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Authors and books.

Not long ago we mentioned that Mrs Patchett Martin had in hand a collection of stories by Australian writers. The book has now appeared. It is entitled « Coo-ee: Tales of Australian Life by Australian Ladies » and is disappointing. The fair writers seem to have been strongly attracted by the seamy side of colonial life; and the book as a whole is calculated to convey a very unpleasant idea of the colonies. Perhaps the best thing in the collection is a narrative of a bush tragedy by Mrs Campbell-Praed, entitled « The Bunyip, » which reads like a fact: this, and a trifle called « The Story of a Photograph » are little more than anecdotes. There are five stories besides. « An Old-time Episode in Tasmania » is an unpleasant tale of convict-times; « Mrs Drummond of Quantong » is a narrative of a man who coveted his neighbor's wife. It is a labored and not very successful attempt at character-sketching. « Victims of Circe » deals with the career of an adventuress; and the affectation of cynicism pervading the story is not agreeable. « The Bushman's Rest » gives a pretty vivid picture of one of the up-country liquor-dens which may still be found in the colonies, though not now so plentiful as at one time. The interest of the story lies in the adventures of a respectable girl entrapped into service in such a place. The editor modestly reserves her own story, « The Tragedy of a Studio » to the end. Her taste seems to resemble that of Budge in Helen's Babies, who used to gloat over the thought that David's sword, when he killed Goliath, was « all bluggy. » Mrs Martin's story would just have suited Budge. Whether it will be acceptable to the ordinary reader is another question. If this book represents the best work yet produced by Australian lady novelists, they have mistaken their vocation. There is a good deal of slang in the volume, and a number of native terms which suggest the need of a glossary. « Chuckiechuckies » and « quantongs, » for instance, are not self-explanatory words, and are undiscoverable in English dictionaries. We note that the erroneous spelling of « ti-tree » for « tea-tree » is used throughout; and the term is in one place strangely enough applied to the pretty but malodorous bottle-brush acacia. No one would surely dream of making « tea » of any part of a tree that smells like asafœtida. The name really belongs to certain fragrant species of leptospermum, infusions of which were commonly used as a beverage in early colonial days. We cannot forbear a protest against the idiotic word « she-oak. » The tree is not feminine, and is nothing like an oak: the word being a native Australian name mis-pronounced and mis-spelled. There is a proper way of spelling it; and it ought to be generally adopted—if not, the misleading hyphen should at all events be dropped. The botany, we notice, is uniformly weak. « Peto-sperum » for « Pittosporum » is so bad that we wonder how it was passed by the reader.

The following interesting literary note is from the Taranaki Herald: Mr Henry Young, well known to many in New Plymouth, is about to publish a volume of poems written by his sister, the late Miss Charlotte Young, thirty years ago, many of which were set to music by eminent composers such as John Blockley, Stephen Glover, George Linley, Joseph Williams, and C. Jeffreys. The poems were in advance of the age the author lived in; but they truly express the thought and aspiration of the present generation. Miss Young is favorably mentioned in Rowton's « Female Poets, » a book published in 1848, in which the writer says: « She has a large share of Eliza Cook's spirit; she possesses much of Mrs Hemans's grace, with more force, and all Miss Landon's eloquent facility, with greater purity of sentiment. » The words of Linley's well-known song « Little Nell » are by Miss Young, who also wrote « Hearths and Homes. »

Among the literary works of permanent value which New Zealand has produced must certainly be included the important work on the subject of baptism, issued anonymously a few years ago under the unfortunately-chosen title of « Paraleipomena, » and which, though popular in style, attracted the respectful attention of the most eminent theological critics, English and foreign. The author, Mr James Tyeth Hart, late of Wellington, N.Z., has now followed it up with another volume, entitled « The Maze and its Clue: an Enquiry into the Nature and Purport of Christian Baptism. » In the former work, he dealt chiefly with the difficulties attending received views, orthodox and otherwise, and with the historical aspects of the ordinance; his own theory only incidentally appearing, or being left to be inferred by the reader. The present volume, as its title imports, is of an affirmative character. It is thus reviewed in the Christian World: « The key to the problem of baptism is to be found, thinks Mr Hart, in the 'whereunto' of Acts xix 3: 'Whereunto then were ye baptized?' Any sufficient, satisfying, and at the same time Scriptural doctrine of Christian baptism, he believes, is still lacking, and he endeavors to supply the need.… The idea of washing, of ceremonial purification, was always, he holds, implied in the symbolic rite of baptism; but as a Christian rite it is washing unto something—a symbolic purification of the person baptized, in order to that person's designation by God for Himself as Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 'It is a sanctification for and unto the great name of God, as manifested in Jesus Christ… Mr Hart unfolds his argument with much earnestness, and with modestly-concealed learning. »

The Sydney Morning Herald devotes a column and a half to a eulogistic review of Mr Tregear's Maori-Polynesian Dictionary. It says: « This book is certainly the masterpiece of the Australasian press in the field of language. Messrs Lyon & Blair have produced a volume of 670 pages, which, by the excellence of its typography, its careful editing, and its general finish, might lead even an expert to think that it had been issued by one of the foremost printing and publishing houses in London. A comparative dictionary of the Polynesian dialects has long been wanted by students.… As to Mr Tregear's book, we commend it to all those who wish to understand the native oceanic languages, and to help to preserve them and their mythologies.… In commending this volume to the public, we are quite sure that all those who know anything of a linguistic labor of this kind will appreciate the value of the work which Mr Tregear has accomplished with so much laborious skill. »

The Boston Congregationalist says that the American Committee of the Revision of the Bible still keeps up its organization, and holds occasional meetings. By the terms of agreement with the English University Presses, the Committee cannot issue an authorized American edition of the Revised Bible till fourteen years after the publication of the English edition. But ten years have already passed, and the New Testament Committee can easily finish its preparation for an American edition before 1895. It is proposed to incorporate the American Appendix into the text, to furnish chapter-headings taken from the words of the text, and the references to quotations from the Old Testament in the New. Perhaps, also, the Committee will select parallel passages, and make suggestions of other changes for future use. It seems to be pretty certain that, before many years, an amended edition of the Revised New Testament will be called for, and, if provided, will come into extensive use.

Most people will be inclined to agree with the view expressed in the above quotation. The Revised Version has not given satisfaction, and cannot be regarded as final. The recommendations of the American Committee, embodied in the appendices, are with few exceptions excellent, and ought to have been adopted in the text. It may be that the accepted English version will after all come from the United States, where scholarship is less shackled by tradition, and where the Revisers will have the enormous advantage of fourteen years' additional study. The interest in the subject in America is very great, as was sufficiently evidenced ten years ago, when the New York Herald had the entire text of the Revised Version of the New Testament transmitted by the Atlantic cable, and issued in its ordinary edition the morning after the publication of the book in London —an incident without a parallel in the history of journalism.

A tradition, it appears, lingers in Merry Islington, that Oliver Goldsmith, supposed to have lived and died a bachelor, had a habitation and a wife in that suburban Village. A very interesting old book just discovered among the parish records (containing amongst other matters the local census returns for 1801) gives some little color to the story, and has caused quite a flutter among literary antiquaries. In the book appears the suggestive name of Mary Olivia Goldsmith— none other, it is now supposed, than the daughter of the poet. We have here just enough material for a pretty literary romance. There is nothing really improbable in the tradition. A secret marriage would be quite in keeping with the other eccentricities of this erratic genius.

Since Victor Hugo's death (says the Standard) the popularity of his works has been called in question by many noted literary critics. There are a few facts and figures which show that these critics are hardly wise in their generation. The poet died five years ago. The sale of various editions of his works has brought in over £296,730.

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Wherever the English language is spoken there are those who will feel that by the death of James Russell Lowell they have lost a friend. The sparkling wit, the brilliant satire, and the genuine poetry of the Biglow Papers, have placed them so far above all other productions of the kind that the wide range of the poet's sympathies, and the depth, the grace and finish of his graver work, is perhaps not appreciated as it should be. Still, the stirring stanzas of The Present Crisis will live as long as any lines that the present century has produced. The broad facts of the poet's life are so well known as to require but brief note. He was the youngest son of a clergyman, was born near Boston on 22nd February, 1819, and lived at Elmwood, his birthplace, until 1877, when he was appointed U.S. minister to Spain. Early in life he married Miss Maria White, a lady of great beauty, and a gifted poetess. She died in 1853, and one of Longfellow's most beautiful poems, The Two Angels, was addressed to his friend and fellow-poet at the time of his bereavement. Of the children of the marriage, one only, a married daughter, survives. In 1857 Mr Lowell succeeded Longfellow as professor of modern languages and literature at Harvard College. From 1878 to 1885 he held the position of United States minister to Great Britain. Lowell has a more enduring claim to regard than that which attaches to him merely as a man of letters. Like Longfellow and Whittier, he cast in his lot with the small but powerful band of writers who set themselves to awaken the public conscience on the subject of the national crime of slavery. The penalty was heavy—contempt, obloquy, persecution, and no small amount of personal danger; yet from that once-despised group has proceeded almost all that the world values as American literature. Lowell's work was tersely summed up in an article by Mr F. H. Underwood, published four years ago: « He has filled with distinction the highest place an American president has to bestow; he has come to be recognized as one of the first of prose writers; he has an enviable rank among living poets, and has produced by far the most brilliant satire in the language. »

The following extraordinary paragraph is going the rounds:— « It was stated by Dr Brown, of Bedford, at a recent meeting of the Congregational Union, that a version of the New Testament had been discovered a century and a half earlier than the manuscript on which our Revised Version has been framed, in whichthe words on which the whole Papal controversy has been founded do not exist. According to this statement, the words 'Upon this rock I will build my church' have been interpolated after the word Peter in the text, ' Thou art Peter, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against thee.' » No one with any knowledge of the subject will need to be told that the paragraph is a clumsy fiction, and a scandalous libel on Dr Brown. The three assumptions—that the R.V. is founded on any single MS., that any one MS. now or henceforth to be discovered would supersede the ancient authorities now in existence, and that the claims of Rome are based on the text in question or on any other passage of Scripture—betray the deplorable ignorance of the writer. Of the sacrilegious bigotry which would brand as spurious a text which does not square with its prejudices, it is needless to speak. The passage attacked is as well authenticated as any verse in the four Gospels.

The British Museum has secured a copy of the « Jangym, » a monster encyclopædia of Thibetan Buddhism. It comprises 555 volumes, each two feet long by six inches thick. The work, which was formerly in the possession of a Buddhist monastery in Thibet, was secured for the sum of £300.

According to the London correspondent of the Daily Telegraph, M. Alexandre Dumas has signified his approval of anonymous authorship in a preface of a half-philosophical, half-paradoxical character which he has written for a book entitled Pensées de la Solitude, just published by M. Calmann-Lévy. The dramatist, while guarding the author's secret, lets fall that he refers to a lady. M. Dumas begins by saying that his dream in literature would be to reduce all his remarks to the concise and concrete form employed by Pascal, La Bruyère, and De La Rochefoucauld, without revealing his name. Thought thus condensed would fix itself in the reader's head and develop itself like a grain of corn in a good field. No matter whence came the grain and the thought, they would serve as nourishment for the body or the soul. More than any other form, anonymity was useful for conveying condensed thought of this kind, for knowledge of the person from whom it emanated might prove disadvantageous, people being disposed to say to the known author: « ؟By what right do you set yourself up to sermonise, to reprimand, or to govern me? » M. Dumas looks upon as puerile the disposition of modern writers to say, « !I did that! » Even when fame came the known author lost some of his dignity. The celebrated man became embarrassed in a place where he was surrounded by obscure beings who envied him and tried to find out his weak points. In short, M. Dumas opines that Rousseau's Confessions would be delightful if the personal vanity of the author were not so marked in its pages, and if they could be heard as the cry of humanity, and not as that of a single individual whose name was disclosed. On the other hand, the divine tone of the Imitation of Christ would be lost in the personality of its unknown author. Coming to more mundane and modern regions, M. Dumas admits that a general, a statesman, lawyer, political orator, religious reformer, or savant should stand forth in the blaze of publicity. Men like Pasteur and Edison were condemned fatally to glory, otherwise the results of their discoveries would be filched from them. Pasteur, however, has some compensation for all this, as he is insulted, chiefly in France, and that offers him a chance of rest. Edison's deafness helps him to escape the importunities of those who admire or wonder at his marvellous works. Thus M. Dumas argues on for page after page, until he eventually deems the authoress happy in her anonymity, because people will not be able to speculate on the shape of her dress or the color of her stockings.

Among the most popular religious writings of the day are those of the Rev. Mark Guy Pearse. Of Daniel Quorm, 86,000 of the first series and 36,000 of the second have been issued, and of Mister Horn, 26,000. A cheap edition of Thoughts on Holiness has had a sale of 54,000; his sermon for children, 24,000; and other works, 14,000, 17,000, and 24,000 respectively.

The credulity of collectors of curiosities is proverbial. So good an example, however, as is shown in the following paragraph, now on its rounds, is not often met with:— « It is remarkable what treasures in the shape of old printings can at times be picked up in some of the old-curiosity-shops of the present day. A gentleman in Wellington, who is a collector of old publications, was recently lucky enough to purchase, among a bundle of ancient newspapers, one styled the Mercury dated as far back as 1588, several exceedingly well preserved copies of the London Times, each containing a full account of some great historic event. » These are described in detail, from that of 26 January, 1793, narrating the execution of Louis xiv, to 22 June, 1815, with the account of the Battle of Waterloo.—The treasure referred to had long been lying in a forlorn and fly-spotted condition in an « old-junk » shop in the city. How any one could take the papers, which were stitched together pamphlet-fashion, for originals, is a mystery. They were a batch of lithographed copies, issued five or six years ago, with a printed cover and introduction, by one of the minor English publishers. They could be bought new and complete, not long ago, at a shilling each. The value of the prize, which was soiled, and minus cover and introductory matter, would be about one penny. The original of the Mercurie referred to is in the British Museum, where for a time it was highly prized as the first English newspaper. Quite a different interest attaches to it now, and it is preserved as an example of skilful and audacious forgery.

Benjamin R. Han by, the composer of the popular song « Nelly Gray, » was the eldest son of the Rev. William Hanby, a bishop of the United Brethren Church, living at Westerville, a town north of Columbus, Ohio. He was a musical genius of great promise, but died in early manhood. His eldest sister, Mrs Amanda Bilheimer, is the wife of an African missionary.

It is not often that we hear of an action like that of Lady Burton, who has deliberately burned a manuscript for which she had been offered six thousand guineas. It is the more noteworthy, as she is far from being wealthy. The coveted book was a translation by her late husband of « The Scented Garden, » a collection of Arabic tales of much scientific and literary interest, but saturated with the filth in which the Children of the Desert delight. Believing that it would be sought after far more on account of its obscenity than for its scientific value, and that it would, if published, become a source of incalculable moral evil, she committed it to the flames.

Here is a curious reminiscence of Wordsworth by the late Frank Marshall, editor of the Henry Irving Shakspeare: « I saw Wordsworth often when a child: he used to come to my father's house—Patterdale Hall. Once I was sent to the garden by Mrs Wordsworth to call him to supper. He was musing there, I suppose. He had a long horse-like face. I don't think I liked him. I said, 'Your wife wants you.' He looked down at me, and answered, 'My boy, you should say "Mrs Wordsworth," not "your wife." ' I looked up at him, and I replied, ' ؟She is your wife, isn't she?' Whereupon he said no more. I don't think he liked me, either. »