The Pacific commercial advertiser. [volume] (Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands) 1885-1921, 1896-05-09

Molly did not like The Amazing Mar
riage, that was evident. She couldn't
even finish Lord Ormont, and declined
all offers of more good Meredith
She had set down her tea cup on an
unoffending Atlantic on the library
table, and this was indirectly the cause
of her outburst, for l had been dis
cussing George Meredith before she
came with my sympathetic Emma.
l found it even worse than need be,
for 1 substituted Lord Ormont for
Jacks TriIby," Molly was saying,
when he was ready to read it, and
even now the memory of Meredith's
style sets my teeth on edge"
"StyleI' exclaimed Emma, why my
child, you surely do not read novels
for their style? Do you have prefer
ence for lola and de Maupassant? Do
you dress in Butterick's paper patterns
because style is necessary in gowns?"
Molly saw fit to pout as she took
lump of sugar.
But he pelts me with his queer
words! He covers up the story. He
puts me out of all patieneew
We all laughed. Emma laid her
hand on Molly's shoulder and held her
at arms length. Then try it again
some lonely rainy day when you are
desperate even to the reading of Lord
Ormont No, begin on Richard Few
erel. Read it alone to Jack, and talk
over it. You will admire and laugh,
and you will criticize, of course, but
your voice will break when you read
Claire's diary You will turn away
to hide your tears when you finish the
book, and you will love it as you do
Mill on the Floss"
Really, quite sermonette!
laughed Molly. IF l can merely weep
over Meredith and not hate him, l am
willing to give him one more trial.
She walked thoughtfully along the
edge of the big ring, turned a sharp
corner, then began again
Ito tell the truth, Arthur Freeman
saw me reading Lord Ormont. He is
counted clever, you know
But it takes forceps to draw word
of praise from him. was Emma's
quick parenthesis.
Eyes, we call him Sir Cynic, but clever
he undoubtedly is" persisted Molly,
land he scoffed at Meredith thusly:
Always pirouetting on the point Of an
epigram, or turning on his search
light of wit and binding you, then
burying you in his sandstone of words
Arthur remarked further that life was
too short to spend it threshing Mere
dith. At best he would never feed
multitudes.'
In the corner with its twenty pillows
was one called Sibyl and at this point
she was heard from:
Great minds-same channels-same
words, even. Pity tbs tbs true that
George Parsons Lathrop has said much
the same thing long SINCE" and she
waved her kahiH towards the table
and the Atlantic.
You can't mean it, The impostorp'
but Molly looked more curious than
fierce as she scanned the page before
her. But not all Arthur's words are
here, and he holds it as his view, no
matter who said it first. And Lathrop
evidently sees Meredith's faults too"
Yes, but he lost his wager on Mere
diths popularity. One thing, how
ever, condones his short sightedness
to me-he sees resent lanceS to Shakes
peare and Browning, which 1 found
long ago. For the rest, of course we
come on pert epigrams, long-winded-
ness, extravaganza and gordian knots
of Words Emma looked at Molly
absently and grew enthusiastic. But
love him for his very perversity.
He stimulates. Why / could be con-
soled for a day of fierce neuralgia by
a new book of his, / could live to
celebrate my centennial cheerfully if
George Meredith would publish new
book biennially. Did you ever eat an
Educator cracker? Do you know how
crisp and nutty it is, and how it makes
bone and brain. That is George
Meredith. Other novelists have way
like mush; a continued diet of this
evolves of us toothless race
This was rabid, as Molly remarked, |
but Emma gave no heed. She was |
wound UP to spin longer.
His women are his glory. Who |
else since Shakespeare has such a |
gallery-Lucy, Diana, Emilia, Rosa
mond, Lady Charlotte, Aminita and |
Corinthia Jane? They are beautiful. |
high minded, living creatures, radiant, |
spontaneous, strong and absolutely |
real. George Meredith looks out on |
life with a view that is broad and |
healthy and unerring. He is the phil
Osopher of modern progress, and it's
poet. Who is such a wizard of wit? |
Who has so much gold in his currency |
IF words?''
In her panegyric Emma had forgot
ten us, believed. Her chin was
resting on her hand, her eyes were
liked on bit of satsuma above the low
and her voice was deep
With emotion. She went on:
Some one calls Richard Feverel "a
i've coal from the altar of genius It