to indicate why so little of the work
already done is the work of native writers--why the existence of much of
the best of it may almost be considered accidental. And while a refusal
to take the trouble of independently judging the worth of a local
artistic product may or may not be an invariable characteristic of a new
country, it was also right to contradict on the best available authority
the assertion of a 'prejudice' against the work of Australian authors.

A portion of the talent that cannot be absorbed in the already
overcrowded ranks of law and medicine might find employment in building
a literature which should have something of national savour in it, if
migration to England were no longer a condition of success to those who
would make writing a profession, as migration to New York or Boston is
similarly found to be a necessity to the young Canadian man or woman of
letters. It need not be wished that the colonial Governments would do
more than they have done--certainly not that they would create a sort of
civil pension list, as a section of the Legislative Assembly of Victoria
contemplated doing ten years ago in discussing a proposed grant to the
family of Marcus Clarke. But the Universities might extend their
influence, and those who have leisure might combine to introduce some of
the methods which have helped to create a living public interest in
literature and art in European countries. In other words, there is
needed an increased sense of responsibility in the cultured class: those
people, among others, who yearly help to fill the luxurious ocean
steamships on their long journeys to the Old World, and who bring back
so singularly little practical enthusiasm for their own land in the
South.

Meanwhile it is encouraging to note the high promise of the work of some
of the younger writers. Mary Gaunt (Mrs. H. Lindsay Miller), the
daughter of a well-known Victorian judge, has, in _The Moving Finger_,
raised the short story to an artistic level hardly approached by any
other Australian writer. And Mrs. Alick Macleod, author of _An
Australian Girl_ and _The Silent Sea_, has given in the former novel--a
fine story, despite some irregularities of form--the most perfect
description of the peculiar natural features of the country ever
written. For the first time the Bush is interpreted as well as
described. In the attitude displayed in this story towards the
fashionable life of the towns there is habitual impatience