BOOKS AND BOOK-MEN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume X, Issue 11, 18 March 1893, Page 248

BOOKS AND BOOK-MEN.

NO books at the New Zealand libraries sell better than those of Mr Hall Caine, whose portrait we publish

this week. This popular novelist has just given to the world his latest production, ‘Capt'n Davy’s Honeymoon,’ etc. It is really a comedy, somewhat after Moliere’s style. There are three separate stories in the book, ‘ The Last Confession,’ though strikingly dramatic, being hardly more than a fragment, but full of tragic pathos. The third story, ‘ The Blind Mother,’ is exceedingly touching. Admirers of this clever writer will realise that in this work he

is seen at bis best. But Mr Hall Caine is by no means wrapt up in his books. He attended a meeting of the RussoJewish Committee lately, by invitation, and gave a clear and interesting account of wbat he saw in the frontier towns during his recent Russian tour ; the object of which was an investigation into the actual condition of the Jews. Several leaders of the Jewish people who were present applauded the speaker warmly.

When we state that the indefatigable authoress of ‘ Molly Bawn ’—known to millions of colonials under the familiar title of ‘ The Duchess,’ as the most faithful delineator of English aristocratic society—is once more to be found, in her new book, quoting the last words of Lycidas as ‘ fresh fields and pastures new,’ it will be readily understood that she is still her exuberant, irrelevant, incorrigible and irrepressible self. In reading a novel by Mrs Hungerford, we are always reminded of the refrain to James Smith’s parody of ‘ The Stranger ’: — ‘ With this sentimentalibus lacrimae roar ’em, And pathos and bathos delightful to see.’

Her fascinating heroines — like the pantomimes of Sir Augustus Harris, each surpasses her predecessor in respect of beauty—are perpetually alternating between passionate floods of tears and wild outbursts of laughter. Like Erin, as the bard hath it, they have always got ‘ the smile and the tear ’ in their eyes.

It seems almost unnecessary to state that Nora Creina, alias Nora Carew (fragile, slender, exquisite), and her sister Sophie (plump, arch, charming), live in a ramshackle old Irish house, with a grim, tyrannical, and avaricious step father. It follows, by a law of Nature, that Nora has two lovers (one worthless, but young and attractive ; the other worthy, but no longer young) and Sophie one. Also that the entire neighbourhood never do anything else except keep open house for the encouragement of unlimited flirtation. Herein we conceive to reside the supreme attractiveness of Mrs Hungerford’s books in the eyes of colonial readers.

Colonials are the busiest people in the world, and, by virtue of the law of contraries, they are, doubtless, immensely impressed by the paradise of idleness invariably depicted in her pages. Nobody, by any chance, has ever any work to do. Life is one Jong procession of gardenparties, picnics, and balls, punctuated by constant spooning and mooning. Mr Cytil Ferris captures the heart of the peerless Nora by his soft speeches and good looks, but cannot break away from the wicked but wealthy widow, Mrs Vanconrt. His treatment of the latter is peculiar. Thus, in one chapter we find him taking her by both arms and swaying her tenderly, lovingly, to and fro. Anon, we find him, exasperated by her taunts, shaking her violently. When Sophie discovers her faithful Denis ensconced behind a gooseberry bush, she * hurls herself into his arms.’ In fine, ‘ Nora Creina ’ is as voluble, as inoffensively vulgar, and as vivacious as any of Mrs Hungerford’s previous efforts. Her employment of italics is as liberal as ever, and the extent of her reading is evidenced by a plethora of quotations ranging from Chaucer to Mr Robert Bridges.