People Talked About

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue XXI, 21 November 1903, Page 2

People Talked About

The Clyde Fitch Sensations. Prolific and ingenious Mr. Clyde Fiteh. who seems never to stop writing plays and thinking out new effects, is not at present quite certain whether his sensations in “The Climbers,” his “Play of New York Life,” now being produced in London, are a success or not, says a Home paper concerning a dramatist with whose works Aucklanders made their first acquaintance during the reeent Daniel Frawley season at His Majesty’s Theatre. As an “idea,” the gathering together of the chief mourners at a funeral to talk frivolously about the deceased and his affairs, and to quarrel with- a widow who. between her tears, or her pretence at shedding them, adopts an attitude of low-comedy

voracity towards a plate of sandwiches, does not strike one as being either happy or decent. But as a stage presentation the scene goes down well enough. People who shivered at the “idea” roared at the scene. And the same appreciation has been shown, only in a reversed way, for the confession in the pitch dark. Those who were told of it beforehand roared at the “idea.” And then they shivered at the scene. So what is Mr. Clyde Fitch to think? Surely not that he is beaten! Perhaps the only thing he need consider is, How long will funeral “At Homes” and pitch black stages remain in favour? Certainly the dark scene is very effective —except to the eye. A Wall-street gambler with other people’s money has made wrongful use of a fortune foolishly entrusted to his

care by an aunt of his wife. The time comes when the aunt wants her bonds for speculation in another field, and Richard Sterling makes excuses with regard to the delay in their delivery, and is very obviously “worried about something.” His wife suspects him of having them to his own advantage, and in the presence of the aunt, the family lawyer, and the platonic lover, she begs him to confess before things get worse—to explain matters in his diningroom, from whose table the joyful Christmas dinner has been throwing off its exhilirating odours, rather than in a dock. The man bends his head, and cracks his knuckles (or seems to) like Newman Noggs, and says he is ashamed, but that he will tell her everything in the dark alone. “Then

in the dark tell it!” says the interfer ing but virtuous wife-protector, switch ing off all the electric light at one fel switch. Whereupon slowly, and witl emotion, the man is heard telling tin old story of a speculator’s downfall. Ii is a very striking passage in a strang, uneven play, and on the first night 01 the production of “The Climbers” it was accorded a most enthusiastic a<knowledgment. ® ® ® A.U.C. Football Team. In past years the students of the Auckland University College have not been as prominent in the athletic world as their Southern rivals. For some sea

uons a Rugby football team was the sole college expression of the athletic cult, und even this died at length owing to the extreme difficulty of arranging matches- There has lately, however, been a distinct revival in athletic matters. and the success this year of the football team, a photograph of which we reproduce, has been a proof of this. Last year the students of St. John’s College, who are ’Varsity men as well, entered for the Association Junior Championship, and after a very successful season came second in the competition. This year the scope of the team was enlarged, and the name was ehanged to the University Club, with the result that they carried off the Association Junior Championship (carrying with it the Falcon Cup) and the six-aside tournament.

literary Peculiarities. The way in which authors work is a topic of unfailing interest to thousands of readers —perhaps because literature is supposed to be a trade at which anyone may gain bread, or even distinction, if he be elever enough to catch the trick of doing it, no capital being required, except a pad, a pen and ink. and leisure. The recipe for novel writ ing (says "Munsey’s Magazine”) seems to be as perennially fresh as news, or c directions for preparing dishes for the table are to the readers of the woman’s page. We enjoy hearing that Conan Boyle and Sir Walter Besant scorn to use a typewriter, and write out their copy of from one to two thousand words every day with their own hands. We also like to know that Captain Charles King has grown so indolent with affluence that he talks his Army tales into a phono graph, and sends the cylinders off to copyists. Br. Boyle makes a novel ex aetly as a cook goes about making a pudding. He first selects his materials, and makes a list of them; then he goes to market in the libraries. He reads everything bearing upon each of the subjects on his list. Br. Boyle believes that the novel which lives is one that is based upon facts. Rider Haggard, like Captain King, tries to get through his work with as little labour as possible dictating everything to a secretary, and making a few corrections, Stanley Heyman writes very slowly and corrects constantly'. He says that in his experience stories often leave the lines mapped out for them, and some minoi character, which has been considered of small importance, usurps the place of the original hero before the author realises it. Thackeray used to speak to his intimates of his methods of work, and whenever he found it necessary to go over anything he would lament the fact. Concerning the chapter in "The Virginians” which somebody' else was said to have written, he de dared: “I wrote that chapter: I rewrote it four times, and every time it was worse.” ® ® ® Sherlock Holmes' Creator. Sir Conan Boyle, creator of the famous detective. Sherlock Holmes, was once asked why he did not open a detective agency, and employ his shrewd devices in solving the entanglements of others. “The knots which 1 have untied were of my own tying,” said the author tersely. “I should fail in untying other persons’ knots.” “Bid you ever make practical use of your power of deduction?” To this query’ the author responded with: “No; but on one occasion I believe 1 could have done so. I happened to step into a tailoring establishment, where an unattractive individual was selecting material for a pair of trousers. A striped design was recommended. “Not this. I have had enough of stripes. 1 am tired of them,” protested the customer. “The manner in which the man referred to stripes convinced me that he was an ex-convict. To satisfy myself, I visited a prison, examined the photographs, and was gratified to find my man’s picture in the album.”