LITERATURE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3034, 8 May 1912, Page 78

LITERATURE.

BOOK NOTICE. "What Diantha Did." By Charlotte Perkins Oilman. London: 1. Usher Unwin. (3s 6d, 2s 6d.) All who are interested in the Domestic Helpers question—and who is not. should read this latest addition to the literature on that all engrossing topic, written bv a noted philanthropist, deeply interested* in all • sociological question j tearing on the subject of human betterment. In the form of a novel, Whan Diantha Did," Mrs Perkins Gilman setl) before her readers some admirable suggestions, shows how they could be made to work, and supports her statements with some practical and convincing statistics. Like manv another reformer, Diantha is driven to her task by the stern whip of necessity. She is engaged to a young, high-principled, high-spirited man of the old scirool, whose mother and four helpless grown-up sisters are dependent upon him. and who is completely overweighted by the responsibility of .his position and the difficulty of making both ends meet. Marriage under these conditions seems as far distant as the millennium. But neither Ross Warden, nor his mother, nor his sisters, can endure the idea of a woman working for her living, especially in any so-called "menial employment. Diantha herself has a capable, but depressed, mother, whose talent for finance and account-keeping has been systematically snubbed by a helpless, unpractical husband, who despises his wife s assistance in business, but muddles everything that he touches. Diantha is a teacher who does not love teaching, and an amazingly capable domestic worker. The conventional dictum is that to teach is "genteel" and quite admissible in ears polite; but to cook and clean rooms is below contempt. Diantha has a mmd of her own, and a fine sense of proportion. She thinks the position out, takes_ its solution into her own hands, and quietly informs all concerned that she intends to leave home for a time and go into some kind of business and "make money. Of course, there is a row. Her father would forbid it, but she is "of age and self-supporting" ; her mother grieves, but sympathises; her lover is deeply shocked, and withholds his sympathy, though not his love : "One thing I want to be sure of. Are you doing this with any Quixotic idea of helping me in my business? helping me to take care of my family? helping me to " he stood up now, looking very tall and rather forbidding. "No, I won't say that to you." "Would there be anything wrong in my meaning exactly that?" she asked, holding her own head a little higher. "Both what vou said and what you didn't?" "It would be absolutely wrong, all of it," he answered. "I cannot believe that the woman I love could—would take such a position." They argue it out, but Ross remains unconvinced. He kisses her and calls her "a foolish child." but he can't grasp the idea that she has envisaged a grand scheme not only for her own benefit and the benefit of her own family, but a real bit of progress for the help of all. "I'm going to leave my own family—even you — for a while —to make us all happier later on." He refuses to consider the idea or listen to the details, but promisee to receive her with affection when she fails, as fail she must. "Never be afraid to come back to me." Neighbours and friends join the chorus of reprobation. Then follows the working out of Diantha's scheme. In order to test her powers she goes as "general" in a small household, where her methods reduce chaos to order, and change a miserable dyspeptic family into a well-fed, healthy, and happy one. Mrs Perkins Oilman and her heroine and mouth-piece have no food fads—they advertise no special preparations, vegetarian or otherwise. They believe in good food, good cooking, punctuality, and cleanliness. These are to be obtained by speeialisation, and by raising the status of the domestic helper. In practice the helpers are to give a certain definite length of time each day when regularly | employed in one family, which "pans out" as follows: Ten hours' service daily—from 6.30 a.m. to 8.30 p.m. That is 14 hours, but four are taken out —half an hour for each meal, half an hour rest in the morning, two hours off in the afternoon, when the "help" can rest, sew-, read, or go out. Then back to the kitchen and the preparation of dinner, etc., until 8.30, when she is "through," and her kitchen looks as clean and orderly as if no one was ever in it. The scheme also provides for sending girls out for certain hours daily at fixed rates. These girls would live in homes under the chaperonage of one or two elder women who might be occupied in laundry work). They would have plenty of wholesome amusement and society-. They would be called "Miss," "like a seamstress or governess"; everything is to be done to encourage and preserve their self-respect. Diantha's next scheme is that of the preparation and delivery of cooked food in an economical, wholesome, and appetising manner. This subject is carefully gone into with every necessary detail of supply and demand. Prejudices are carefully met and fought with, and employers soon learn "that a competent cook can really produce better food than an incompetent one, albeit without the sanctity of the home." "We don't brag about 'home brewing' any more, or 'home tailoring,' or 'home shoemaking.' Why all this talk about 'home cooking'?" Speedily the favoured inhabitants Of Orchardina discover that "to get good, hot meals with clocklike regularity, means reduced bills and increased health." Diantha has several other little

T schemes for the benefit of her neighbours and the world at large. She finds willing helpers. Some finance her schemes, and support her in various ways. All those who first opposed are finally brought over to her side, though they all acknowledge that the test will necessarily come when her presence is withdrawn and the homes are left to the management of the girls and their matrons. Time alone can solve this difficulty and others that may present themselves, but none who read the book can doubt that it advocates a movement in the right direction. The last person to be Avon over to her scheme is Diantha's faithful lover, but his final submission is full and free, and without reservation : "From what I hear about you in foreign lands I have at last begun to realise the nature and importance of your work. As a man of science, I must accept any truth when it is once clearly seen, and though I've been a long time about it, I do see at last what brave, strong, valuable work you have been doing for the world. Doing it scientifically, too. Your figures arc quoted, your records studied, your example followed. You have established certain truths in the business of living which are of impoiiance to our race. As a student, I recognise and appreciate your work. As a man, I am proud of you—tremendously proud of you." Of course, the book does not solve every question, and clear away every obstacle to domestic comfort; there are many cases of legitimate difficulty not provided for, as well as the numerous cases of "mistresses who want a servant at their beck and call to do their will at any hour from early morning until late evening"; but women who have "interests of their own to attend to, and who only want their homes kept clean and their food well cooked and well served," will find much to admire in the suggested system. Mrs Gilman has a pretty gift for the writing of serio-comic verse, and we cannot end this notioe better than with one excellent example, which forms the heading to. Chapter V : When the fig grows on the thistle, And the silk purse on the sow, "When, one swallow brings the summer, With blue moons upon her brow— ! Then we may look for strength and skill. Experience, good health, goodwill, Art and science well combined, Honest soul and able mind, Servants built upon this plan, One to wait on every man, Patiently, from youth to age, For leas than a street cleaner's wage. When the parson's gay on Mondays, When we meet a month of Sundays. We may look for them and find them— But not now. " The Measure of a Man." By Norman Duncan. New York, Chicago, etc. : Fleming H. Ravell Co. (Cloth, illustated, 3s 6d.) j Meet people will remember Mr Norman Duncan's stirring story, " Doctor Luke of the Labrador," in which we were presented with a fine picture of what one man, with the right spirit in him, may do for his fellow men in the wild places of the earth. " The Measure of a Man" is conceived on the same lines of brotherly service. But whereas Dr Luke's ministrations took place along the wild, stormswept, desolate coast of Labrador, John Fra.ii-meadow's chosen home, Swamp's End, " the worst town this side of hell," is situated further back, in the big woods of Canada. The " man " whose " measure '* is here given is in every way a big man, unusually tall, strong, hardy, and virile. He has above all a big heart, and having come through the fire himself, is able to understand and sympathise with the , temptations of those among whom he elects to live. The lumber Jacks not only ! gladly accept him as their "sky pilot," but acknowledge him as in every way a better man than themselves*. • Human nature in the rough is here, depicted with a faithfulness that is convincing. The illbuilt, unsanitary little town, with its 32 drink shanties and their crowd of roystering, foul-mouthed customers, every man provided with an expressive alias, such as "Billy the Beast," " Charley the Infidel," "Plain Jack Hatch," "Pale Peter." , " Gingerbread Jones," etc.. is sketched in without any attempt to soften angles or white-wash inky stains. On tte other hand the story is full of a pathetic ten- j derness which is never absent from the ' simple annals of a oeoole who live close to Nature. Pattie Batch is a sweet little i person, and the incident of her adopted , baby and her anxiety to provide it with ! a suitable foster-father because "a woman | can't bring un a boy properly," is altogether delightful. Pattie is a real ".child of the woods," and the scene in which she crowns the baby with flowers is as idyllic as anything of the kind that we have ever read. These contrasting elemental forces are manipulated with a master tend in that inimitable racy style which we have learned to call the " best American." Mr Duncan has the ability to perceive the divinity of the human soul, and impresses us with a conviction of the bravery, dignity, and nobility which may be expressed in the simplest life. He has a fine sense of humour, and portrays with great skill the comedy and tragedy of life. LITERARY NOTES. Dean Gregory, who lived to the great age of 92, loft behind him a short autobiography, which he wrote during 1902 and 1903. It covers the whole of his long life, and there are many curious reminiscences in it of the days before the Reform Bill. It is, the Athenseum states, being prepared for publication by Archdeacon Ilutton. Twenty-five years aero "The New Antigone" came from the p<;n of Canon William Barry, who, in the intervening years, has exercised his literary gifts an_d varied scholarship to good purpose. Dr Barry is one of the chief writers on the Quarterly Review, and has for long had a place of distinction in the columns of the Boofiman. One of the most notable of his books.

Heralds of Revolt," was published in 1904. Thinker and seer, ho is alive to our national perils; he dealt with one phase oi . % so . in a recent article, 'The Cleansing ol Fiction," and wo i.hall soon have from ms nana a treatise on the necessity of a moral code in our literature. The biography of his grandfather on which Lord Lytton is understood to be c-nsrased should be of unusual interest, inaamucli as the "Life, LetteTS, and Literary Kemams ' given to the world by the firs't W of Lytton in 1883 deal only with his nnViM? ° ar ? e ? tUI ilis thirty-second year. ™l7, e r P ?^ tloai memoir prefixed to the IfrT 6 ° f fi %oeeW' issued in 1874 is ennf,K™^nfi^ ed . to «» of Sir Edward S lytton s activities. His works in all I volw 6 °' v and fiU considerably over 100 ' IttTZ x A f ms the , thafc appeared n h,te,i ,^.S? 9sed h > thirty-second year | are included "Ernest Maltravers," "Alice," t Caxton.ana," and "The Coming Race'" , which created widespread interest on 'ts , anonymous publication in 1870 # The Life 10l IpS^' 6 4 ° yCars of the aut^ I ? h * rlcs Garvioe, the well-known novelist, told an amusing story of his adventure in a bookseller's shop at a recent, meeting of booksellers in Edinburgh. "I do go into the shops sometimes," he said, arid modestly eonoealimg my name meet with some stra.ngc and, I must confess, somo humiliating experiences. For instance, the other day I went into a booksellers and inquired for a sixpenny edition °t. » b »y an author whom I love. While I was paying for it I chanced to see : several of my own little sixpennies, and I I said, with a nervous affectation of indifference: 'Do you sell many of this authors; 'Oh, lor', yes,* said the worthy bookseller wearily. 'He's very popular just now; I' m sure I don't know why; he s no better than anyone else; in fact, a (rood deal worse than manv; but people will have him, say what you will. There's no accounting: for taste.' " ' When Sir Walter' Scott learned of Croker s intention to edit Boswell's Johnson he took a keen interest in the project, and on January 30, 1829, sent him a letter covering eight otceely-writton pa,g*cn, Cull of anecdotes about Dr Johnson. The old Lord Auchinleck (Boswell's father) was not flattered when he heard of his son's friendships Scott writes:—"Great was the contempt he entertained and expressed for his son James for the nature of his friendship and the character of the personages of whom he was engoue one after another. 'There's | nae hope for Jamie, man,' he said to a friend. 'Jamie is gaen clean gyte. What ' a<>, von thing, man? He's dune with Paoli. Hos aff with th© land-louping scoundrel of a Corsiean; and whese tail do you think ho has pinned himsel' tae noo, man?'— hero the old judge summoned up a sneer of most sovereign contempt—'a dominie, man—an auld dominie! He keepit a sohule and caa'd it an acaadamy !' " —Westminster Gazette. The idea which the publio might well derive from reading many novels is that to oall in a doctor is an -extraordinarily fluky proceeding, as -the medical profession is divided sharply into heroes and knaves. The heroes lead a strenuous life, succouring the siok in desperate circumstances and refusing fees; operating at the briefest I notice when a hair's breadth to the right of left in the making of an incsion would be certain death to the patient. The knaves murder, cozen, and keep bogus sanatoriums. They vivisect for pleasure, their humanity is dead within their breasts, and they pass existences that are a standing reproach to the law of the land. Now undoubtedly either sort of description of the medical life, whether the roseate glow of eulogy or the green cast of detraction is employed; does no good to anyone. As far as the publio are concerned' it cannot be useful that they should have doubts whether their doctor is a saint or a sinner, a knave or a hero. Medical men, for their part, may smile at errors in the medical details of novels, but they are uneasy under indiscriminate laudation of the nobility of their careers, and grow positively restive at some of tho allegations concerning their criminal habits. —-Cornhill Magazine. KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN'S TALK WITH CHARLES DICKENS. Kato Douglas Wiggin (Mrs Rigg), as a little girl, met and talked with Dickens, and she told tho Manhattan branch of he Dickens Fellowship the other night what the eventful cxperienoe meant to her. Children nowadays, Miss Wiggin commented, with some degree of truth, don't have time to love an author. But when eho was a girl they did. In one end of the room that was ohiefly hers, in heir home in a little Maine village, there was a black walnut book-case.. On its top shelf were "The Lamplighter." Longfellow's poems, Thackeray's "Snobs,'' and the Life of P, T. Barnum. which a grateful farmer had given her for saving tho life of a Jersey cow. Below came two or three shelves of Dickens, and she had read those 6helvesful several times. About that time news came that Dickens was coming to America. "All through his journey," 6aid Miss Wiggin, "I remember, I prayed for him every night that ho might not even be seasick. Then came the day when lie reached New York, and the day when ho reached Boston, and then one incredible day it was announced that ho was to read in Portland, only 16 miles away. "My mother was to take me to visit in Charlestown, so it came about that we were in Portland on that day of days. I can't pretend to remember what the tickets to that reading cost, but when my mother utade up her mind to go I know that the price was so extravagant, according to the stand?: rds of our village, that she was never able to livo it down. Taking me, of course, was out of the question. "No one asked me if I wanted to and I never said anything about it, but no one on any page of Fox's book of the martyrs suffered the pangs and agonies of disappointment that I did. I was still suffering them when we set out again for Boston. At our second station everybody in our car rushed over to one side, and there I saw him ! "Yes. it was Dickens—waving away a huge piece of sponge-cake that Mr Osgood, the publisher, was pressing on him. Presently he got into the car behind ours, and the train started. In a little, while I slipped away from my rnoher and got into that other car. I took the only vacant seat there was —bee'de the icc-wator and basket of popcorn. There T sat, hoping that his eye might fall upon me, and being glad that my mother had taken the old grey ribbons off mv hat, and wondering if Mr Dickens would like the new ones. "After a while Mr Osgood went into the smoking car and an invisible hand lifted

me out of my seat, drew mc up the aisle, and plumped me into the s*-it of seats. Mr Dickens was looking out of tho mn*w, but presently he turned and caught eight ol "'God bless my soul,' he cried. ' Where did you come from?' "I found myself saying that I had come from Hoilis, M«j.. and that our house was just on-the brink of the river, and that my mother and my Aunt Eliza had heard him read the night before. "'Such a little girl lias never read my books,' he began, in answer to some note of regret in my voice. " 'All of them except two or three that we are going to get in Boston,' I assured' him, and he said again, 'God bless my soul!' Then I felt impelled to confess that sometimes I skipped parts of the long dialogues. Whereupon be took out a little notebook and made me tell him where the dull parts were and why I thought they were dull, and whether there were more of them in some books than m others. And I told him, as if I were pelting him with bouquets! , ~., . " 'Which book do you like the best.' he asked, as he put the notebook away. " 'Oh I like "David Copperfield much the best,' I said, and 'Good, .so do. I, he cried back. It was the only time he v aised his voice. Then he took my hand and put his arm about my waist 1 like to think of vour having read "Copperfield seven times.' So I went on to tell him on Saturday nights and Sunday morning we never read about Steerforth on the beach, or Little Nell or Tiny Tim, because it made our eves so swelled for Sunday School. "We came to Boston at last, and he asked ,„e if I was alone 'Oh, no I aid, I have a mother,' and he replied. You re a past master in the art of flattery Then hand-in-lW we went down the. t> atiorm there was one good-bye kiss and he dwap peared from my view, but never from my There were tears in Mrs Rigg's voice as B ho concluded, and there were tears inithe eves of most of those who heard her simple tribute.—Montreal Weekly Star.