page 49

Literature.

Messrs Whitcombe & Tombs have sent us a copy of The First Standard Reader of the « Southern Cross » series. According to the preface, these books are « designed to provide for the public schools of New Zealand reading lessons that will stand in more direct relation to life and its surroundings in our own land than the lessons of foreign 'readers' can do.¹ It goes on to state that conditions of seasons, climate, &c., and social and physical surroundings, differ from those of the mother country; and adds that the « meagre growth of the faculty of observation » in our public schools has been noted by « many thoughtful friends of education, » and attributes this state of things « to the fact that the reading-books in current use deal with a world to which the young in our land are strangers. » The publishers further « hope that the series will help to foster the growth of national and patriotic sentiments, which are slow in appearing in all countries. » With the leading fallacy of these remarks, we have dealt pretty fully in an article in our issue of May, last year. So far from the English schoolbooks dwarfing the faculty of observation, they should have precisely the contrary effect. Every reference to northern seasons and the circumstances of life at home and in foreign lands affords an opportunity to the intelligent teacher to explain and illustrate the differences between the conditions of the old world and the new. And we decidedly protest against applying the term « foreign » to English literature. « The growth of national and patriotic sentiments » is undoubtedly a great desideratum in the colony, and we welcome any endeavor to bring it about—anything that will counteract the miserable localism which arrays north against south, town against country, and class against class. But to lightly esteem our national traditions and our magnificent heritage of literature, and brand them as « foreign, » is not the way to bring about the desired end. After this introduction, however, it is surprising to find that the book in no way bears out the conditions set forth. There are forty-two lessons—many of them excellent—but not one is in any way colonial. There are thirty-two engravings (excluding slate exercises), and one only, representing two shearers at work, has any connexion with « life and its surroundings in our own land. » Scattered through the book are some half-dozen bald references—mostly of a negative character— to the colony, such as any pupil-teacher of ordinary capacity might interject while instructing his class. The learner is told that the race of people called Arabs live far away from New Zealand; and is further instructed that wolves are not found in these islands, that the ass is seldom seen here, and that not long ago there were no horses in the colony. There are some of Æsop's fables, lessons about tigers, bears, and other foreign beasts; but the bare references above-quoted are absolutely all we have of the natural history of our adopted land. The lesson on « The Sheep » appears to be worked up from a well-known article by the Ettrick Shepherd. In the article « Wool » we have as much as thirteen lines about the colony. Reference is made, in a general manner, to New Zealand as a sheep-producing country, to its woollen mills, and to the export of frozen mutton. The article « What Trees and Plants give us, » is vague, and makes no reference to local flora. One of its statements—that « thread is made from the stalks of flax »—is misleading. Not one child in a thousand would understand « flax » to mean anything but the phormium, the linum of commerce being little known here. We find no fault with the prominence given to wolves, bears, and tigers; but judging by the canons laid down in the preface, this feature should condemn the book. Some of the language is a little stilted, as for instance where the Cow refers to working-bullocks as « my male cousins. » While the work has many excellent points, it is not fitted to supersede the English books. We cannot refrain from commending its external features. With so much wretched bookmaking in the colony, it is quite a relief to see the work of a skilled compositor, with paper and presswork in keeping. The engravings are good—in fact, they are over-refined and too full of minute detail for first-standard pupils. It requires a trained eye to understand some of them. The rough outline sketch on p. 40 is almost the only one really suitable to a book of this kind. Why the publishers incurred the expense of special engravings, it is hard to say. Any London publisher could have cheaply supplied cliches of the same subjects, quite as well suited to the purpose. The engraving and printing are so good, and so unlike anything we have seen produced in the colony hitherto, that we should have felt sure they were done in London, but for the publishers' express statement that all the work was executed in their own establishment.

Professor Salmond's Reign of Grace has brought work to the printers, several pamphlets in reply having already appeared. The possible salvation of the heathen majority of mankind is regarded as the professor's crowning heresy, but on this point his critics are themselves grievously at issue, advocating respectively Conditionalist, Annihilationist, and Perditionist views. The pagans may thank their respective divinities that their final doom is not controlled by the reverend polemic whose « sarcasm » evokes the warm admiration of a religious contemporary.

That « God is Love, » the Gospels teach,
Our Hope, and our Salvation:
« Nay, God is Vengeance, » bigots screech,
« And Fiery Indignation! »

And eager champions take their place
To prove the deadly error
Of those who preach the Reign of Grace,
And not the Reign of Terror.

Mr Edward Tregear is coming out as a New Zealand Æsop. Here is one of his Southern Parables: — A Cuttle-fish, who had been washed ashore in a storm, was lying on the sand, trying to look as if he liked it, and had come there on purpose. Several Animals came down to the beach to look at him, and passed derogatory remarks on his personal appearance. « He hasn't a tail, » said the Lizard. « No, nor feathers, » said the Goose. « Not even a pocket, » said the Kangaroo. « Gentlemen, » said the Cuttle-fish, « You see before you the sad results of Evolution. I was an Editor. I had to issue my tale in weekly parts; my quills were used in writing accounts that were never paid; my pocket shrunk up from disuse and became rudimentary. I have nothing left now but a stomach full of ink, and a bill which if any of you will kindly back for me at three months—» The poor Editor was left alone. Moral: Journalistic gold doesn't glitter—much.

Mr Rusden, who apparently thinks he knows something of New Zealand history, has issued a little book entitled Groans of the Maoris. If any class in this colony has occasion to « groan, » it is the toiling and tax-oppressed colonists—the native race can live in luxury and indolence on the rent of their reserves. We need hardly say that Mr Rusden is the writer who was adjudged to pay £5,000 for libelling the Hon. John Bryce in his precious History of New Zealand. After the experience of Messrs Chapman & Hall with that work, it is strange that Mr Rusden should have found a publisher.

Lyrics of the Ideal and the Real is the name of a volume of poems by Coates Kinney, an American writer. He is no beginner, some of his lines dating from 1849. That he is a true poet, the following stanzas testify:

A gap is in our fireside-ring,
The wideness of a tiny tomb;
A prattle sweet as birds can sing
Has left its hush in every room.

Our hearts long for the pretty charms
Of babish questions manifold,
And for the little hugging arms
Now locked across a bosom cold.

The bright hair and the eyes that beamed
So wondrously, oh, how we miss!
And oh, the loving lips, that seemed
Fashioned so purposely to kiss.

As they, who yearning over sea,
Grow homesick for their land and kin,
So we grow heaven-sick to be
In that far land our love is in.

From Messrs Charles Begg & Co., music-publishers, Dunedin, we have a copy of the White Wings Waltz, adapted by Mr A. E. Wilson from the popular air of the same name. The waltz, which is pleasing and well arranged, has already had a large sale in the south. The cover is adorned with a fairly-executed sketch of a yacht-race. The lettering is the weak point, the publisher's name and address being much too heavy and obtrusive.

The Rev. Dr Fulton's book Why Priests should Wed, has created a tremendous stir in America. Its revelations are appalling, and are the more weighty on account of the author's unblemished record of forty years as a clergyman. Strenuous efforts have been made to suppress the book—with the result of securing it an enormous circulation.

Mr Harrison Weir, after fifty years of hard work, is still hale and hearty, and at his new home in Tunbridge Wells, is still busy at his favorite employment of drawing pictures of birds and beasts.

How completely ignorant of ordinary subjects a very learned man may be, is shewn by the following story by an Oxonian. One of the Professors was in conversation with a friend who happened to refer in a general way to Thackeray, and was surprised to see that the Professor did not understand. « Don't you remember the author of Vanity Fair? » he asked. « Oh, yes! » said the Professor. « Bunyan. Clever, but not orthodox. »