BOOKS and AUTHORS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XV, Issue III, 20 July 1895, Page 62

BOOKS and AUTHORS.

A LITERARY CAUSERIE for COLONIAL BOOKBUYERS and BORROWERS. BOOKS mirked thus (•) have arrived in the colony, and could at the time of writing be purchased in the prin ipal colonial bookshops, and borrowed at the libraries. For the convenience of country cousins who find difficulty in procuring the latest books and new editions, the ‘BOOKMAN ’ will send to any New Zealand address any book which can be obtained. No notice will, o f course, be taken of requests unaccompanied by remittance to cover postage as well as published price of book. It is requested that only those who find it impossible to procure books through the ordinary channels, should take advantage of this offer. The labour involved will be heavy and entirely unremunerative, no *ees or commission being taken. Queries and Correspondence on Literary Matters Invited. AH Communications and Commissions must be addressed ‘THE BOOKMAN,’ Graphic Office, Auckland. , Having waited with impatience the ar- * apmans f j va j o f t j le g rst num b er o f this magazine, Magazine of f or whjcfo suc h brilliant things were proFlctlon.’ tnised, and having, I suspect, expected overmuch, I must confess myself distinctly disappointed with what lies before me. It is certainly a pity, for the first number of a magazine of this class is a matter of moment, but though the names of several of the most brilliant writers of the day appear on the Contents page, the first issue of Chapman's is by no means brilliant. Bret Harte’s serial, ‘ In a Hollow of the Hills,’ begins admirably, it is true, but with this single exception the magazine is disappointing. It is, indeed, incredible that so many well-known and justly appreciated authors could have written so poorly. It is well-nigh impossible to imagine Stanley Weyman dull, but, assuredly, he is horribly dull in the dialogue story ‘ For the Cause.’ The style adopted is utterly foreign to Mr Weyman. In adopting it he was exceedingly ill-advised, and the result is so complete, so evident a failure, that it is well-nigh incomprehensible how so ‘ brainy ’ a man ever allowed it to go forth to injure his brilliant reputation. Withouthis potent signature Mr Stanley Weyman’s ‘ For the Cause,’ would have been declined by any magazine or paper in England or the colonies. Mr James Payn is always readable ; he is always artistic, and his ‘ Notes of the Week ’ in the Illustrated are invariably delightful. In Chapman's he has a short story, ‘ The Noiseless Burglar.’ It is a welldone trifle, but here again the author is at his worst. The worst is good—far above the average, but it is not what one expects from James Payn. Then Mr Anthony Hope is not at his best either. His ‘ Bad Matches ’is clever and witty. Mr Hope, indeed, is after Bret Harte the success of the number. But though a bright and amusing Mr Hope, it is not the Mr Hope of the ‘ Do.ly Dialogue,’ or of 1 Zenda,’ or of ‘ The God in the Car ’ that we meet in Chapman's. Nevertheless, he is amusing. 111-assorted partners at dinner parties have afforded more than one humorist with a subject, but few have handled the subject better. Take for example this brace :— BAD MATCHES. SCENES KROM A LONDON DINNER PARTY. Miss Cynthia Twiston and Captain the Hon. Frank Fi.kukdelys. MUa T. (Impressively) : ‘ And the face of the figure was as plain as yours.’ The Captain (jocularly): ‘Oh, I say. I'm thought I'm rather a good-lookin' fellow—by my mother, don't you know ?’ Miss T. (patiently): 'I meant to convey that the vision was perfectly distinct.' The Captain: • Yes, I know—course you did really. Well, it's a queer go. Been dead how long, Miss Twiston f Miss T.: ‘He had been what we call dead six months.' The Captain (laughingi : ‘ Well, a dead 'tin ain't always as dead as we think. I recollect last October meetin' I laid ’ Mies T.: ' What was the meeting about)' The Captain: ‘Ha. hat Oh, but I say. somethin' just of the sime sort happened tome once. There was a Nursery at New. market, and I didn't know what to back. Well, when I went into lunch at the club the waiter said, “ There's a very fine lobster, sir.” First thing he said, you know. “Bring me a telegraphform," says I: and then and there I backed him. And he wonhands down, by Jove, without being asked, you know.' Miss T. (most patiently): ‘ Who won. Captain Fleurdelys f The Captain: ‘Why, Lobster. Didn’t I say there was a colt named Lobster ? Miss T. (brusquely): ‘No !’ The Captain (regretfully): ‘l'd back myself to spoil any* yarn. However, what I mean to say is, how did the waiter—' Miss T.: ' It's a great mystery. Don't you remember what Browning says 1' The Captain (uneasily): ' Brownin' T Miss T.: ' Perhaps you don't read poetry much T The Captain: ‘Well, a feller hasn't much time for readin', you know. (A long pause). The Butler: ' Champagne, sir 1' The Captain (eagerly): ‘ Please.’

Miss T.: * At Mentone this spring I used to sit under the orange trees—’ The Captain: * I say. but you didn't try to eat an orange, did you I I did once, for a bet. you know. Oh, Lord!' Miss T. (resuming): * Under the orange trees and steep myself in Browning.’ The Captain (respectfully): • By Jove! Didn’t you ever run over to Monte, Miss Twiston?" Miss T.: ‘To Monte Carlo yju mean? Once; only once. Captain Fleurdelys. I shall never forget it as long as I live. No. never can I’ The Captain (interested): * What happened T Miss T.: * The sight of all those wretched, wretched people 1 Oh. it makes me shudder!’ The Captain: ‘Well, they ain’t all wretched, you know. Some of 'em make their expenses and a bit over. I know I once brought off ’ Miss T.: * They are more to be pitied than those that lose—much more.' The Captain (grappling with the point of view): ‘Well, of course, if it makes a feller think he can’t lose, you know, and go a regu'ar mucker next time, I ’ MissT.: ‘Pray let us not talk about it. How do you employ your time. Captain Fleurdelys T The Captain : ‘ Eh. Miss Twiston !’ Miss T.: ‘ I mean what do you do with your life ? Everybody ought to do something with his life. Don't you think our lives are a trust I’ The Captain (in despair): ‘ Oh, well, I—l don’t know, I—l put in the time somehow, don't you know ?’ Miss T.: ‘I don’t quite understand. You put in—what?' The Captain (with sudden joy): * Oh, by Jove, I forgot, down in the country, you know, I'm a beak.' The Butler: ‘ Champagne, sir?' The Captain (radiant): ‘Please.’ (To Miss T.): ‘Yes, Im pretty reg'lar on the bench, when the hounds don't go out, you know.’ Miss T. (with wintry playfulness): ‘I know some slang. You are a magistrate, you mean ? Now what qualifications gained you that responsible position. Captain Fleurdelys?’ The Captain: ‘Oh, the governor put me on—he's Lord Lieutenant. you know—just to give me a steadier, don’t you know.’ (Miss T. raises both hands and lets them fall again. The Captain looks apprehensive. A pause.) Miss T.: ‘ And you sit in judgment on your fellow-men ?’ The Captain (conscious of an incongruity): *'Pon my honour. Miss Twiston. I let ’em down easy. I do indeed. Now when it’s a matter of a drop too much at Christmas time, don't you know, the parson always votes for seven days.’ (Impressively.) ‘I never do. I say five bob—and give him time.’ (To the Butler): ‘ Please.’ Miss T. (with an unjustifiable glance at his glass!: ' Leniency to drunkenness may be natural. Captain Fleurdelys ' The Captain : * I say. that's a nasty one !' (He laughs uneasily). Miss T.: ‘ But nothing is more mistaken.' The Captain: ‘ But, hang it. at Christmas time. Miss T wiston ’ Miss T. (suddenly): ‘ Have you read “Esther Waters?"’ The Captain : ‘ Er—no. What's it about ?’ Miss T. (with malice): ‘ Horse-racing.’ The Captain: ‘No. is it? What's the name? Esther what? Waters ? Thanks. I’ll put it down. (Does so, on shirt-cuff.) I'll get it at once. Miss Twiston. (Confidentially.) By Jove, you know, I d no idea you c ired about racin' I* Mi-sT.; *1 think it would do you good to read it.' You'll see then the fatal, the irremediable . (Her other neighbour addresses her.) The Captain (To Butler): ‘Please. (He regards the name written on his shirt-cuff with doubt. To himself I I’il try it, though. (Suddenly discovers th in his other neighbour is attractive. To her.) Er—been to the Gaiety. Miss Flutters?' Miss Flutters (eagerly): ‘Oh. yes, isn’t it fun T (Natural selection works for the rest of dinner.) The inevitable detective yarn makes its appearance under the title of the ‘ Experiences of Inspector Battle.’ The inspector is as like his numerous colleagues in fiction as one pea is like another. The first part of the investigation into the * Murder at Jex Farm ’ has no particular merit or interest. Bright and clever and of considerable promise is, however, the serial, ‘ A Hard Woman,’ commenced Dy Violet Hunt. There seems every probability that this will prove one of the novels of the year. Interesting from the very outset, the drawing of the characters promises to be of quite unusual excellence. One will certainly have to buy the second number to see how events progress in the menage of Mrs Mundey, the disagreeable but interesting heroine. But as a whole Chapman's is not what I expected it would be. One can only hope the next number may be better. The names of the contributors are famous

enough. Mrs Clifford, Crockett, Gissing, Phillpotts, Morly, Roberts, and others will be lepresented, let us hope for our own sake as well as Chapman and Hall’s, they may shine more brilliantly than this month’s constellation of literary stars have done in the new magazine.