The daily morning journal and courier., 1895-02-23


 novels to reach his countrymen, are
 translated into his native tongue, are
 facts that strike us rather strangely, I'm
 agine this country in such state of lit
 erary apathy that Crawford and How
 els and James should write stories Of
 American life in Italian or French ol
 German while we read them only in
 translations! In "A Question of Taste
 Martens tells us that there Is nc
 country in the world in which literature
 is so hopelessly in disgrace and disgust
 as Holland. Nowhere else does it eX- | pose its enthusiasts to such depths ot | poverty and insult" So he wrote in
 English, a language of which he has | complete mastery, and though his books | are now much read in Holland it is ] chiefly with the desire to identify their 1 characters and localize their descrip- | tions. It is said his nearest neighbors-- his home is an old chateau remote from | cities-know him merely as coun- try gentleman rather more indolent then themselves They may have read | some books of his yet remain ignorant | of his literary fame-he is the prophet | without honor." Yet his success has
 
 the secret of his personality. His country has awakened to the fact of his existence, and it is possible that in time even his neighbors will find him out Should we like him as well by any other name than that of "Maarten | Maartens?" Doubted. His real name, we are told, is J. M. w. (for what these initials stand is not revealed) Van der Poorten-Schwartz In these days of hurry and dispatch we have no time to finger over such a name as this. Let him be 'Maarten Martens" by his own choice and our preference.
 Those who know him best tell us lit- tie about him. As the child of wealthy parents he was sent to an English school where he learned to love our language and our literature. While still in his boyhood he was transferred from England to Germany and public school at Bonn. Then he studied at a school in France and came back to Hol- land to graduate at the University of Utrecht.
 He studied law, but did not practice, as he could never make up his mind to call white black and prove it to the satisfaction of the judge and jury And political life, to which his family had destined him, offered him no al- lurements. He had begun to contribute to the literature of the law when the ill-health of his young wife made 1t necessary to seek a milder winter cli- mate than that of Holland. They went to the Riviera and there he found the leisure and quiet in which to write his first story. This he of fered in vain to one great English pub fishing house after another. Had henot been a man of wealth we might never have known our Maarten Martens. When he was sufficiently exasperated by the obtuseness of tho publishers he had the book printed at his own ex- pense, and as its success was immedi- ate and decided he has met with no further difficulties in that line.
 With one exception his books have been written in the winters when with his wife and little daughter he sojourns in Southern Europe. The summers. usually his time of rest from literary l labors, are spent in Holland, Thus, in | little more than five years, he has given us five well-written, well-con- structed, and vigorous stories of mod | ern Dutch life, while sixth is now being published as serial
 By writing in English he has gained [ a much greater audience than he could | have hoped to reach had he written in his native tongue, and a wide cir cle of readers has been added by the of his stories into various languages. His wife, whose familiarity with one language is as great as his own, Is his wise and kindly critic. He has been called cynical, but he resents the charge since it is only upon snob bery and meanness and vice that he has turned his weapons of satire and angry scorn, while for mere foibles he has only a good humored raillery And he does not sheer at love or scoff at re- ligion since he has an abiding faith in both. And in spite of the fact that his own country has as yet very little pride In him he cherishes a genuine patriotic pride in "The Land of Pluck" and it's splendid history. He is but thirty-six, and there may be many years before nim in which to do good work. Up to this time he has surpassed his own hopes'' He considers the novel, Gods Fool" his strongest work thus lar, and it's hero, Elias, is his favorite of all his brains creations.
 MY WINDOW IVY.
 Over my window the ivy climbs,
 It's roots are in homely jars.
 But all day long it looks at the sun,
 And at night looks out at the stars. The dust of the room may dim it's
 green,
 But I call to the breezy air: Come in come in, good friend of mine! ] And make my garden fair.''
 So the ivy thrives from morn to morn, Its leaves all turned to the light; And it gladdens my soul with its ten
 der green, And teaches me day and night. What though my lot is in lonely place, And my spirit behind the bars? All the long day may look at the sun, And at night look out at the stars. What though the dust of earth would '
 dim? There's a glorious outer air
 'hat will sweep through my soul if I
 let it in,