A recognised literary rendezvous in Auckland, the Unicorn Press in Kitchener Street, has changed its name and its ownership. In future it will be known as the Griffin Press with Ronald Holloway in charge. Because of the change it will not lose any of its literary interest, for the rather ascetical looking, yet extremely youthful owner is popular with the poets, artists, and printers of Auckland. He is known as the most artistic young printer in this country, the chaste simplicity of his typography attracting attention even overseas. Holloway's artistic mind has been behind many unusual booklets and pamphlets published over the past few years in this little shop in Kitchen Street. In the same premises one meets from time to time several of those sometimes quaint and certainly clever writers of which Auckland is proud—D'Arcy Cresswell, R. A. K. Mason, “Robin Hyde,” A. R. D. Fairburn and others. And, of course, Miss Jane Mander sometimes calls there, and very often lean, hungry looking poets, and 'varsity students hover around, looking as though they have been trying out a frugal diet of printers' ink and newsprint. In spite of its Bohemian atmosphere the work at the Unicorn—or as we must call it now—the Griffin Press, proceeds steadily. These young printers of Kitchener Street are reliable as well as artistic.

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It is good to see “The New Triad” growing in size and interest. The latest number is one of 32 pages, and contains a small camera study supplement. In addition to literary matters the bi-monthly deals with music and the stage. It is a modest 4d. per copy from N. F. Hoggard, Hand Craft Press, Times Buildings, Wellington. It is a coincidence that “The New Triad” should be published in a building so redolent with memories of Frank Morton of the original “Triad,” which, of course, was a robust publication in comparison with its modest little successor.

I think it was John Barr (author of “Men and Other Sins”) who once said that verbiage is the carcase of journalism and brevity the soul, but the breviteer has to be much more than an axeman. This came to my mind when I read a newspaper report of a tragedy: “John Dixon struck a match to see if there was any petrol in his tank. There was. Aged 56.”

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The other night we were quoting examples of crushing replies received by writers through the reject columns of various journals. The best was from the harassed editor of a certain literary magazine whose reply to an alleged poet who had submitted to him some verse entitled “Why Do I Live?” was “Because you sent it by post instead of coming around with it.”

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Due for publication this month is J. H. E. Schroder's “Remembering Things.” In a preliminary announcement the publishers (Dent's) state:—“This is a book of true essays—not

The bookplate prepared for Mr. F. W. Reed, Whangarei, for use with the Garnett collection of the works of Dumas, which will be presented ultimately to the Auckland Public Library.

sketches or stories—in the lighter vein. Some are concerned with general topics—buses and trams, boots and shoes, sheep, noise, whiskers, and what not; others touch on literary criticism, though the subjects, whether persons or books, are chosen for their intrinsic humour, conscious or unconscious. There are in addition two or three essays of particular local interest in New Zealand, the home of Mr. Schroder, and some of the essays have appeared in ‘The Sun’ and ‘The Press’ of Christchurch, papers with a literary reputation in and beyond New Zealand. Mr. Schroder's work is distinguished throughout by charm, humour, and culture, and is worthy of comparison with the best essayists.”

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