So Flattering.

Otago Witness, Issue 2664, 5 April 1905, Page 79

So Flattering.

The winners of world-wide fame arc few in literature as elsewhere, but the distinction and consideration accorded to even a modest literary success are one of the acknowledged rewards of the profession of letters.

In an author's cymi home, however, the tribute of appreciation and praise, even if it is echoed or intensified, is also likely to be wholesomely dashed v ith the spicy frankness that emanates from nursery and kitchen.

'' Why don't you ever read my books? " asKecl one writer of rather solid literature jestingly of his son. The boy, fearful of hurting hie father's feelings, put his reply as delicately as he knew how.

"I will, you know, when I'm older," he said, '" but now I read only interesting books."

That boy has now grown up and taken to journalism. There are other children in the family, and one, a daughter, recently had her first article accepted for publication — a fact which accidentally reached the cars of Nora, the maid in the kitchen.

Nora has been long in her place, and feels tha,t she fully understands the peculiarities of literary people. They must never have their desks dusted, they attach absurd importance to the wrong bit of paper gettmg into the waste basket, they generally fail to hear tho dinner bell, but jump w'ldly and gasp about their nerves if the o'ur-fc pan fails downstairs or one diops a poker. Tliey are absent-minded to ®

degree, and have to be carefully fed, and ii-pa's ser\ed ready to the minute on account of their digestions. She did not congratulate the mother of the budding authoress. Her mouth fell open, and the saucepan remained suspended in her hand.

' Saints preserve us, mum !" she ejaculated. "If they all write, won't ifc bo terrible ! "