Britain of the Outer Seas has two Lawsons who are notable wanderers in the Inky Way, and they are often confused. Henry, the elder, was purely Australian, though he sojourned awhile in New Zealand. Will Lawson is New Zealand's own poet, since he wrote most of his best verse here, but as a journalist and story teller he also reflects Australia, where he spent his schooldays and afterwards lived in the intervals of his several residences in New Zealand. He was born in England, but came to New Zealand as a small boy.

My first contact with Will Lawson was when I set the type for his first efforts in verse for the Saturday supplement of the “Evening Post,” in Wellington.

As a young man, he went into the service of the A.M.P. Society in the capacity of clerk. Valuable years wasted. If only he could have been an engineer! But, unlike engineers, he has been a writer from his youth up.

His verses to the “Post” were signed “Quilp N.”

At the same time, Jack Barr, then serving his time under me as a comp., also began writing verse, and he had the rare experience of setting his own verses in brevier, and also the verses of “Quilp N.”

Both lads wrote good stuff, and it is a delight to me to remember that on the quality of their writing I induced both to walk permanently in the inky way.

Jack Barr (John of Aussie) got into the writing game as soon as he finished his time as a comp., and he climbed even into the editorial chair (of the Sydney “Bulletin”) very rapidly—six months, while the late Editor Prior was on the Western front with the Press Delegation.

Will Lawson took years longer to make up his mind. Deserting the indoor life, he prevailed upon his Society to let him go out on to the highways and byways of the North Island, taking a life here and there.

As a record of those dangerous days on the roads—for he was one of the early users of the erratic motor bicycle—he wrote a series of diverting special articles which were syndicated in the leading papers of the Dominion. (I had the type set here in the Feilding “Star” Office, and supplied Will with the proof slips for the other papers for simultaneous publication.)

When I went to Sydney, as President of the Australasian Country Press Association I gave Will Lawson a promise that I would try and find a niche for his special qualities as a writer. He on his part affirmed that he would get into the inky way if a suitable job was available.

Montague Grover was then editor of the “Sun,” what time it had a double staff waiting to invade Melbourne. I put the Lawson proposition to M.G.

He said he was familiar with and liked the young New Zealand writer's work. “But, Mills, I could put my head out of that window—(we were sitting in his den in Castlereagh Street at the time)—and could call up half a dozen Will Lawsons!”

“There aren't half a dozen Will Lawsons in the whole of Australia,” was my retort, “any more than there are two Henry Lawsons in the whole wide world.” I ventured the view that the “Sun” would yet be glad to get Will.

Monty G. then told me he was the busiest editor in Sydney, and would I close the door as I went out?

When I crossed the road, as it were, to Percy Reay, then editing the “Evening News,” and offered New Zealand's Lawson to him, he said at once, “I can do with a special writer of his calibre. Send him over as soon as you can.”

It was on the “News” that Will started his work in Australia. After he had shewn what he could do on the “News”—his articles were signed—he was offered a job on the “Sun” by Monty Grover. But Will Lawson would never page 52 page 53 stay “put.” Always and ever the locomotive or the sea called him, and he would be on his way somewhere else about some business or other. He has travelled in the United States and Canada, where he rode 13,000 miles on trains, often on the locomotives, for he has the engine sense which drivers soon recognise. On his return to Sydney he was on “Smith's Weekly,” which gave him a universal ticket and a roving commission to explore New South Wales, which he did by rail. His biggest trip was to the Far East for five shipping companies and the “Evening News,” which he had rejoined. On this tour he sailed in ten steamers and saw all he could in five months, on land and sea. The throb of a steamer or the rolling locomotives are as life to him.

Whether he will ever catch up on himself it is hard at this time to say. He is editing a journal in Wellington to-day. But always in all his experiences somebody benefits, for whether he puts it in verse or in prose, he gathers a tale that thrills as only the emotionalist can impart impressionalism to another.