LITERARY NOTES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5460, 11 January 1896, Page 6

LITERARY NOTES.

[COEEESPONDENT "CANTEBBURY TIMES."] London, Nov. 8. Messrs George Eoutledge and Sons have juet added to their florin series of sporting books Nat Gould's " On and Off the Turf in Australia," a chatty olio, podrida of racing reminiscences.

I have also received from Messrs R, Bentley and Sons a copy of a now novel by Mr Kenneth Mackay, of New South Wales, called "The Yellow Wave," which appears to describe the conquest of Australia by the Chinese. It is spiritedly illustrated, and looks quite an exciting story, but I'll tell you more about the book next week.

"The Secret of J;he Australian Desert," by Ernest Favenc, is a moderately good boys' book, and that 5 s all. The author of "Tales of the Austral Tropics" can, I'm sure, do much better work than this.

Mr H. B. Yogel has had a bold yellow coyer traversed by a Beardsleyan damsel •winking her other eye at a more or less delightod public,- done for Eood's Annual. He talks of selling 100,000, and an edition of 20,000 wjll be sent to the colonies next month. Certainly, if the contributions are as smart as the contributors' names, Hood's Annual should be a good shilling's worth. To find Mrs Lynn Linton sheltering under the same editorial wing as "Iota" and "Alien" is of itself a sweetly subtle joke, almost worth the cost of the booklet.

" The Crooked Stick or Pollio's Probation," Eolf Boldrewood's new story, is a simple love tale, laid, in the main, on a big station called Corindah, in New South Wales, and relying for its situations oil the authors vivid pictures of bush life. Aus^ tralians may find its simple record of every' day existence up-country too familiar to be absorbingly interesting, but Englishmen and boys will delight in it, and, as a corrective to the absurd notions current in many quarters regarding the Antipodes, its value (like that of "A Colonial Eeformer") can scarcely be over-rated.

Hume Nisbet is restored to the Old Country, and brings with him from your part of the world "fresh material for new stories." He was at Naples when the Oroya was wrecked, therefore the Evening News thinks his next story will deal with marine disaster. What perspicuity is here.

The best shilling Christmas annual I have seen this year is Phil May's, which not only brims with characteristic drawings by that erratic'genius himself, but contains a ballad by John Davidson, some reminiscences of notorieties who weren't celebrities, called " Gods , I Have Known," by Grant Allen, and a story by H. G. Wells, entitled, "The Argonauts of the Air," as well as tales, &c, by smaller fry. Davidson's " Ballad of an Artist's Wife," varies* slightly the motive of the " Ballad of the ! Nun," but has no lines equal to several in i the latter. Here, however, are Mr DavidBon's ideas of the end of the world presumably collated after a ride on the Time Machine. The sun began to Emoke and flare ' Like a spent l&mp about to die ; The dnsky moon tarnished the air t The planet 9 withered in the sky. \ Earth reeled and lurched upon her road, Tigers were cowed and wolves nfew tamfc v Seas shrank and rivers backward flowed, And mountain ranges burst in flame. In the "Argonauts of the Air" Mr Wells gives us a thrilling account of the trial I trip of Monson's flying machine, and the terrible catastrophe with which it concluded. Note in Temple Bar for November a most interesting article entitled "My London Seasons," by Lady Dufferin. It is full of tittle-tattle about interesting people. By way of atonement for all the spiteful things she and her brother said in the " Silver Domino," Misß Marie Corelli undertook in her last novel to whitewash Barabbas and set Judas Iscariot right with the world. So pleased was the lady with her success in these respects that she has now ventured on even a sterner task, and in " The Sorrows of Satan " endeavours to mitigate an uncharitable world's .view of the Devil himself. That at least is what I'm told, for. I have not aa yet read the book — which came out in one volume at six shillings yesterday. The reviewers wore so basely prejudiced and unjust in their notices of " Barabbas " that Miss Corelli announced she would not Bend t out press copies of " The Sorrows of Satan." , Apparently, however, she has thought better of this resolve, for it appeared in the list of "books received" in Friday's Athcnieum. Miss Corelli continues to point to the financial success of "Barabbas " aa proof positive that the verdict of the reviewers was not confirmed by the public^ | But, of course, that is nonsense. Because curiosity stimulates us to read this or that literary abortion, we are not to be taken to approve of such things. " Nana " and "La Terre " and " A Babe in Bohe. niia" sold . by tens of thousands, yet not one person in a hundred had a good word for any of them. As I have told you before, I do not myself dislike "Barabbas." Its theories, if audacious, are ingenious, and its tone seemed to me to escape irreverence. I can, however, quite understand Church folk, Anglicans and Roman Catholics, loathing it. Miss Corelli is as full as the proverbial egg herself of prejudices, , but for those of others • she can make no allowance. For the lack of critical sympathy the little lady can, however, boast' consolations. Royalty approves her. H.R.H. the Prince of Wales is anxious about Satan, and has begged for an early copy of the story of his sorrows, and the Queen keeps a set of the Corelli romances on her bookshelves. To a lady like Eric Mackay's sister this meana much.

From the rapidity with which new " Peeu. donyms" and "Autonyms" issue from Mr Fisher Unwin's extensive establishment in Paternoster Square, I conjecture they command a very large public. The average of excellence is certainly surprisingly high on the whole. Mr Beck's "By Reef and Palm "and Mr Scully's "Kafir Stories" are of themselves sufficient to give the Autonym series a reputation, whilst that of the Pseudonyms •was made long ago. The newest Pseudonym, " A White Umbrella," cannot be mentioned in the same breath as the best of them, but it contains in the title tale a naturally-told little love story. Mr Unwin's newest series of all is the "Century," which consists of illustrated novelettes reprinted from the magazine of the same name. Ouida's " Toxin " opens the ball, andmakes a dainty and tempting little volume.

There is really nothing fresh to be said about those annuals of improving- Teading, the Leisure Hour and the Sunday at Home, except that their numerous patrons might possibly welcome an occasional change in the purveyors of the serial storips. Miss or Mrs "Leslie Keith" is one of the most attractive writers of her school, but she has now been a stock dish on the Leisure Hour for a good many years, and so has Miss Evelyn Everett Green on the Sunday at Home. In 1896 (the. new volumes begin with the November parts) the Eev Fred Langbridge will do an Irish etpry, "The Dreams of Dania," for the Leisure Hour, E. Boyd Bayly contributing a tale dealing with social questions, entitled "IForestwyk," John Habberton (author of "Helen's Babies") a novel called "Everybody's Chance," and Leslie Keith "A Eeal Treasure." The Sunday at Home serial will be "Doctor Adrian: A Story of Old Holland," by D. Alcqck. The miscellaneous features of the Leisure Hour are, perhaps, a trifle stodgier than usual. Surely sets of articles on "The British Museum," "The Eoyal Society and Its Presidents," "The Water Supply of Our Cities" and "Modern Hygiene in Practice " sound a little beyond the servants, small tradesfolk and middle-class families for whom this magazine specially caters. Unless it desires to be completely bowled out by admirable pennyworths like CasseHs's Family Journal and other .latter-day productions, the Leisure Hour must brisk up a bit and adopt (occasionally at least) a lighter vein.