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No. 1455. Established 1869.

The Literary Week.

MARCH 31 is the latest date for receiving MSS. for our Special Prize Competition, particulars of which will be found on page 2 of the cover of this number. Judging by the number of MSS. we have already received, the task of selecting the winners will be a heavy one. The awards will be made in our issue of April 21, on which occasion a Special Double Number of the ACADEMY will be issued.

THOSE who indulge in the mild excitement of our Weekly Competition will observe that this week it takes the form of the best Book Tea suggestion. Here is one which gained a prize at a recent gathering. A lady appeared with a war telegram pinned to her dress, giving the speech of a distinguished general to the children who had endured the siege of Ladysmith. He looked at the wasted forms and pallid faces, and as he looked tears came into his eyes, and he said in a broken voice: "It will be all right now, children. You shall have a long holiday and plenty of bread and jam." Answer: "The Woman in White."

WE who follow the trend of modern fiction are aware of three very plainly marked characteristics: (1) That women are increasingly active in this branch of literature; (2) That much of the best modern fiction comes from America; (3) That far and away the most popular form of fiction in America is the historical novel. Take, for example, Miss Mary Johnstone's By Order of the Company, which we review elsewhere in this number. It is a remark

MISS MARY JOHNSTONE.

able performance when we consider that the authoress is not yet twenty-nine years of age. The Book Buyer, from which we reproduce the accompanying portrait of Miss

Price Threepence. [Registered as a Newspaper.]

Johnstone, states that this novel raised the circulation of the Atlantic Monthly during its serial publication by 50,000 copies. Miss Johnston is a Virginian by birth and ancestry.

THE Dictionary of National Biography will be completed in June. It is announced that the Lord Mayor will signalise the publication of the last volume of Mr. George Smith's heroic enterprise by giving a "literary entertainment." Lord Rosebery, Mr. John Morley, and the Bishop of London are expected to be present on the occasion.

THE articles on village life which have appeared from time to time in the Outlook above the pseudonym "Clarissa" are to be published in volume form. The dedication of the book will run: "To my brother, George Wyndham."

We regret to learn that there is no improvement in the condition of M. Edmond Rostand, who is suffering from congestion of the lungs. A chill caught at the rehearsals of "L'Aiglon" was the beginning of the illness.

MR. GOLDWIN SMITH has been on the old quest of trying to trace the personality of Shakespeare in the plays. The result will be contained in a short book, Shakespeare: the Man, soon to be published.

MR. GILBERT MURRAY, who wrote a scholarly History of Ancient Greek Literature three years ago, has attempted to recapture Greek life and feeling through the more literary medium of an original play, entitled "Andromache." Mr. Murray dedicates his effort to Mr. William Archer in the following interesting terms:

MY DEAR ARCHER,-The germ of this play sprang into 'existence on a certain April day in 1896 which you and I spent chiefly in dragging our reluctant bicycles up the great hills that surround Riveaulx Abbey, and discussing, so far as the blinding rain allowed us, the questions whether all sincere comedies are of necessity cynical, and how often we had had tea since the morning, and how far it would be possible to treat a historical subject loyally and unconventionally on a modern stage. Then we struck (as, I fear, is too often the fate of those who converse with me) on the subject of the lost plays of the Greek tragedians. We talked of the extraordinary variety of plot that the Greek dramatist found in his historical tradition, the force, the fire, the depth and richness of character-play. We thought of the marvellous dramatic possibilities of an age in which actual and living heroes and sages were to be seen moving against a background of primitive superstition and blank savagery; in which the soul of man walked more free from trappings than seems ever to have been permitted to it since. But I must stop; I see that I am approaching the common pitfall of playwrights who venture upon prefaces, and am beginning to prove how good my play ought to be!... We agreed that a simple historical play, with as little convention as possible, placed in the Greek Heroic Age, and dealing with one of the ordinary heroic stories, ought to be, well, an interesting experiment. The "experiment" is issued at a price which would have commended itself to the democratic Athenian citizenseighteenpence.

In the past week there has been a bad outbreak of politics among the leaders of the Irish Literary Movement. Mr. Edward Martyn, the author of "Maeve," has resigned his office of Deputy Lieutenant and Justice of the Peace for co. Galway after certain correspondence had passed between him and the Lord Chancellor. Mr. Martyn had not, it is stated, favoured the singing of the National Anthem at his residence on the occasion of a meeting held there to promote the Irish Soldiers' Fund. Are we to believe that Mr. Martyn could act as the representative of the Queen in dispensing justice to her subjects, and yet refuse those subjects permission to acknowledge her sovereignty in the usual way? We hesitate to believe it. Meanwhile, Mr. Yeats has foresworn gentleness, and wishes to call a meeting, under the presidency of Mr. John O'Leary, to dissociate Ireland from the welcome to be given to the Queen in Dublin. Mr. Yeats says the advisers of the Queen have sent her to Ireland out of "national hatred-hatred of our individual national life." Mr. George Moore attributes the Queen's visit to the "necessities of empire." We are sorry these young men have such thoughts, but, particularly, we wish they would not talk about Art one week, and hatred the next; offer first to lead us to "well-waters of primeval poetry," and then brandish the shillelagh of primeval politics.

A WRITER in the Atlantic Monthly gives an amusing new view of Stevenson, gathered from the speeches delivered at an essay-meeting held in an American puritanical circle. The best of it is that this view of Stevenson is quite logical-given a certain class of minds. Thus:

The evening's programme began with a biographical sketch of Stevenson, given by an elderly woman, who said that she had never had any esteem or liking for him, but she felt bound in fairness to admit that, on looking up the facts in his life, she had become convinced that there must have been something attractive about his personality to make so many people speak well of him. . . . It devolved upon another elderly woman to give her opinion of The Master of Ballantrae. She declared that the book did not contain a single pleasant paragraph. It was the sort of thing, she thought, which perhaps would interest boys.

A retired school teacher, who had been asked to give her impression of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, said she had found the literary style of the book very faulty in some respects. Many of the sentences ended with prepositions. With regard to the story considered simply as a story, she hardly knew what to say. It was a very disagreeable book. It might be that Stevenson had had a purpose in writing it. In that case, possibly it might do good. An editor read a paper, in which he spoke in the customary strain of admiration of both Stevenson and his books. At the close of his eulogy, which was rather coldly received, the widow of a Baptist minister asked in a significant tone, "What were Stevenson's religious opinions?" The manner of the question clearly implied, "I am sure nothing satisfactory can be said of them." This was evidently, to many present, hitting the nail squarely on the head. A returned missionary from some of the heathen islands of the Pacific said she had never met Stevenson, although his boat, the Equator, lay for some weeks at the island where she was. She had heard too much of him to wish to see him. When pressed for details, she said that Stevenson's influence over the natives was pernicious, and the example he set them greatly to be deplored. By appearing in the native dress on certain occasions, he counteracted the efforts of the missionaries to make their converts wear the garb of civilisation and cease to go barefooted. He also smoked cigarettes in the sight of the islanders. When the meeting adjourned, there seemed a disposition on the part of the members to regard the author of The Master of Ballantrae with charity.

...

THE battle of Open Access sways this way and that in the Library world. We are sending no war correspondent into the fray, but we hear the shouting of the captains. Mr. Edward Foskett sends us a pamphlet on the subject.

Asked by the editor of the Library to reply to a paper which that magazine had printed in favour of open access, Mr. Foskett wrote a caustic article against open access which the editor declined to print without considerable alteration. Mr. Foskett has now printed his article in pamphlet form. In it he insists that the evils of open access are manifold, and that they include serious loss by theft, damage by wind and dust, wearing out of bindings, and bewilderment to the poor "ignorant reader" to whom open access is supposed to be a blessing. Mr. Foskett watched a boy who came for "somethin' interestin', mister," exploring the shelves of a public library.

He climbed up the shelves, and in many odd positions handled books of all sorts and sizes up to a total of nineteen volumes. I have no note of his misplacements; but he was twenty-seven minutes at the shelves, and finally, in apparent bewilderment, he took a technical book on art in mistake for "somethin' interestin', mister," in the travel or tiger-hunting live. I found this out as he was leaving, and he said he should "bring the book back ter-morrer.' Now what that boy wanted was a little personal guidance and help. Such ignorant, yet deserving aspirants are increasingly getting aid in the most efficiently served libraries, and it is in this direction that development is eminently desirable.

In short, Mr. Foskett considers that where the indicator system is supplemented by personal advice, the best results. and the least mischief are achieved. In such libraries "a reader, not knowing precisely what he wants, has only to give a hint, and all the likely books (except fiction) are actually brought to a table for him, where he can leisurely examine and choose the book for his home-reading." Meanwhile, the Library for March prints an article admitting that "unless open access is thoroughly safeguarded it must infallibly lead to anarchy and waste." For "safeguards" Mr. Foskett reads detectives, and on the whole he seems to have the best of the argument.

Les Jeunes a new American monthly magazinette-is redolent of new art and vague ideals. The cover is of brown paper, and the letterpress and illustrations are printed in a bricky red. We really do not know what Les Jeunes is bent on doing, except to write Art with a capital A. It is lurid and languishing, or both. Sings a poetess:

I wish my lover were a tear,

That I might drink with burning lip;
Can there be rarer volupcy,

Than all his life and love to sip,
With passion-trembling lip?

We must find time to run over our list of volupcies before we answer this.

MR. A. E. FLETCHER writes on "The Ideal Newspaper' in the April Young Man. He tilts at capitalists who run newspapers, and editors who play up for baronetcies or knighthoods. His general charge against present-day journalism is that it records what is least worth knowing, and forces upon the public information which had best be forgotten. On the literary side of journalism Mr. Fletcher has special right to speak, for it was under his editorship that the Daily Chronicle introduced a daily treatment of literature into the newspapers. Mr. Fletcher stoutly maintains that journalism ought to be literature, and says:

If the newspaper is to be the Englishman's Bible of the future, let us take care that it models its style on that of the sacred books from which all our best writers, poets, and orators have caught their inspiration. You can only have a great literature in great language-the strong and simple language of great men. The language of journalism compares, I think, badly with that of our best writers. I would earnestly urge young men and women who may be thinking about choosing journalism for their life work to think over the mischief they will do if, instead of going