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have seized the opportunity to move from scenes clouded over with trouble, and from a community which gave but a feeble response to its bright efforts? But, somehow, it did not, or could not. Returning to the year 1876, an event happened which deeply affected Marcus Clarke. In August of that year his father-in-law, genial, witty John Dunn, for whom he had a sincere affection, fell down dead in the street. The bitterness of this loss was greatly aggravated by his inability to publish the autobiography of the deceased actor, which he had together with Dr. Neild revised at the author's request, with a view to its publication after his death. But the wish of the deceased was not carried out, owing, it is said, to an objection taken by a daughter of the actor, who had married into so-called Society circles, to have the ups and downs of a poor player's family career submitted to public view. Accordingly, the autobiography of Australia's clever comedian was not brought out, and the early history of the Australian stage has been lost to the public. For the next three years, besides the journalistic work alluded to, Clarke was busy at dramatic composition, producing, in conjunction with Mr. Keely, Alfred the Great, a burlesque, which achieved a success at the Bijou Theatre, during the Christmas season of 1877. This was followed by the adaptation for the Theatre Royal of Wilkie Collins' sensational novel Moonstone. This play was not the success anticipated, but it must be said in justice to the author that it was considerably spoiled by the pruning-knife of the management, which did its slashing with little judgment. Another piece, a comedietta, styled, Baby's Luck, was subsequently written for Mr. J. L. Hall, in which that popular actor appeared to great advantage. Fernande, a clever adaptation of Sardou's emotional drama of that name, was also written about this time, but never produced owing to a disagreement over the matter. Of this adaptation Miss Genevieve Ward expressed to the writer a high opinion of its merits, which, coming from so great an artist and one who had read the play in the original, is no small compliment to the author. It may also be surmised that it was during this period that the fanciful extravaganza of The King of the Genii was composed. This piece is written in a Gilbertean manner, and is not unlike that author's Palace of Truth. Yet Clarke's ability as a playright was thrown away, as theatrical managers in the colonies had not, unfortunately, either the capacity to know a good thing, or the enterprise to encourage local talent. But not only was Clarke's pen busy at dramas--it was tempted into an entirely new field--that of history. At the suggestion of the then Minister of Education, the late Mr. Justice Wilberforce Stephen, he was engaged to write a history of Australia for the State-schools, which had just come under the new secular, compulsory, and free Education Act. This work entailed upon the writer more routine labour than was to his taste, and consequently, instead of devoting himself to the somewhat tedious task, he, after commencing the book, handed it over, in his usual good-hearted way to some impecunious friends, who did not possess any literary qualification for such work, the consequence being that the book turned out to be a miserable fiasco, and was never used in the schools for which it was intended. Some notion of its value may be gleaned from the following critical notice of it in a leading journal:--"In short, the book before us is calculated to impress the reader with the idea that it has been compiled by some literary charlatan rather than by an author of Mr. Marcus Clarke's ability and reputation." But because little or no attention was given by the supposed author of the history to the work, it must not be imagined that the fertile mind was inactive. That clever, though eccentric, brochure, The Future Australian Race, was written at this period. Of it an English paper wrote:--"It deals with a subject of considerable ethnological and social interest in language more forcible than philosophical. Mr. Clarke considers that vegetarians are Conservatives, and 'Red Radicals,' for the most part meat-eaters, while 'fish-eaters are invariably moderate Whigs.' He thinks that 'the Australasians will be content with nothing short of a turbulent democracy,' and that in five hundred years the Australasian race will have 'changed the face of nature, and swallowed up all our contemporary civilisation,' but it is fortunately 'impossible that we should live to see this stupendous climax. Après nous, le déluge.'" Besides this his restless mind was weekly giving out articles, reviews, and sketches, bearing his own mint mark, in the Age, the Leader, the Sydney Mail and Morning Herald, and London Daily Telegraph. It was also at work on the Melbourne and Victorian Reviews, in a somewhat significant, albeit imprudent manner, for it was in the Victorian that his "disturbing" article on "Civilisation Without Delusion" appeared, and in the Melbourne his clever rejoinder, to Dr. Moorhouse's reply to the original article, saw light. The last efforts of Clarke in the direction of dramatic work, were the two comedies written for his wife on her re-appearance, after an absence of some years, at the Bijou in the winter of 1880. Of the two, the one, A Daughter of Eve, was original; the other, Forbidden Fruit, being an adaptation from the French. The former is undoubtedly clever, being on the lines of Sheridan's comedies; and in the leading character of "Dorothy Dove," Mrs. Clarke did every justice to her histrionic abilities. Besides these comedies, the author left unfinished the libretto of Queen Venus an Opera Bouffe on which he was engaged with M. Kowalski, the eminent pianist, at the time of his death; also the plots and a portion of the matter of the following;--Reverses, an Australian Comedy; Paul and Virginia, a burlesque; Fridoline, an opera comique, and Salome, a comedy. And now reference has to be made to that which more than any other single cause led to the unfortunate pecuniary and other complications in which the subject of this memoir became involved during the last year or two of his short life--namely his appointment as agent with power-of-attorney to act as he deemed desirable for his cousin, Sir Andrew Clarke, in connection with some landed property owned by that gentleman in this colony. Paradoxical as this statement may appear it is nevertheless too true that the confidence placed by Sir Andrew Clarke in his cousin's ability to act as his sole and unchecked agent in business matters was one of the most fatal errors ever committed both for the principal and the agent. For the former it meant pecuniary loss, for the latter neglect of all literary work. That Marcus Clarke was altogether to blame for the "mixed" condition into which the business affairs of his cousin got is simply absurd. All that can be urged against him in the matter is that he was negligent and thoughtless in connection with them as he had always been with his own. However, the less said the better in connection with this episode of the brilliant littérateur's life for after all it was not his fault but misfortune, as he has said himself, that he was not a Business Man. Indeed, no reference would have been made to this matter were it not that it was the greatest misfortune that ever happened to Clarke that he had anything to do with this business, as it not only led him to abandon his proper duties, but led him, also, deeper into the clutches of usurers, who eventually wrought him to death before his time. And it is probably owing to this "bungle" that Sir Andrew Clarke has not seen his way to help (although receiving a handsome pension from this colony) the widow and children of him of whose abilities he could think so highly as to induce the Prince of Wales, when on his visit to India where Sir Andrew was Minister of Public Works, to read His Natural Life. The Prince did read the book, and was so struck by its powers that he expressed a desire to meet the author, who, he suggested, ought to go to that intellectual centre of the world--London. It may be assumed that it was owing to this unfortunate business craze which had seized hold of our author, that there had been left behind in an unfinished state a novel which began so brilliantly as Felix and Felicitas. Commenced years before, it was allowed to lie by during his "landlord" days, and until a few months previous to his demise, when it was re-commenced; but too late, for the hand of Death was already upon him, as he himself too well knew and frequently remarked during the last few weeks of his life--notably on the Queen's Birthday, preceding his decease--when, walking with a friend in the vicinity of the Yarra Bend Asylum he mournfully remarked, "Which shall it be--the Mad Asylum or the Pauper Grave? Let a toss of the coin decide--head, grave; tail, asylum." And forthwith a florin was tossed, and fell tail uppermost. "Not if I know it, my festive coin. No gibbering idiot shall I e'er be; rather the gleeful, gallows-tree." That English literature has lost through the incompletion of Felix and Felicitas, no judge who has perused the opening chapters can deny; and that the promise of artistic merit held out by these chapters was fully realised by authorities on the subject is proved by the anxiety of Messrs. Bentley and Sons to urge on the writer to complete the work for publication in London; and so capable a critic as Mrs. Cashel Hoey, writing from London to the Australasian of the story, remarked:--
The literary world here has received with great regret the intelligence of Mr. Marcus Clarke's death. His tales of the early days of the colonies, and his very striking novel, His Natural Life, made a deep impression here. We were always expecting another powerful fiction from his
