A FEW NOTES ON AUSTRALASIAN LITERATURE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2369, 27 July 1899, Page 60

A FEW NOTES ON AUSTRALASIAN LITERATURE.

<» A PAPER READ AT THE ANNUAL CONFERENCE OF SOUTHLAND TEACHERS, JUNE 23, 1899,. BY W. H. CLARK, B.A. 11. During the past few years what may be called the newer school of colonial poets has arisen rapidly into- notice, some, indeed, reaching the stage at which literature proves more than "a staff to lean upon." The publishers of Gordon's poems and of Kendall's with difficulty could dispose of modest editions of 500 copies ; Paterson and Lawson find their volumes rapidly running into their fifth and sixth thousands, and, as thej r themselves might say, still "going strong." This either betokens a marked change in the temper of the Australian reader, or indicates that these recent writers have struck a note that finds a responsive echo in the Australian breast. This newer school of verse writers which has as its high priests A. B. Paterson and Henry Lawson, followed at some distance by Dyson, Daley, Will Ogilvie, and others, owes its introduction to the public, and not a little of its fame to the Sydney Bulletin. While one may dissent not a little from many of the opinions and object to not a few of the methods of that journal, one cannot but admire the constant efforts made by it to foster literature of native growth and to give a helping hand to young and struggling authors. Addison was ambitious to have it said of him that '" he brought philosophy out of schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea tables and in coffee houses," and of the Bulletin school of poets and verse writers it may well be said that their ambition is to make the muse of Poetry, hitherto perhaps all too dainty in her speech, apeak the tongue of the shepherd, the stockdriver, and the miner. Grace and sweetness xinder these circumstances cannot be looked for in verse couched in the rough and ready vocabulary of every-day life, but strength and vigour are to be found on almost every page of the volumes of the bards now under review. The poets of the Bulletin school do not seem to seek inspiration from, nor do they copy the models furnished by earlier writers either of the Home country or their native land, excepting perhaps Adam Lindsay Gordon, whose galloping lines find more than an echo in Paterson's A r erse, and possibly Rudyard Kipling, whose free use of slang expressions finds its counterpart in our present-day colonial poets, not only in their verse of lighter vein, but also in their more serious compositions. The verse- writer nurtured by the Bulletin, though his sympathies are mainly human — is still moved by .the outward face of nature. His life is spent chiefly in the open, and his poetry reflects this mode of life with much exactitude. He lacks the sympathetic insight into nature of Kendall and his car does not hear the same Psalms from unseen wildernesses, Deep amongst far hill recesses; but the bolder features of the landscape, the mountains, the sombre bush and the vast, apparently never-ending plains : all these impress him. He celebrates Kosciusko, where the pine-clsd ridges raise Their torn and rugged battlements on high, Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white starß fairly blaze At midnight in the cold and frosty sky. — A. B. Paterson's " Man from Snowy River." He is oppressed by the wide-extending, Dull, grey plain, where a world-old grief seems to brood o'er the silent land, When the orbed moon turns her tense, white face on the ominous waste of sand, And the wind that steals by the dreamer feels like the touch of a vanished hand. — Dyson, " The Deserted Homestead." The plains have a sad story to tell, and the note- of sadness recurs again and again. The very name of these drought-tortured legions express a world of pathos — the Never-Never Land ! Nowhere is the dreary monotony and the dread tragedy of the Australian plains revealed to us more clearly than in the intensely sombre verses of Barcroft Boake, — lines unlike anything else in the ; whole range of English literature ; comparable only with some of the most gloomy poems of America's erratic genius, E. A. Poe : — Out on the wastes of the Never Never — That's where the dead men lie! There where the heat waves dance for ever — That's where the dead men ho! That's where the earth's loved sons are keeping Endless tryst: not the west wind sweeping Feverish pinions can wake their sleeping j Out where the dead men lie! How many tragedies of the plains are summed up in these lines ! — East and. backward pale faces turning— That's how the dead men lie! Gaunt arms stretched with a voiceless yearning— That's how the dead men lie! . . . Ha-rd-faced greybeards, youngsters callow; Some mounds cared for, some left fallow; Some deep down, yet others shallow; Some having but the sky. A vein of cynicism runs through the verses of these Bulletin poets ; the sordid side of life often attracts their pens. Lawson, whose denunciations of the inequalities of our social life are more frequent and fiercer than those of his fellows, in his " Faces in the Streets " deals in bold' and passionate lines with the want and misery of the 11001" of Sydney much in the style of Hood's " Song of the Shirt," and prophesies that Not until a city feels Red Revolution's feet Shall its sad people miss awhile the terrors of the street, The dreadful everlasting strife For scarcely clothes and meat, In. that pent track of living death, the city's cruel street. But the favourite topic of these writers is the racehorse and the race course. Gordon's joy in the horse is apparent in many of his verses, but to the more modern school it is the race itself and its concomitants that are the attraction, and not a few^of the racing verses of these writers deal with

tricks of the turf. Many of these are certainly clever and amusing, but they have in them few of the elements of permanence. More interesting are those verses which deal with life in the country, picturing the many incidents, prosaic, comic, or tragic, which go to make up the every-day life of the toilers. We meet with the drover and the stockrider, the prospector and the miner, the station rouseabout, and with the help of our own David M'Kee Wright — whose verses are something more than a faint reflex of the Bulletin poets, we make the acquaintaince of the swagger and the rabbiter, the latter of whom claims that There's clean-lived chaps among the men who wield the rabbit knife, And if you take them as a class, the rabbiters will show There's better feeling on the hills than in the town below.

Perhaps the most favourable specimens of these poets' verses may be culled from those p"oems in which Paterson, Lawson, and Dyson fight out their somewhat amusing quarrel on the merits and demerits of bush life.

Paterson exclaims: I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy, who has Gone a-droving " down the Cooper," where the western drovers go ; As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing, For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know. These lines stir the indignation of Lawson, who thus burst forth: "Sunny plains! 1 ' Great Scott! these burning wastes of barren soil and sand, With thoir everlasting fences stretching out across the land, Barren ridges, gullies, ridges! where the evermadding flies, Fiercer than the plagues of Egypt, swarm about your blighted eyes! And again he' goes on: Would you like to change with Clancy — go adroving? tell us true, ' For we rather think that Clancy would be glad to change with you, And be something in the city; but 'twould give your muse a shock To be losing time and money through the footrot in the flock ; And you wouldn't mind the beauties under-

neath the starry dome If you had a wife and children and a lot of

bills at home,

Dyson joins in , next, less serious than Lawson, and humorously unable to see the " Arcadia " of which Paterson sings. This droving on the plains is really charming when the weather Isn't hot enough to curl the soles right oft"

.your upper leather, Or so cold when the morning wind comes hiss-

ing through the grasses, You can feel it cut your eyelids like a whiplash as it passes. As for sleeping on the plains beneath " the pale moon," always seen there, That iB most appreciated by the' man who's never been there I

These quotations are to some extent indicative of the character of Australian humour.

Humour has been described as " the salt of human life." It pervades all, and without its vivifying properties life would be "flat, stale, and unprofitable." All-per-vading as it is, still nothing is more difficult to seize and retain in one's grasp. Like the wind which bloweth where it listeth, it cannot be exactly located, or like the principle of life itself, which ever evades the surgeon's scalpel, its essence escapes ultimate analysis.

In every new land to which the AngloSaxon has carried his civilisation, his speech and his habits, there has his environment modified by slow degrees his mode of life and his form of thought. In America, where time has permitted this modification clearly to manifest itself, we find that American humour Iws grown apart from the English humour, whence it sprung. But here in the south, the clo-seness of the ties still existing with the mother country and the lack of the time required for the evolution of newer forms to take place have hitherto prevented a clearly-marked line of division from showing itself between the humour of the Home land and that of the colonies. In addition, the classics of the older land still exert an influence sufficient to preserve a general similarity of the literature of the colonies with that of the land whence it originated.

Among the least-known specimens of Australian humour (apart from the writers of the Bulletin school) are several poems by J. Brunton Stephens, a Scotsman by birth, bat for long identified with Queensland journalism. In his humourous verse there is little of that pawkiness said to be characteristically Scotch ; rather do we hear an echo of W. M. Praed's sprightly verse or of Thomas Hood's. Stephens's address "To a Black Gin " derives much of its humour from the incongruity the reader perceives to exist between the style of the address and the object of it, while here and there a Hood-like pun intrudes. A couple of verses will indicate the character of the poem. Thus he addresses the " lady " : The coarseness of thy tresses is distressing, With grease and raddle firmly coalescing, I cannot laud thy system of " toj>-dressing '' I What must he be whose eye thou hast delighted? His sense of beauty hopelessly benighted! The canons of his taste, how badly sighted!

Other examples of Stephens s humour are his " Drought and Doctrine," his " Quartpot Creek," a parody on Poe's "Raven," and his " Chinese Cook," who . . was lazy, he was cheeky, he was dirty, he was sly, But he had a single virtue, and its name was " rabbit pie."

Much of the humourous verse of the colonies is q£ a trivial and ephemeral character. Examples are the once well-known Paddy Murphy verses of Thomas Bracken and W. P. Eeeves's Colonial Couplets, which some years ago enjoyed a brief period of popularity. Hitherto I have dealt with Australasian poetry chiefly in its concrete or objective side. But the deeper problems of human existence and man's destiny have at times stirred the Australasian mind. Our own Thomas Bracken felt his spirit overweighted bj the mjsterx oi life ®aA aian's inability

to grapple with that mystery, and the very magnitude of the problem wrung from him the finest of his poems — " Not Understood'," a poem worthy of a permanent place in th» choice anthology of English peoples : — Not understood. We move along, along, asun? der, . . Our paths grow wider as the seasons creep Along the years; we marvel and we wonder ■ Wliy life is life? and then we fall asleep* Not understood. Not understood. How many hearts are aching For lack of sympathy! Ah! day by day, How many cheerless, lonely hearts are breaking! How many noble spirits pass away Not understood. Oh, God! that men would see a little clearer, Or judge less harshly where they cannot see; Oh, God! that men would draw a little nearer To one another, they'd be nearer Thee. Not understood.

Of a reflective cast are the writings of at least one poet whom, perhaps, Australia may claim as her own — William Gay, whose contribiitions to literature are contained in two dainty but slender volumes issued in 1896, and whose life, " sadly overshadowed by life-long disease," soon afterwards " reached its term. !> His " Christ on Olympus," in blank verse, which flows smoothly, is more ambitious in conception than successful in execution, but of his sonnets, some are worthy to rank with Wordsworth's ' or Mrs Browning's, indeed to many of the sonnets' of the latter several of Gay's are very similar in thought and feeling. Much skill is shown by the poet in not a few' of these sonnets ; their structure is perfe.ct, the thought is clearly expressed, the lines flow smoothly, while the diction is always sustained, graceful and melodious. An. excellent specimen of the poet's art is his sonnet entitled

"VESTIGIA NULLA RETRORSUM."

O steep and rugged Life, whose harsh ascent Slopes blindly upward through the bitter night! They say that on thy summit, high in light. Sweet rest awaits the climber, travel-spent; But I, alas! with dusty ganments rent, With fainting heart and failing limbs and sight, dm see no glimmer of the shining height, And vainly list with body forward bent, To catch athwart the gloom one wandering note Of Ihcwe glad anthems which (they say) are sung "When one emerges from the mists below:, But though, O Life, thy summit he remote, And all thy stony path with, darkness hung, Yet ever upward through the night I go.

The colonies have not yet developed a school of prose writers. Much prose of a kind, certainly, is written ; but that is journalistic to a very considerable extent — the " writings for the day." Strong and vigorous much of it is, — the production of shrewd observers and men of keen intellect, but the political leader of the daily journal, the hasty review, and the descriptive newspaper article do not permit their" writers either to carefully weigh their utterances or to laboriously polish their periods. Time is required to produce a work destined to take rank as a classic. For this reason these southern lands have not yet produced a Green, a Freeman, or a Macaulay.

Many volumes styled " Histories of Aus-* tralia,' 5 or histories of the several colonies have from time to time appeared, but of these, though not a few are interesting • — e.g., the most recent, "Long White Cloud," none has * yet taken rank as a standard history. Some few, like G. W. Rusden's bulky "History of New Zealand,"' have gained a brief notoriety through some extraneous circumstance ; but rarely is this notoriety converted into permanent fame by the intrinsic merits of the work itself. Among such productions may be mentioned the " Picturesque Atlas of Australasia," and Sherrin and Wallace's "Early History of New Zealand " — titles both vnpleasing to many ears. These many histories, with such works as the late John White's unfortunately uncompleted " History of the Maori " serve at least one important purpose : they record many facts connected with the early settlement of the colonies and many details of the aboriginal inhabitants ; and when in the fulness of time the historian of these southern lands shall have entered upon his vocation he will find no dearth of'material ready to his hand to assist him vac his task.

While of serious prose ,\ve have little' of worth, or .permanence, the same assertion, cannot be made regarding prose of- a lighter kind. Of Australian writers of fiction" thename is legion. One of the most prominent names among Australian novelists is that of Marcus Clarke, whose novel, " For the' Term of His Natural Life," for intensity and sombre realism stands first among the many novels dealing with the convict phase of Australian history. This novel pictures for us that "birth stain" of Australia which she " has turned to good," and shows how black and how deeply ingrained that stain was. I know of no novel which stirs the feelings of the reader so strongly againsfc the injustice, the cruelty, and the sheer brutality narrated in its pages. Not to Australia's historians will the students of future ages turn for information regarding the early convict times of the_country, but to the pages of Marcus Clarke's powerful novel, which will for long remain the monument of one of Australia's brightest men of genius. During the past decade especially Las the number of colonial novelists so greatly increased. Many names will at once suggest themselves. Among ladies may be mentioned Mrs Campbell Praed, Ada Cambridge (Mrs Cross), and "Tasma," who,witl). others, have written not a few novels which have achieved a greater or less degree of success, while TLthel Turner has established her reputation as the chronicler of the sayings and doings of youthful Australia. New Zealand can claim Far j eon and Marriott Watson, whose " Web of the Spider" is not the least successful of many novels dealing with life and adventure among the Maoris. As a stylist Louis Beck once claimed notice for his tales and) sketches of Island life, and among popular novelists of the hour Fergus Hume and Guy Boothby take foremost rank. Of the tw.o A the lȣter js much the moo prolific^

a new production from his pen being thrown upon' the market every two or three months. A cursory examination of these flimsy novels will convince one that as little intellect is required for their production as for their perusal. The reader of ' these sensational narratives finds himself not unfrequently "in strange company," and is whisked about at breathless speed from China to Peru, calling in most frequently at Boothby's apparently favourite resort — Thursday Island — and meeting with feminine pirates with or without the protecting accompaniment of a savage bull dog, with fascinating kings) with villains of deepest dye, and heroes and heroines of immaculate perfection! As a whole, Boothby's productions may be described as the glorification of the " shilling shocker," ' destined after a momentary blaze of popularity to a sure oblivion. t

But first among present-day colonial novelists, both for the quality of his abler works and for the accuracy of his vivid pictures of colonial life, stands Rolf Boldrewood_ (Mr Thomas Alexander Browne), whose " Robbery Under Arms " takes rank with Marcus Clarke's masterpiece. " Robbery Under Arms," its author- informs us, is "an ower true tale," and evidently is based upon official records", though we must confess that Starlight represents the ideal rather than the* real bushranger as the Australian knew him. The Marston, family is a group of striking portraits, that of the" heroine Aileen being particularly interesting. The novel takes the form of an autobiography — the narrative of Dick Marston lying under sentence of death, and enlists' the sympathies of the reader on the first page, and the interest is by vivid narrative and striking incident maintained to the close. Since the publication of this novel, 11 years ago, quite a number of works of fiction have come from the same author's pen, depicting all the varied phases of colonial life, and though some of these perhaps lack the polish of Marcus Clarke's more finished work, they have done for colonial life of the last 40 years what the novels of Fielding and Smollett have done for the life of the eighteenth century.

From this rapid and imperfect survey of' Australasian literature we are perhaps able to gather a few impressions of its character.

Colonial writers, both in poetry and prose, show but little of the romantic idealism that characterises much of the literature of the mother country during the nineteenth century. There is rather a sturdy and uncompromising realism dominating poet and novelist alike, free from the morbid brooding upon repulsive aspects of social life indulged in by the English followers of the continental realistic schooL Colonial literature exhibits, too, the same spirit as that with which the early settlers met and surmounted the many difficulties which assailed them : a healthy and manly apprehension of life as~il is, and a cheerful optimism which accepts * success with pleasure, and meets reverses without flinching. There is, too, that absence of conventionality and impatience of control which distinguishes high-spirited youth. The colonial writer is not bound down by the hard and fa-st rules established by a long line of predecessors, nor is he compelled to follow in the narrow groove marked out by long-tried custom. Our young writers come fresh to the consideration of the problems of social life — a social life originally drawn from the mother country, but modified by its own altered environment. The " old order is changing." and, taking up a new point of observation, colonial writers see life in a new aspect, and thus, in their treatment of it diverge more and more from the lines pursued in the older land. * Yet one other striking feature of the colonial writer in his patriotism. In Australia this sentiment has gained a stronger hold upon both writers and people than it has done in New Zealand. This colony has not, perhaps, been sufficiently long a separate political entity for pride of country to root itself firmly in the breasts of its inhabitants. Still there are indications ■which show that the "vital spark" waits but the favouring breath to fan it into a flame. But, in Australia, a longer and more stirring course of events has nourished the sentiment, and the- political subdivisions of the island continent, so unnatural in character, have during recent years perhaps helped to intensify it. For the professional politician a united Australia may mean practical extinction, but to the man of letters it means the drawing closer of the members of a divided family, the elevation of the tone of society, and a larger audience for the message that he brings. His prayer and the hopes of all wellwishers for the future of the great southern land are forcibly expressed in Gay's sonnet: AUSTRALIAN FEDERATION. Prom all division let our land be free, Por God lias made her one: complete sue lies Within the broken circle of the skies, And round her, indivisible, the sea Breaks on her single shore ; while only wo, Her foster children, bound with sacred ties Of one dear blood, one storied enterprise, Are negligent of her integrity. Her seamless garment, at great Marmion'a nod, "With hands unfilial we have basely rent, With petty variance our souls are spent, And ancient kinship under foot is trod; O let us rise, united, penitent, And be one people,— mighty, serving God I

— One-twelfth o£ the pomilation of England suffer from gout. A "Berlin physician, Dr Feahlher, says that this malady is often due to the excessive use of meat.

Advice to . Mothers !— Are you broken m your rest by a sick child suffering with the pain of cutting teeth ? Go at once to a chemiat and get a bottle of Mra Winslow's Soothing Syrup. It will relieve the poor sufferer immediately. It is perfectly harmless, and pleasant to the taite; it produces natural, quiet sleep fey relieving the child from pain, and the littl-a cherub awakes "as bright as a button." It socthes the child, it' softens the gums, "-Hays all pain, relieves wind, regulates the bowels, and is the best known remedy for dysentery *nd diarrhoea, whether arising from teething or >ther causes. Mrs AVinslow's Soothing Syrup is sold by medicine dealers everywhere at Is ljd i>e? bottle.— Abvs