LITERARY NOTES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5333, 10 August 1895, Page 2

LITERARY NOTES.

[COBBEBFONDENT " CANTERBURY TIMES."] London, Jane 15. Mr Stead having failed to regenerate poor humanity by means of Maiden I Tributes, Matteiism and Spooks, is now going to try the effect of " Penny Poats." He baa (as per usual) consulted tbe leaders of thought upon what. he pompously calla "my new departure" (as though penny booklets were absolutely unknown), and facsimiles of the replies are bound np with "Lays of Ancient Borne," which forms Vol. I. of the series. I agree with Mr Gladstone and other notables that the printing, paper and general get up of the edition are admirable, and that a better pennyworth has never been put on the market. At the same time I can also sympathise with Cassells and other reprint publishers who complain that in addition to poaching on their -preserves, Mr Stead ia trying to get an unjustifiable advantage by posing aa a benefactor to the human race. For some years past, Caßsells and the S.P.O.K. have without any flourishing of trumpets been doing the "great work of issuing cheap classics," for which, the " good man " now claims kudoß. But that has always been his little way. For apt and artful advertisement W. T. Stead is unequalled. Other men, also enterprising, publish newspapers, magazines and books in the hope of making money. The ingenious Stead seems to have no commercial instincts. It only somehow happens that his enthusiasm for humanity, whether manifested through the agency of sensations, spooks or sonnets, leaveß him when public interest in the craze of the moment collapses, so many tens or .hundreds or thousands (generally thousands) of pounds to the good. That he would tell us is an incident of the cam- ' paign and must not be confounded with the motive inspiring it. Apropos of recent honours, here is a true story of Jupiter nodding. In the antumn of 1889, Mr Besant was a candidate for the Common Council, and was defeated. Next day the Times came out with an article in its best literary style, in which certain moral lessons were deduced from the contest and cultured references made to Mr Beeant'a historical novels, •• Florence," " Venice," " Queen Elizabeth," "Samuel Pepys," &c, &c. Alas ! the luckless aspirant to aldermamo responsibilities wrb not Walter Besant at all, nor even one of his numerous brethren, but jusb a city ship broker. Words would fail to picture what passed at Printing House Square when this blunder transpired. The most original, audacious and fasoinating "shocker" which has been published for many a long day is " The Time Machine," by H. G. Welle. It relates how a strange individual whom the author calls the Time Traveller, invents a machine for whizzing through time, either into the past or future. When it is complete, he Btarts away into thousands of years hence, and the account of this Btart deserves reproduction, for ib must be pronounced a remarkable imaginative effort. Unfortunately it is rather long. You must pioture the Time Traveller mounted on the saddle of a strange-looking maohine, half bicycle, half engine, half aeroplane. He pulls a lever and starts with a jerk. "The nighb came like the turning out of a lamp, and in another moment came to-morrow. The laboratory grew faint and hazy, then fainter and even fainter. To-morrow night came black, then day again, night again, day again faster and faster still. An eddying murmur filled my ears, and a strange, dumb confusednesa descended on my mind. lam afraid I cannot convey the peculiar sensations of time travelling. Ad I put on pace night followed day like the flapping of a black wing. I saw the bug aoppiDg swiftly across the sky, leaping it every minute, and every minute marking a day. The' twinkling succession of darkness and light was excessively painful to the eye. Then in the intermittent darknesses I saw the moon spinning swiftly through her quarters from new to full, and had a faint glimpse of the ciroling stars. Presently, as I want on still gaining velocity the palpitation of night and day merged into one continuous greyness; the sky took on a wonderful deepness of blue, the jerking sun became a streak of fire, the moon a fainter fluctuating band, and I could sea nothing of the stars, gave now I and then a brighter circle flickering in the blue." At length when the dials on the maohine tell the traveller he has reached 805,000 a.». he begins fearfully to think of pulling up, and does so rather too suddenly. The result is very nearly annihilation. Fortunately neither he nor the machine, though much knocked about are seriously injured. But a big mental shock awaits the traveller. The world is nob the least what he or - anyone elee expected it to be. The traveller has landed, not as he thinks st first, in the Golden Age, but ia the Sunset of Mankind. What this eignifies I won't spoil the interest of the Btory or the elaboration of a highly ingenious theory by intimating. The Time Traveller's experiences are thrilling, especially when after his narrow escape from death at the hands of the subterranean race of blind cannibals, he escapes on his machine still further into the future, finally all but assisting at the end of the world. He retnrns safely, however, and tells his incredible story to a number of sceptical friends. Their incredulity unfortunately tempts him to undertake another journey, and from this the Time Traveller never comes back. The tale altogether is, as I began by saying, a great effort of a sumptuous imagination. Mr Wells beats Julo3 Verne hollow at his own game. [The "Time Machine" originally appeared in the coluiuua of the New Review, and in our issue of July 4 last we gave extracts from the 1 concluding article under the heading "How tbe World will Die." The articles have since been published in cheap book form by Mr W. Heinemann, the well-known London publisher.— Ed. C.ZY]