NOTABLE PEOPLE

New Zealand Graphic, Volume X, Issue 24, 17 June 1893, Page 560

NOTABLE PEOPLE

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, the American Poet Laureate, says that there is no hard and fast rnle by which a man can become a poet if he is born one. Sooner or later the world will know it ; but whoever expects to make money by publishing poetry will be disappointed. The chances are a thousand to one against him. Verse is a drug in the market. The causes for this decline in the poetical market may be various. It is, however, clear that the public taste runs in an opposite direction. The poet finds his most formidable rivals in the modern novel, the cricket field, football, lawn tennis, racing, boxing, comic songs, and the opera comique, besides which the trend and spirit of the times is ‘ how to get money ;’ therefore we fear the poet will have to wait for better times. The subject of our picture is Mr W. R. Wills, well known as a New Zealand poet. He was born at Bath, England, on January 21st, 1837, and was the youngest son of the Rev. John H. Wills, Wesleyan Minister. He came to this colony twenty years ago, and during the whole time has resided in the pretty township of Otahuhu. In early life he showed considerable ability in the art of versification, and the divine passion grew upon him as years pressed on—until he was able to publish his first volume,

now thirty years ago. Since then he has been a prolific writer, continually supplying the public press all over the colonj' with poems, upon an infinite variety of subject’. His principal medium of publicity has been the Auckland Star, for which paper he is now country contributor. Daring this last ten years Mr Wills has published several volumes of his works, amongst which are ‘ A Bunch of Wild Pansies,' * Tales of Aroby,’ etc , etc. In bringing out these works, at a great expense. Mr Wills has been very much assisted by his friends and admirers, chief amongst whom has been Sir George Grey, K C.B. Some of his songs have been set to music, and obtained great popularity, especially ‘ The Old Land and the New,’ and * Light Beats the Heart.’ That Mr Wills is a true poet there can be no question. Some of his writings have the stamp ot a very high order of poetry, and had he been content to report only his supreme moments, it would have been far better for himself and his readers; for if it be true that the greatest philosrpher or conqueror is no hero in the eyes of his valet, so likewise a )s>et who publishes his weakest efforts, needlessly damages himself, and runs the risk of being ruined. Mr Wills has ever been foremost in the encouragement

and defence of the toilers. His patriotic songa have a stately and manly ring about them, but tenderness is the prevailing sentiment of his muse. Listen to him in that exquisite gem, ‘ My Sweetest One and Best ’: * I know she kissed the rosebuds. And loved their gentle breath ; I know she pressed the pansies To her heart, now still in death. I know the loving daisies. So meek and pure and sweet. Are like my heart, now wither'd And laying at her feet. Ah! yes. she wears them upon her gentle breast. Ah! yes, she wears them, my sweetest one and best! Here Mr Wills is at his best, and clearly shows that he is made of finer clay than the majority of money-grubbing mankind. Like Barns, his heart flows ont in sympathy over universal Nature. James Adams.