The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1892-06-12

think l am doing well. or course, there
are days when | do more. But there are
others and more when l do less"
Mr.. Hardy then went on to speak Of his
work now on hand.
"The Graphic he said, "haS now a story
of mine, the last have written, in which l
have taken more interest than in any OF my
stories. OF course do not know how the
public will take 60 it. Ihave another in my
mind, but as yet have made but a few
notes of 1t and am still considering the
plot.n
asked Mr.. Hardy his opinion OF the GUS
tom favored in some quarters Of writing a
story from week to week or month to month
as it may be published, and found he held
decided opinions on that subject.
II should not care to write a story from
week to week, -" he said. 81 have done it
from month to month, though. The present
one is complete. | do not care to write
them as they are being published. Some
times in the middle of the story a good
point strikes you which you might have
embodied in the commencement, but which
you cannot use now that the opening chap.
ters are printed.
I'm the matter OF plot the novelist went
on II am inclined to be what, you might
call irregular usually let the charac-
ters work out the story for them
selves. People sometimes object to the
ending of story. They say
Why did the author make his mar
rative end in this tragical manneri We'll,
1t very often happens that you get to the
middle OF story with the intention OF max.
ing 1t end happily. and then you find that
the characters which have grown up in your
hands will act in a certain manner.
Now" said the novelist, turning upon
me as though were one of the critics, what
are you going to do with characters who do
thatp
l begged the question.
"Well," said Mr.. Hardy, "unlesj you fall
sify your characters you must make matters
end as they would ia real life. IL you do
otherwise you have an unpleasant feeling
that you are telling q falsehood.n
Then the question came under discussion
that is constantly being asked and does not
seem TO ever be satisfactorily answered. 1t
was as to whether novel writing pays
Mr.. Hardy does not think it does.
81 should not, he said, "advise any one
to engage in literary work unless be were
prepared TO earn one-half the income from
it that be would gain in another profession
by the same amount of work. AS for my
self, was educated an architect, but l was
always fond of soribbling. and you know
the result"
ventured to say that the results did not
appear so discouraging as MIR. Hardy was
inclined to think. But he changed the
subject to American literature.
II think there Is great futureifor Amer
lean literature ~ he said. "There ia no doubt
that there is an enormous mind or series of
minds in America which will work some
day. 1t is curious that Americans don't
seem to realize what is behind them OF
course their literature is at present in its in
fancy. l suppose that has principally been
owing to the want of a copyright law"
But do you not think that American
writer's are gradually cutting away from
old methods and models - asked.
Most decidedly" answered Mr.. Hardy.
Il think that American authors will gradn-
ally develop a style of their own. You see
it has always been the case that a new
school has modelled itself upon the oldor
school, whether in literature or in paint
ing"
Then there was some talk of American
authors.
81 like your Howells and your Henry
James," said the Wessex novelist, 'and /
greatly admire your Walt Whitman.
He was a great old man. like
And do you know l AN very fond Of some
of your unknown writer's. mean
those whose names are either not
familiar TO me or not signed to their work.
Their short stories in your magazines are
sometimes delightful. You will hear more
or them some DAY. a u very fond Of short
stories and like to write them myself. [
particularly enjoyed writing my Book Of
Noble Danes You see their period was
not 90 far back as to be out of our sympa-
thies, and vet was remote enough tn have a
certain amount OF romance about it. A
middle distance, so TO speak, that struck my
fancy"
So Mr.. Hardy chatted on OF reviewers
and reviews and OF this thing and that,
always in the same CHEEKY, genial way.
There was a bundle OF proofs on mis- desk.
but l inferred that it was part Of his work
OF the next day to correct these, for he paid
no attention to them
He arose as | was leaving. and putting on
his hat came little distance down the hill
from bis house with me.
Most of my characters" he said, as we
walked along, ARE from real life a d are
but thinly disguised. Nearly all Of them,
since my first successful novel, Under the
Greenwood Tree was published twenty
years ago, came from this country right
about here. Down below there a few years
ago you might have seen Winterbourne
Game rectory, the abode Of William Barnes.
the poet. He is dead now OFF yonder,h
said the novelist, pointlag to the dis
tance SIS Came plantation that was and
Corygrove Hill and Blackdon Hills, where
the monument TO my ancestor, Sir Thomas
Hardy, stands, and away there in the other
direction is Egion Heath. All of these
places have produced characters for me and
love them, as, indeed, l do every bit Of
Dorset orchard and heath and marsh aud
woodland D."
And when babe him good evening. for
the sun wa' setting, Lighting up the gorge
and woodland with dull crimson hue, the
novelist was still standing there looking out
over the country that he has peopled with
children Of his fancy. On the way to meet
my train | trod the road over which the
mayor of Casterbridge must have Travelled
in his DAYS Dawn WECHsrEp