LITERARY NOTES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3442, 2 March 1920, Page 62

LITERARY NOTES.

—Mr William de Morgan's posthumous novel, "When Ghosts Meet Ghosts/' consisted, I believe, of -well over 200,000 words. The indefatigable "Rita," however, has gone one better in her new book, "Diana of the Ephesians," which just tops a quarter of a million. Tho mere thought of tackling a task of this size would be enough to make some novelists commit suicide, but such is the amazing fluency with which "Rita" writes that she managed to produce the whole of Diana in the course of three months. An attempt to run a daily newspaper in London was made in 1695 —with the Post Boy. It had a very brief existence, and not till March 11, 1702, was the first daily newspaper successfully launched. This was the Daily C'ourant, which appeared three days after the accession of Queen Annie. It was printed on one side only of a sheet measuring 14in by Bin. The blank side was Utilised by persons in London for the purpose of writing to their friends in the country and so combining a personal with a news letter. The proprietor was E. Mallet, and it was published "next door to the King's Arms Tavern at .Fleet Bridge." Meet street was, therefore, the birthplace, as it now is the centre, of daily journalism.

The numerous biographies by distinguished generals and admirals, showing how each of them won the war, was the most prominent feature of the autumn publishing season, which has now reached its end. The impression left on the public mind by these books (3ays a correspondent) is one of amazement that iji the face of the continuous blunders by colleagues and contemporaries of these distinguished generals and admirals, the war was won. But these egotistical authors, in disparaging the public services of others, have revealed that they are not superior to petty jealousies. In destroying other public reputations they have also destroyed their own. The revelations contained in these biographies show with what little wisdom the world is governed, and on what shallow foundations great reputations have been built up. _ cany" Miss Katherine Hooker relates_ a number of interesting legends and stories. One comes here and there in many of the little towns upon the sacred" initials with which St. Brandano signed his presence all over Italy. There is a pretty story concerning the origin of tho Divine monogram which says that a maker of dice came to him. one day and remonstrated against his exhortations.' "You pity the poor," he said, "but what is that to us if you take away our living? The people no longer buy my wares." The saint looked at him smiling, and presently traced for him the letters 1.H.5., bidding him cast aside his wicked trade and, instead, inscribe the' holy letters upon small panels and sell them in place of those incitements to an evil life by which he had hitherto made his living. This the man did, and prospered thereby. History!.' (Newnes, Is 2d), Mr Wells writes a most fascinating chapter on "Sea Peoples and Trading Peoples." The first boats were made very early by riverside peoples. They were no more than trees and floating wood, used to assist the very imperfect natural swimming powers of men. Then came the hollowing out of the trees, and then, with the development of tools and a primitive carpentry, the building of boats. Men in Egypt and Mesopotamia also developed very early a type of basketwork boat, caulked with bitumen. Such was the "ark of bulrushes" in which Moses was hidden by his mother. A kindred sort of vessel grew up by the use of skins and hides expanded upon a wicker framework. To this day cowhide wicker boats (coracles) are used upon the west coast of Ireland, where there is plenty of cattle and a poverty of big trees. Some storiss concerning George Morland, painter and prodigal, are given in John o' London's Weekly. Asked to claim the baronetcy that was his by right, Morland retorted that "George Morl&nd, Painter,'' was quite as good as. "Sir George Morland, Baronet." . He went on. an expedition with a ventriloquial friend in search of a salmon for dinner. Seeing one on a fish-wife's stall, they tried to bring clown its price by saying it did not seem fresh. This being" - indignantly denied, Morland asked the fish-wife whether she would believe the fish, if it spoke itself. "By , you are a fool to say a salmon can speak," she tittered. Morland asked her to hold the fish to her ear. Giggling, she called a neighbour to listen, too. There was a pause. Suddenly from the fish's mouth came: "You know I stink, you lying ——, you !" "Fine old English Yiolin, by Joseph Withers, a product of -this master's eighty-second j'ear. Price on application." Future generations of violinists will probably see some such offer as this in the advertisement columns of the Strad. for Mr Joseph Withers, an acknowledged master of the luthier's craft, is now. although nearly 82 years of age, still makine- fiddles in a small room not far from King's Cross. "I found Mr Withers" (writes a Daily Herald representative) "busily engaged in shaping out the back of a new fiddle from a piece of Irish sycamore. It is a far cry from the shipwright's yard to the luthier's bench, yet it was to tho former work that, at the age of 14, Mr Withers was apprenticed. He worked at a Blackwall shipbuilder's until 1879, in which year he took up fiddle-making in earnest. Long before this, however, he had been experimenting in making and repairing violins, and had frequented all the exhibitions of fiddles he could find. 'You see,' he said, T was meant to make fiddles, and so, of course, I simply had to make them.' And in spite of_ his years he has no use for any aid to his eyosight ; "_ A book of travel and of reminiscence written with care by one whose scientific interest in men and the world has not, in 80 yeans, dulled his sense of beauty and wonder is the description given of "My Reminiscence*," by Raphael Pumpelly, a famous geologist. Mr Pumpelly's book is at once a curious and a fine performance. It covers such a variety of interests and such a long period (the a.uthor produces from his retentive memory things that_ happened nearly 80 years ago) that it is an inadequate summary to call it a story _ of one who has held the respect of geologists and travelled in America and Europe for over half a century, has met with adventures in tho mountains, deserts, and seas of three continents, at the age of 67 again set out on his travels to satisfy a life-long desire to know whether Central Asia was tho nrimitive home of the Aryan stock (he already had the credit of the first attempt

ever made to study on broad linos the geology and mountain systems of NorthKastem Asia), and has met more celebrated people than could be named in an hour. He has enjoyed himself immensely, and tho liveliness of his narrative puts out of mind the fact ihat it is a very old man who is talking. After extensive geological explorations in Japan and China and on the tableland of the Gobi, he came to England with the results of his work, the first of its kind in the Far East He brought with him, too, a letter of introduction to Sir Charles Lyall from Professor Cotta. Ho thought that Lyall, one of the heroes of his youth, would be interested in his researches, and he had for years looked forward to the interview. Lyall received him in his study. He said: "Sir Charles, I have carried for six years a letter to you from Professor Cotta." Sir Charles took the letter. "As he read it I saw his brow darken; then he got up and, glaring at me, said crossly: 'You couldn't have done a worse thing than bring me a letter from Cotta. He made a miserable translation of my book.' Then he sat down and turned to his work. That w r as all; it was a dismissal, and I left." Fortunately for the reputation of English scientists, Mr Pumpelly was well received by Lyall's confreres.