘Edwin Drood’ and read aloud the dialogue of Mrs Billickin concerning her lodgings. It clinches the argument at once, because it is the pure minted and authentic gold of Dickens that no echo or imitation will over reproduce.”

Melbourne and “Dizzy.” Lord Rosebery generally has some good and hew anecdote to teal when he addresses a non-political audience. At the annual meeting of the Old Edinburgh Club, held in February last, he told an amusing yarn of. how. tactfully Lord Melbourne once dealt with Disraeli, in the days of “Dizzy’s” youth. “Fiction,” said Lord Rose berry, “is not perhaps the worst place in which to look for history. There is a story of Mr Disraeli at the time of his. extremely bumptious youth, •that when ho- had: just returned from his travels in the East, and as a young man much under thirty, he met Lord Melbourne, who was then Prime Minister, at dinner. He proceeded to discourse on tho Eastern question, and Lord Melbourne proceeded to discourse on The Eastern question, but instead of listening to the Prime Minister with that respect which he ought, the young Disraeli said, ‘lt .seems to me your lordship has taken your knowledge of the' East from tho “Arabian .Nightls.” * ' Some XTime Ministers 1 have- known would have snubbed the young man severely, but Lord Melbourne was not of that kind. Ho rubbed his hands with groat cheerfulness, and ©aid, ‘And a devilish good place to take them from/ And I think : we shall all fed, in the milder language of the twentieth century, . that r WaverJey' is an uncommonly good place to take your impressions of Prince Charles Edward at Holyrood fi*om.”

The “Sex” Interest. /‘How far,” the editor of the “Bystander” has asked a number of -novelists, “is it necessary, for art or for popular interest, that a short story ■shonld-coutai.il a Tovc’ or a ‘sex’ interest.” Mr 11. G. Wells answers that tho sexual “situation” is the “last refuge of the uninventive very-short-story writer.” “In my opinion,” writes Mr Rider Haggard, “it is not at all necessary that a short'story should contain a eex interest.” “Art,” remarks Mr Eden Phil'lpbtts/“demands neither love nor sex to satisfy its requirements.” Sir Gilbert Parker instances Stevenson, and Kipling ..as'two.TOtfstors of the short story who depend least, not most, on “love interest.” In fine, the predominant view seems to be that it is no essential part of the short story.

“The Book of Scottish Poetry.” Sir George _ Douglas’s “Book of tisli Poetry” is avowedly a companion to “The Oxford Book of English Verse,” and “The Dublin Book of Irish Verse.” Tho “Athenaeum” . that Sir Georg© has not always chosen tho best specimens of individual writers. He ° to hare given Alexander Smith’s “Barbara” among his selections from that now forgotten .poet. Among Robert Buchanan’s pieces we should'have expected. to see that liaunting xxoem on h'i» friend,-David Gray, the author of “The Luggie, and under the name of Lady John Scot “Annie Laurie,” which -is essentially hers, though founded on older hues.- V hy is James Ballantine’s “Nacbody s Bairn” given, but not his more celebrated “Ilka Blade o’ Grass Keeps Its Am Drap o* Dew?” Stranger still, why is John Skinner represented solely by ‘The Ewie AVI’ the Crookit Horn”? It was Burns who said that Ms “XulJccligonun” was “the best Scotch song Scotland ever saw.”.