Literature.

Colonial writers, if they are unable to secure fame, have lately been pretty successful in obtaining passing notoriety. The remarkable financial success of such commonplace and vulgar stories of crime as the Hansom Cab and Madame Midas, and in a lesser degree, of Colonists,—ill-conceived, ill-written, impossible, and altogether unwholesome as they are—has brought out a shoal of amateurs who could not hitherto find a market for their crudities, but who believe, and perhaps rightly, that their productions are equal to those which have proved so successful. Systematic advertising has been an important factor in the success of these ephemeral « dreadfuls, » which in a few weeks pass into the limbo of utter oblivion. Sir Julius Vogel has a novel in hand, which he has managed to puff in advance in the most ingenious manner, by shewing to one press correspondent (in confidence) a smart chapter in Ms., to another an outline of the story, and so on. Yet he has had considerable difficulty in finding a publisher willing to undertake any responsibility in connexion with the work. Sir Julius Vogel possesses one important qualification for this department of literature—a vivid imagination—as his old financial statements sufficiently prove. If we may believe the preliminary notices, he has had the bad taste to introduce under thin disguises, colonial politicians with whom he has been associated in his past career. This fact alone condemns his book as a literary work, and reduces it to the level of a political pasquinade—clever, no doubt, but worthless.

We are glad to welcome a genuine colonial publication of a really high literary standard. From Mr J. W. Craig, bookseller, Napier, we have received the first two numbers of the Centennial Magazine, a shilling monthly, published in Sydney. The new magazine has a well-designed cover, and an original feature is the style of the advertising pages, which are produced by a photo-zinco process, and decorated with appropriate designs. The illustrations are exceptionally good, being from the leading artists in Australia, and the literary matter is higher in quality than in any preceding Australian magazine with which we are acquainted. The magazine is prominently and distinctly Australian, without a trace of the so-called « nationalism »— the anti-English movement which affects to call English literature « foreign, » and howls at the National Anthem as a « party tune. » This party, noisy and mischievous as it is, represents a small and thoroughly disreputable minority; and it does not, and scarcely could be expected in any way to influence, a high-class periodical like the Centennial. The first number opens with a « Proem » in five stanzas, by Gilbert Parker. We quote the last stanza, the subject being « Australia »:—

In the clear circle of a hundred years
Great-hearted deeds have chronicled her worth;
Conquests of peace: no price of blood and tears:
Her voice is known in councils of the earth;
And as one hears in a primeval wood
With sound of choppers, the sweet song of birds,
So her strong life with competence of good
Forgets not how to utter Nature's words.

A capital and well-illustrated short story « The Night Express » follows. Mr James Smith contributes an essay on « Shakespeare and the Rabble, » in which he freely translates Panem et circenses into « Wittles and skittles »! « A visit to King Island » gives an interesting account of one of the off islands of Tasmania, and is illustrated with charming vignettes. Mr G. W. Griffin contributes personal reminiscences of Miss Mary Anderson, whose classic face is represented in a good engraving. A painful interest attaches to « Pensées » -stray thoughts by the loyal and gifted W. B. Dalley—whose work in this world is now over. Mr J. Brunton Stephens has a characteristic contribution— « The Song of the Gentle Anarchist, » who would « shoot a Czar, or wreck a train, blow Parliament sky-high, but none can call me inhumane—I wouldn't hurt a fly, » and the burden proceeds

I wouldn't hurt a fly;
And why, indeed, should I?
It has neither land nor pelf that I covet for myself—
Then wherefore should I hurt a fly?

Passing over some articles, we come to an elaborate and well-illustrated paper on the carved and painted rocks of Australia, and their significance, by A. Carroll, M.D. The engravings shew considerable power in some of the representations of beasts and fishes by the rude aboriginal artists. These inscriptions, according to the author, represented the sacred mysteries, and the prominent carved rocks mark off tribal boundaries. « Before he could attain a full knowledge of the significance of the carvings, it was necessary for every young man to pass in the course of his initiation through six degrees of instruction. For example, although Biame, the god, was drawn in the figure of a man for the edification of those who had passed through their first three degrees, he was conventionally represented by a zigzag line indicative of lightning, or by a spear or a boomerang, for those who had taken their fourth, fifth, or sixth degree. » Mr Francis Leith Adams discourses on « Realism. » The judicious reader will skip this essay, to which we have referred more fully in another paragraph. A brief illustrated article on the Melbourne exhibition completes the number. —The September number contains the opening chapter of « A Sydney-side Saxon » by « Rolf Boldrewood. » The story is powerfully written, and if circulated in English agricultural districts, would make more impression in favor of the colonies than half-a-dozen emigration agents. One of the illustrations, by C. H. Hunt, representing an old couple on their way to the poorhouse, is full of true pathos. Mr G. G. McCrae contributes « A Note on Paul and Virginia, » which will be interesting to every reader of St. Pierre's immortal idyl. The localities of the story are traced, and there is a little engraving of the rough cairn of stones overhung with tropical growths, marking « the tomb of Virginia. » « Miss Essie Jenyns, » is a biographical sketch of an Australian actress of real genius, and is illustrated with three portraits. « In spite of her strong personal attractions, » says the writer (Mr G. M. Thompson), « Miss Jenyns is not engaged to be married. » This was published in September. Miss Jenyns has since married, and retired from the stage. We object to the funereal initial M which the comp. has seen fit to prefix to this biography. Several letters of the same series appear in other articles, and they constitute the only typographic flaw we have noticed. The series was engraved by a German house for the memorial work in fashion in the Fatherland, and every letter is adorned with some grim emblem of the tomb. We need hardly say that these letters are seriously out of place as ordinary decorations. « The Yarra » is an interesting sketch, illustrated with pretty vignettes. « Some Curious Eyes, » is an article on an abstruse scientific subject. There is a good deal about « the pineal eye » —a central eye possessed by certain extinct animals, and now existent in rudimentary form in living creatures. It is interesting to know that the tuatara, or Hatteria lizard of New Zealand, has this rudimentary organ best preserved. « An Old Faith in a New Land » is an anonymous article, giving an enthusiastic account of the life and labors in the Australian colonies of the pioneer priests of the Church of Rome; from which it appears that that church was in receipt of handsome grants from the state in the early days. There is a study, with portrait, of Matthew Arnold, by Francis Anderson, who traces the poet through what he terms his first, or Greek period; his second, or Stoic period; and his third, or Christian period. The accuracy of the last definition is open to question, and the author himself acknowledges that « Arnold parts company with the Christian conception as ordinarily understood. » We have not space to note several articles of minor importance. We hope that this attempt to produce a literary periodical, embodying in compact form the best results of Australian literature and art, will meet with the success it merits. The encyclopædiac weekly papers—marvels as they are of energy and enterprise—are simply the tomb of literature.