Funk and Wagnalls Company:
The Red Poocher. By Seumas Mac-
Manus.

The stories in this book are supposed to be told by an Irish gamekeeper. He describes four different ways in which a clever poacher (poocher) contrived to "shoot over" the same Irish estate four times in almost annual succession. Mr. MacManus is a well known young Irishman, the author of books of prose and poetry relating to Ireland and her people. Typical Elders and Deacons. By James M. Campbell, D.D.

A collection of sketches in which the writer "cannot refrain from embracing the present opportunity of giving expression to his personal thankfulness for the priceless friendships and invaluable services of the elders and deacons with whom it has been his privilege to be associated in the work of the Lord."

The Being With the Upturned Face. By Clarence Lathbury.

Eleven chapters of essays ranging from "The Touch of the Infinite" to "The Descent of Love." Mr. Lathbury is the brother of Mary A. Lathbury, the writer of hymns.

Ginn and Company:

Ways of the Six-Footed. By Anna Botsford Comstock.

The author of this little book is a lecturer in Cornell University Extension. She has also written a number of other "nature" books intended to instruct the young.

Insect Folk. By Margaret W. Morley.

A book for young people which tells, in the simplest manner, about the insects. Illustrations accompany the text.

Harper and Brothers:

The Change of Heart. By Margaret Sutton Briscoe.

A book of short stories, six in all, with love for their motive.

Innocent Industries; or, Kindergarten Tales for Industrious Infants. R. H. Russell.

A book intended to amuse the little ones, containing big pictures and little

verse.

Monna Vanna. By Maurice Maeterlinck.

A play written by Maeterlinck, the scenes of which are laid at Pisa, Italy, at the end of the fifteenth century. A critical review of this work may be found in The Bookman for February, 1903, under the title "Maeterlinck and the Forbidden Play."

The Heart of Hyacinth. By Onoto Wat

anna.

A love story of Japan which comes to us beautifully bound in lavender cloth with elaborate illustrations by Kiyokichi

Sanco. Admirers of "A Japanese Nightingale," by the same author, will undoubtedly find the same charm in the new story.

The Fairies' Circus. By Melville Cain. (Imprint R. H. Russell.)

An attractively illustrated book for the little ones.

Judgment. By Alice Brown.

A new novel by the author of "Meadow Grass," "The Mannerings," and a number of other books. A review appears elsewhere in this number.

A Candle of Understanding. By Elizabeth Bisland.

A love story which begins when the hero and heroine are children. The scenes shift from Mississippi to New York.

Letters Home. By William Dean Howells.

A new novel by the "Dean of American Literature." The story is told in the form of letters which are written home by a group of people who are in New York for different reasons. The book, therefore, should be classified under "New York in Fiction."

The Stories of Peter and Ellen. By Gertrude Smith.

A book suitable for little readers. The type is large, the words are small, and the illustrations are in colours by E. Mars and M. H. Squire.

History of the German Struggle for Liberty. By Poultney Bigelow. Volume III.

The third and last volume of Mr. Bigelow's story of the German revolt from the rule of Napoleon. In this volume the history covers the period from 1815 to 1848. A portrait of William the Great is used as the frontispiece, and a number of other illustrations are scattered through the text.

Flodden Field. A Tragedy. By Alfred Austin.

A three-act tragedy in blank verse by England's poet laureate. The battle of Flodden, fought between James IV. of Scotland and an English army under the Earl of Surrey, have furnished the scenes for this play.

Two Prisoners. By Thomas Nelson Page. (Imprint of R. H. Russell.)

Mr. Page's story, intended primarily for young readers, first appeared in "Harper's Young People," some years ago. The story in its present form has been rewritten and amplified, and the illustrations in colour are by Virginia Keep.

The Harvesters. By Aubrey Lanston. (Imprint R. H. Russell.)

An English novel of the early part of the nineteenth century. There are some

pretty unpleasant characters in it with much suffering for the heroine, and the trail of the melodramatic over it all.

A Kidnapped Colony. By Mary Raymond Shipman.

A bright little story of a young American who captured the Governorship of an English colony and ruled there for a time in place of the real Governor. The theme smacks of Richard Harding Davis, but one is not likely to quarrel with Mrs. Andrews because of this.

The Dutch Founding of New York. By Thomas A. Janvier.

A picturesque account of the history of the little colony of Dutch, "half-smothered between the two English Virginias.” Mr. Janvier is identified with the literature of New York.

Richard-Land. By Robert W. Chambers.

In this charming story for children Mr. Chambers may be seen in a new light. The illustrations in colour are by Mr. Reginald Birch.

Jeffersonian Society:

Jeffersonian Democracy. By John R. Dunlap.

A book which is the result of thirty years' study and observation of political, economic, and industrial conditions in the United States, written with the hope of "putting the Democratic Party back upon the broad highway of Jeffersonian principles and precedents." Each volume contains a mailing card, giving an opportunity to readers of the book to enroll themselves as members of the Jeffersonian Societies.

Lane:

El Dorado. A Tragedy. By Ridgely Torrence.

A drama in blank verse. The play is in five acts, the first scene of which takes place in the Viceregal Palace in the City of Mexico. Mr. Torrence is one of the young writers in New York whose work shows a seriousness of purpose.

Where Love Is. By William J. Locke.

So.

No one need wonder what this story is about, because it is obviously a love story and the title clearly says Among Mr. Locke's best known novels are: "Derelicts," "The White Dove," and "The Usurper."

A Book of Country Houses. By Ernest Newton.

Mr. Newton, an architect, presents here nineteen examples, illustrated on sixtytwo plates, of country houses. The book is an imported one.

Longmans, Green and Company:

Memoirs of a Child. By Annie Steger Winston.

In these Memoirs the author writes of the child with a certain aloofness and

stiffness which seem inappropriate when writing of the child world.

An Irish Cousin. By E. E. Somerville and Martin Ross.

A new edition of a book which was originally published in 1889. The authors' names were then given as "Geilles Herring" and Martin Ross. "An Irish Cousin" is the story of Irish country life. Macmillan Company:

Highways and Byways in South Wales. By. A. G. Bradley.

A new illustrated volume belonging to the "Highways and Byways" Series. In preparing this work, Mr. Bradley spent six months in South Wales. The illustrations, and they are many, are by Frederick L. Griggs.

The Literary Sense. By E. Nesbit.

This is a novel, although it would be hard to guess this from the title. "E. Nesbit," who in private life is Edith Nesbit Bland, is best known through her stories for children, although she has written several novels. The present volume contains a collection of short stories which deal with lovers' meetings, partings, misunderstandings, and the usual

reconciliations.

Supervision and Education in Charity. By Jeffrey Richardson Brackett, Ph.D.

A volume belonging to the series entitled American Philanthropy of the Nineteenth Century, edited by Herbert S. Brown. The author holds a number of positions in connection with the various departments of charities. He is also lecturer in Johns Hopkins University on Public Aid, Charity, and Correction. McTodd. By C. J. Cutcliffe Hyne.

"McTodd" follows close upon the publication of "Thompson's Progress." McTodd appeared as the engineer in "Captain Kettle," and was popular enough to warrant his creator in making him the hero of his new story. A review is printed elsewhere in this number.

Mary of Magdala. By Paul Heyse. Translated by William Winter.

An historical and romantic drama which has been presented in New York and in many of the other large cities in the United States by Mrs. Fiske and her company. It was not known that Mr. Winter translated the play, until it was put on again at the Manhattan Theatre in September. The original version is in prose, while the translator has freely adapted it into English verse.

The Care of a House. By T. M. Clark.

A volume of suggestions to householders, housekeepers, landlords, tenants, and others, for the economical and efficient care of dwelling houses. Mr. Clark is a Fellow of the American Institute of Architects, and of the Society of Arts in London.

one in the audience missed a single point, and this was accomplished without straining or over-emphasis, owing in large measure to the cleverness and good taste of Mr. Charles Hawtrey and his excellent company.

We pass reluctantly to the needless horrors of Hedda Gabler, in which a woman without motives or reasons, representing no known temperament, class, condition or country, holds the centre of the stage for the purpose of showing one of the peculiar forms that criminal abnormality might assume. It differs from the rest of Ibsen's plays in lacking any philosophic suggestiveness and shows his great dramatic energy applied successfully to the single object of making you squirm. Mrs. Fiske played it with all the unwomanliness she could muster, and made it inconceivable that the adoring husband and infatuated lover could remain in her company two minutes. The author hardly meant that Hedda, hateful as she was, should be outwardly so forbidding. Mrs. Fiske capped Ibsen's criminal with a shrew, speaking always in tart, snappy sentences, of which a third could be heard only on the stage. Mrs. Fiske and Mrs. Patrick Campbell are alike in their total indifference to the other persons of the play. Husbands, fathers, lovers, children are mere worms. Mrs. Campbell is too preoccupied even to glance at the object of her affection, and Mrs. Fiske's sharp rising inflection makes. you feel in your pocket to see if you forgot to mail those letters. It is a mere mannerism but it often obscures the intelligence of her acting and is a fruitful source of misunderstanding between her audience and herself. Hedda Gabler is a part that requires anything but tenderness but it does not call for a continuous

tone of petty severity-a tone that might almost go with a box on the ear.

In Her Own Way, Mr. Clyde Fitch adopts the simple and ancient plan of sending the true lover off to the wars and leaving the wicked rival behind, then baffling the villain and bringing the true lover back to life. Nor does he take the least pains to give the villain a fighting chance, for the lady never wavers and is not misled. Hence there is staleness and certainty throughout, mitigated only by some stretches of good dialogue. Á children's birthday party on the stage and a leading lady remarkable for good looks and incapacity were thrown in in case the dramatic interest gave out. Mr. Fitch seldom puts all his eggs in one basket. But the thinnest play of the month was Mrs. Deering's Divorce, having nothing in it that the mind could grasp at the time or remember afterwards, except a wellplayed burlesque of a new woman, and it is hard to support life on that. Nothing of any interest fell to Mrs. Langtry's share.

are

In Hope's little story of Captain Dieppe many bewildering adventures crowded into a single night but he has space enough at his disposal to explain them. In the play the task of explaining falls heavily on the patient shoulders of John Drew, who as the Captain not only has to do these remarkable and complicated things but to make it clear just what they are and why they are remarkable. He does not make it clear in spite of several long and rapid speeches. In fact the story is only half dramatised. Part of it is told pleasantly in Hope's own lines, and the rest tossed over to John Drew, who is left struggling vainly to expound his splendid but unintelligible abilities. F. M. Colby.

I

T has been reported of him that he used the blue pencil remorselessly. It is certainly true that the sight of anything written was apt to set him at the work of alteration, and it was the same with his own work as with that of his newest contributor. When he worked for other editors he sent back proofs which it cost as much to correct as it had done to set, and one has known a paper to be huddled to press in a desperate hurry because it was guessed that he would send a telegram demanding a revise. When the end of the world had come for some of us and the N. O. had passed out of his hands, there was a dinner at Solferino's. When he rose to make his speech, he leaned forward over the table and looked deliberately around the room. Then he said that he did not see a single man with whose "copy" he had not taken great liberties, and that he did not propose to make any apology, because he was perfectly sure that his work had always justified it.

This was as true as any broad statement could be. Sometimes an article or story would be printed without a change. When this happened two or three times in succession, you were more than a little distressed if he altered you. One of his men used to stick the cuttings from the N. O. into an album, carefully recording the original versions of mutilated stories or articles. When he had been contributing for a couple of years, he was invited to add to the long list of books made up of stuff originally contributed to the N. O. When he was preparing the book for the press he carefully stuck to the Henley version, and now, ten years later ("I feel chilly, and grow old"), he is surer than ever that he was a prudent

man.

There are editors who, though they love you well, and have plently of use for your work, deem it discreet never by any chance to praise you to your face, while, of course, they reserve to them

selves the privilege of condemnation. Mr. Henley was always a busy man, and he was often prostrate with the severest physical pain. Yet you quickly arrived at an infallible way of judging whether your stuff was good; or, as you may have been inclined to think, below the level of your best. If it was good, you quickly received a letter of enthusiastic praise. Here is one such written in 1892, when the N. O. was still published in Edinburgh, to a man whom he had never met:

"A line-which should have been written last week-to say that I think better of soand-so-taken in every way-than of anything you've done. Also, that I hear naught but praise of it all round; which, indeed, is no more than its due. The other thing is very good too. You shall have a proof quam primum. Not yet, for I am very full of matter.. The worst of it is that you cannot now afford to go back, but must make up your mind to do better and even better. That this will be your luck I do most heartily rejoice to believe.-Yours very sincerely, W. E. H."

It seemed to the recipient then, as it seems to him now, that this letter was a most amazing exhibition of generosity. Also from the point of view of the writer and of the proprietor of the journal he conducted, the sending of such a letter was very good policy, because the man to whom it came one happy morning, in a grey, remote little town, where nobody (as it seemed to him) cared for art or letters, was at once desperately resolved to do yet better, and, indeed, never to let it be known in Thistle Street, Edinburgh, that he could occasionally do very much

worse.

In a little bundle of letters addressed to one of his contributors there are many hardly less generous. For instance, a very short review of a book by a French writer who was then altogether unknown.

Somehow or other his English confrère felt that this was a book he should read, and he said so in writing to Mr. Henley. He need not have troubled to write. By the first post next morning the book reached him, and when he had read it and spoken of it in a subsequent letter, Mr. Henley wrote in a postscript (he was given to these): "In great haste. But I add that I hoped the book would be suggestive as well as useful. It is odd that in such-and-such a thing you anticipate (in a sense) his story of the three blackguards: a thing which (I can't help think ing) should help you." This was a curious case in which a young man in a remote part of England was writing stories which (as the book in question showed) might have been turned into French and signed with the name of a man of whom he had never heard, and who probably had never heard of him. In another case Mr. Henley was misled by such a coincidence into an injustice. A story had been written by one of his men in October, and published in the N. O. early in November, and a few weeks later another story, by another author, appeared in a widely-circulated journal. Mr. Henley wrote to the member of his staff, indignantly pointing out that there were strange resemblances, and that he had been robbed. There was certainly a remarkable likeness between the two, but there could have been no robbery, because, from the circumstance of its publication, it was absolutely certain that the story which had been written earliest was given to the world later than the other.

Once he had accepted your service, he was intensely eager that you should do the best it was in you to do. In the letters which have been referred to, there are repeated references to certain proposed journeyings into foreign parts. "Is it to be Japan?" he wrote once in one of those hurried postscripts; and again, "I think that if I'd known I should have advised you to go to Spain. You see, you're at the age when observation is instinctive; so that the more you are by way of laying

up experience, that becomes a part of yourself, and may presently be expressed in terms of art, the better is your chance in future years, and the more admirable the equipment you bring to the real business of life. Not that I think you have done any harm by refusing to go; on the contrary, you are full of these visions, and it is probably as well, now that you have a certain outlet, that you should work the vein and make what you can of the ore. Of course I speak not altogether disinterestedly, for I like your work, and I want the best you can give; but I feel bound to put the two courses before you in justice to both of us." In a postscript he writes, "Avoid all newspaper offices. They are short cuts to the Pit." Here is a hurried little note, which was written much later to a man who wanted to produce a certain book, but saw no way of doing so unless he obtained a commission. "A" is a literary agent; "B" a publisher. "All right. Tell A to tell B that I like the idea of the book, and strongly advise him to consider it. Also, that if he be so 'disposed' I'll talk of it when next we meet. No more possible to-night."

These last two letters are characteristic in every word. It is to be supposed that he thought that one had been misguided in refusing to go wandering and abiding in a rather dull village. Yet when he must needs turn round and declare just as emphatically that you had done entirely right. The praise is like him, and so are the two postscripts.

Although a great many of his men. eventually became journalists-there are at least six attached to one London newspaper-he hated the profession, and never failed to express himself on the subject with all the force that was in him. "I think it right, on the face of things, to dissuade you very strongly from entertaining the idea of going into a newspaper office, where you never have any spare time, and where whatever you have in you is precious soon washed, and mangled, and clear-starched, and ironed out of you."