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256https://historysoa.com/items/show/256The Author, Vol. 02 Issue 05 (October 1891)<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=49&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=%3Cem%3EThe+Author%3C%2Fem%3E%2C+Vol.+02+Issue+05+%28October+1891%29"><em>The Author</em>, Vol. 02 Issue 05 (October 1891)</a><a href="https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=mdp.39015031017927&amp;view=1up&amp;seq=20" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=mdp.39015031017927</a><a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Publication">Publication</a>1891-10-01-The-Author-2-5129–160<a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=89&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=2">2</a><a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=76&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1891-10-01">1891-10-01</a>518911001The Author.<br /> (The Organ of the Incorporated Society of Authors. Monthly.)<br /> CONDUCTED BY WALTER BESANT..<br /> -<br /> --- -<br /> Vol. II.—No. 5.]<br /> - - -<br /> OCTOBER 1, 1891.<br /> [PRICE SIXPENCE.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> --<br /> :::<br /> ::::<br /> :::<br /> ::&#039;:<br /> :::<br /> PAGE<br /> . 119<br /> .. 149<br /> :::<br /> 1<br /> Notices<br /> The Authors&#039; Club.. .<br /> A Ladies&#039; Club .. .<br /> To an Author who complained of Neglect..<br /> My Brother Charles. An Extract<br /> Pegasus in Harness .. ..<br /> “Authors&#039; Complaints and Publishers&#039; Profits<br /> Popular Platitudinous Philosophy<br /> Notes and News ..<br /> Lists and Risks<br /> From America<br /> Reviewers and Reviews ..<br /> Magazines and Contributions ...<br /> Commission Books<br /> 138<br /> ::::::::::::::<br /> --- --<br /> CONTENTS.<br /> PAGE 1<br /> .. 133<br /> An Instructive Case<br /> .. 134 The Marlowe Memorial<br /> “Good Work, Sure Pay&quot;<br /> .. 135 Correspondence-<br /> .. 135<br /> I. The Statute of Limitations ..<br /> II. Fiction and Reality<br /> 1 38<br /> II. Slating .. .. ..<br /> IV. Words and Bricks<br /> 140<br /> V. A Provident Society.<br /> VI. An Honourable Action<br /> 146<br /> VII. Reviews and Reviewers<br /> 147 Pages Cut or Uncut<br /> &quot;At the Author&#039;s Head &quot;<br /> .. 148 New Books .. .. ..<br /> ::::::::::::::<br /> ::::::::::::::<br /> 151<br /> 150<br /> 152<br /> 152<br /> 152<br /> :::::::<br /> 145<br /> :::::::<br /> :::::::::::<br /> ::::::::::<br /> ::::::::::<br /> :::::::::::<br /> ::::::::::<br /> 152<br /> 152<br /> 153<br /> 153<br /> 148<br /> &lt;<br /> &lt;<br /> EYRE AND SPOTTISWOODE.<br /> PLIOCENE DEPOSITS OF BRITAIN, THE. By | STATE TRIALS, Reports of. New Series. Vol. III.,<br /> CLEMENT RBID, F.L.S., F.G.S. Five Plates (48 cuts), gs. 6d.<br /> 1831–40. Published under the direction of the State Trials<br /> Committee. Edited by JOIN MACDONELL, M.A. 108.<br /> LONDON AND NEIGHBOURHOOD: Guide to the<br /> | MANUAL OF BIRDS OF NEW ZEALAND). By<br /> Geology of. By WILLIAM WHITAKER, B.A. 18.<br /> LONDON AND OF PART OF THE THAMES VALLEY,<br /> WALTER L. BULLER, C.M.G., Sc.D)., F.R.S. Numerous Plates.<br /> Royal 8vo. 108.<br /> The Ge Jogy of. By W. WAITAKER, B.A., F.R.S., F.G.S..<br /> INDIGENOUS GRASSES OF NEW ZEALAND. By<br /> Assoc. Inst. C.E. Vol. I. DESCRIPTIVE GEOLOGY. 8vo.<br /> Cloth, 68. Vol. II. APPENDICES. 8vo. Cloth, 58.<br /> JOHN BUCHANAN. Full-page Illustrations. Imp. 4to. Half<br /> Morocco, 158.<br /> KEW BULLETIN, 1890. Issued by the Director of Kew FOREST FLORA OF NEW ZEALAND. By T. KIRK,<br /> Gardens. 28. iod.<br /> F.L.S., late Chief Conservator of State Forests, N.Z., &amp;c.<br /> KEW BULLETIN, 1891. Monthly, 2d. Appendices, 2d. Numerous Plates. Fcap. folio. Cloth, 128. 6d.<br /> each. Annual Subscription, including postage, 38. 9d.<br /> HANDBOOK OF NEW ZEALAND FISHES. By R.<br /> A. SHERRIN, Demy 8vo. Cloth, 28.<br /> DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE OF MUSICAL INSTRU.<br /> ORANGE CULTURE IN NEW ZEALAND. By G. C.<br /> MENTS recently exhibited at the Royal Military Exhibition.<br /> Compiled by Capt. DAY, Oxfordshire Light Infantry, under<br /> ALDERTON. Demy 8vo. Cloth, 28.<br /> the orders of Col. SHAW-HELLIER, Commandant Royal Military<br /> MANUAL OF NEW ZEALAND MOLLUSCA. By<br /> School of Music. Illustrated by a series of Twelve artistically Prof. HUTTON. Royal 8vo. 38.<br /> executed Plates in Heliogravure, and with numerous Wood NEW ZEALAND DIPTERA, HYMENOPTERA, AND<br /> Engravings. 218.<br /> ORTHOPTERA. By Prof. HUTTON. Royal 8vo. 28.<br /> &quot; It affords information obtainable nowhere else, and it has been<br /> NEW ZEALAND COLEOPTERA. Parts 1 to 4. By<br /> put together with so much care and thoughtfulness that Capt. Day&#039;s<br /> volume will be indeed welcomed by all who have to deal with the<br /> Captain T. Broux. Royal 8vo. 78. 6d.<br /> wind instruments, and can be accepted without question as the THE LITERATURE RELATING TO NEW ZEALAND,<br /> standard authority.”-Musical Neus.<br /> A Bibliography. Royal 8vo. Cloth, 28. 6d.<br /> PUBLIC RECORDS. A Guide to the Principal Classes<br /> POLYNESIAN MYTHOLOGY AND ANCIENT TRA-<br /> of Documents preserved in the Public Record Office. By S. R.<br /> DITIONAL HISTORY OF THE NEW ZEALAND RACE.<br /> SCARGILL-BIRD, F.S.A. 78.<br /> By Sir GEORGE GREY, K.C.B. Illustrated. Koyal 8vo. Cloth. 5:<br /> « The value of such a work as Mr. Scargill-Bird&#039;s can scarcely be ANCIENT HISTORY OF THE MAORI. By Jorche<br /> over-rated.&quot;-Times.<br /> WHITE. Demy 8vo. Half Morocco. 4 vols. 1os. per vol. home<br /> Monthly Lists of Parliamentary Papers upon Application. Quarterly Lists Post Free, 20. f fraud<br /> Miscellaneous List on Application.<br /> Second<br /> Every Assistance given to Correspondents ; and Books not kept in stock obtained without delay. 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[Ready.<br /> <br /> <br /> London<br /> THUEN &amp; Co., 18, Bury Street, W.C.<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 131 (#535) ############################################<br /> <br /> ADVERTISEMENTS.<br /> Cl)f ^orietg of gutftors (fiiworporatrt)-<br /> The<br /> Sir Edwin Arnold, K.C.I.E.<br /> Alfred Austin.<br /> A. W. a Beckett.<br /> Robert Rateman.<br /> Sir Henry Bkronk, K.C.M.G.<br /> Walter Hesant.<br /> Augustine Birrell, M.P.<br /> K. 1). Blackmore.<br /> Ret. Prof. Bonnet, F.R.S.<br /> Lord Brabourne.<br /> James Bryce, M.P.<br /> P. YV. Clayden.<br /> Kdward Clodd.<br /> W. Martin Conway.<br /> Marion Crawford.<br /> Oswald Crawfurd, C.M.G.<br /> The Earl of Dksart.<br /> PRESIDENT.<br /> Hon. the LORD TENNYSON, D.C.L.<br /> COUNCIL.<br /> A. W. Dubouro.<br /> John Eric Erichsen, F.R.S.<br /> Prof. Michael Foster, F.R.S.<br /> Herbert Gardner, M.P.<br /> Richard Garnett, LL.D.<br /> Edmund Gosse.<br /> H. Rider Haggard.<br /> Thomas Hardy.<br /> Prof. E. Ray Lankester, F.R.S.<br /> J. M. Lely.<br /> Rev. W. J. Loftie, F.S.A.<br /> F. Max Muller, LL.D.<br /> George Meredith.<br /> Herman C. Merivale.<br /> Rev. C. H. Middleton-Wake, F.L.S.<br /> J. C. Parkinson.<br /> The Earl of Pembroke and<br /> Montgomery.<br /> Sir Frederick Pollock, Bart.,<br /> LL.D.<br /> Walter Herries Pollock.<br /> A. G. Ross.<br /> George Augustus Sala.<br /> W. Baptiste Scoones.<br /> G. R. Sims.<br /> J. J. Stevenson.<br /> Jas. Sully.<br /> William Moy Thomas.<br /> H. D. Traill, D.C.L.<br /> The Right Hon. the Baron Henry<br /> de Worms, M.P., F.R.S.<br /> Edmund Yates.<br /> Hon. Counsel—E. M. Underdown, Q.C.<br /> A. W. a Beckett.<br /> W. Martin Conway.<br /> COMMITTEE OF MANAGEMENT.<br /> Chairman—Walter Besant.<br /> Edmund Gosse. J. M. Lely.<br /> H. Rider Haggard. Sir Frederick Pollock.<br /> A. G. Ross.<br /> Solicitors—Messrs. Field, Roscoe, &amp; Co., Lincoln&#039;s Inn Fields.<br /> Secretary—S. Squire Sprigge.<br /> OFFICES.<br /> 4, Portugal Street, Lincoln&#039;s Inn Fields, W.C.<br /> PUBLICATIONS OF THE SOCIETY.<br /> 1. The Annual Report. That for January 1891 can be had on application to the Secretary.<br /> 2. The Author. A Monthly Journal devoted especially to the protection and maintenance of Literary<br /> Property. Issued to all Memliers.<br /> 3. The Grievances Of Authors. (The Leadenhall Press.) 2s. The Report of three Meetings on the<br /> general subject of Literature and its defence, held at Willis&#039;s Rooms, March 1887.<br /> 4 Literature and the Pension List. By W. Morris Colles, Barrister-at-Law. (Henry Glnisher.<br /> q5, Strand, W.C.) is.<br /> 5. The History of the Societe des Gens de Lettres. By S. Squire Sprigge, Secretary to the<br /> Society. I*-<br /> 6. The Cost Of Production. In this work sj&gt;eciuiens are given of the most important forms of type,<br /> size of page, Ac., with estimates showing what it costs to produce the more common kinds of books.<br /> 2s. 6d. Out of Print, New Edition now preparing.<br /> 7. The Various Methods of Publication. By S. Squibb Sprigge. In this work, compiled from the<br /> papers in the Society&#039;s offices, the various kinds of agreements proposed by Publishers to Authors<br /> are examined, and their meaning carefully explained, with an account of the various kinds of fraud<br /> which have l&gt;een made possible by the different clauses in their agreements. Price 3s. Second<br /> Edition.<br /> 8. Copyright Law Eeform. An Exposition of Lord Monkswell&#039;s Copyright Bill now before Parliament.<br /> With Extracts from the Report of the Commission of 1878, and an Appendix containing the<br /> Berne Convention and the American Copyright Bill. By J. M. Lely. Eyre and Npottiswoode<br /> 1 *. 6d.<br /> Other work* bearing on the TAteranj Profession will follow,<br /> vol. n. I 2<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 132 (#536) ############################################<br /> <br /> <br /> The 11 Swan&quot; is a beautiful Gold Ppn joined to a rubber reservoir to hold any kind of ink, which<br /> it supplies to the writing point in a continuous flow. It will hold enough ink for two days&#039; constant<br /> work, or a week&#039;s ordinary writing, and can be refilled with as little trouble as to wind a watch. With<br /> the cover over the gold nib it is carried in the pocket like a pencil, to be used anywhere. A purchaser<br /> may try a pen a few days, and if by chance the writing point does not suit his hand, exchange it for<br /> another without charge, or have his money returned if wanted.<br /> There are yarions points to select from, broad, medium, and flue, every handwriting can he suited,<br /> and the price of the entire instrument, with filler complete, post free, is only 10s, 6d.<br /> <br /> The. Gold Pens in the &quot;Swan&quot; are Mabie, Todd, &amp; ;Co.&#039;s [famous make. They are 14-carat<br /> tempered gold, very handsome, and positively unaffected by any kind of ink. They are pointed with<br /> selected polished iridium. The &quot;Encyclopaedia Britannica&quot; says:—&quot;Iridium is a nearly white metal of<br /> high specific gravity, it is almost indestructible, and a beautifully polished surface can be obtained upon<br /> it.&quot; They will not penetrate the paper, and writer&#039;s cramp is unknown among users of Gold Pens.<br /> One Will OUtwear 90 grOSS Of Steel pens. They are a perfect revelation to those who know nothing<br /> about Gold Pens.<br /> Dr. Oliver Wkndell Holmes has used one of Mabie, Todd, &amp; Co.&#039;s Gold Pens since 1857, and is using the same<br /> one (his &quot; old friend &quot;) to-day.<br /> Sydney Grundy, Esq., says (referring to the Fountain Pen) :—&quot;It is a vast improvement on every Stylograph.&quot;<br /> Mobkrly Bell, Esq., Manager, The Times, says (referring to the Fountain Pen) :—&quot; One pen lasted me for six<br /> years.&quot;<br /> S. D. Waddy, Esq., Q.C., M.P., says (referring to the Fountain Pen) :—&quot; I have used them constantly for some<br /> years, and, as far as I can remember, they have never failed me.&quot;<br /> 11 H-c-a^E-&gt;-iJI 11 ■<br /> Send Postal Card for Free Illustrated List (containing interesting Testimonials from the Best<br /> People, who have used them for years) to—<br /> MABIE, TODD, &amp; BARD,<br /> ©3, CHBAPSIDE, LONDON.<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 133 (#537) ############################################<br /> <br /> ^Ibe Hutbor.<br /> (The Organ of the Incorporated Society of Authors. Monthly.)<br /> CONDUCTED BY WALTER BESANT.<br /> Vol. II.—No. 5.] OCTOBER 1, 1891. [Pbice Sixpence.<br /> For the Opinions expressed in papers that are<br /> signed the Authors alone are responsible.<br /> NOTICES.<br /> MEMBERS and others who wish their MSS.<br /> read are requested not to send them to<br /> the Office without previously communi-<br /> cating with the Secretary. So large a number of<br /> MSS. are sometimes sent in, that it is impossible to<br /> guarantee that the Society&#039;s Readers will furnish<br /> rejwrts by any fixed date. The utmost practicable<br /> despatch is aimed at, and MSS. are read in the<br /> order in which they are received. It must also be<br /> distinctly understood that the Society does not,<br /> under any circumstances, undertake the publication<br /> of MSS.<br /> The official directions for the securing of American<br /> copyright by English authors were given in the<br /> Author for June 1891. Members are earnestly<br /> entreated to take the trouble of reading those<br /> directions.<br /> In the Author for June 1890, and in &quot;Methods<br /> of Publication,&quot; a brief statement is laid down for<br /> the guidance of authors in their agreements on the<br /> meaning of the different royalties proposed from<br /> time to time—what is given to either side by those<br /> royalties.<br /> Members are earnestly requested to forward<br /> agreements to the Society for inspection before<br /> they sign them. Once signed, the mischief is<br /> generally irreparable.<br /> The Honorary Secretary of the Syndicate Depart-<br /> ment will be glad to know the titles and lengths of<br /> any stories written, or to be written, by Members<br /> available for serial publication. Application is<br /> constantly made to the Department for stories of<br /> all descriptions which are ready. There is a great<br /> demand tor &quot;second rights&quot; for newspaper use,<br /> and Members will greatly oblige by forwarding the<br /> names of tales already published, of which they are<br /> willing to sell the serial use. MSS. should, how-<br /> ever, in no case be forwarded to the Office without<br /> previous communication with the Honorary Secre-<br /> tary of the Syndicate Department.<br /> <br /> THE AUTHORS&#039; CLUB.<br /> MR. Oswald Crawfurd, C.M.G., has accepted<br /> the post of chairman of committee of the<br /> proposed club. The form of approval sent<br /> round with the last number of the Author has<br /> resulted in a very good numl&gt;er of names—quite<br /> as many as were expected, considering the holiday<br /> time. The same form is again enclosed. Readers<br /> are earnestly begged to consider the Resolutions<br /> published in the August number of the Author.<br /> They are not final; they are tentative only, and<br /> are subject to reconsideration. They contem-<br /> plate a club of men only, because so many ladies<br /> pointed out that they could not possibly pay so<br /> large a subscription. Now, with a subscription<br /> lower than five guineas it is perfectly impossible to<br /> think of running a high-class club. That amount<br /> will do no more than provide a moderate sized<br /> house and a respectable service. It is in contempla-<br /> tion to give the club a social character on the lines<br /> already followed by some of the newer clubs. It is<br /> intended to make it a comfortable house; a house<br /> of rest, and a house of recreation. The word<br /> Author is taken to include that large and impor-<br /> tant branch of literature called journalism. But it<br /> must not be taken to include only those persons who<br /> follow the profession of letters. Then; are authors<br /> most eligible for the club among all professions<br /> under the sun. Literature is catholic. The club<br /> should include all kinds of humanity which possess<br /> the requisites of culture and of literary ambition<br /> and experience.<br /> —<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 134 (#538) ############################################<br /> <br /> &#039;34<br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> A LADIES&#039; CLUE.<br /> APRELIMINARY meeting has been held at<br /> the Society&#039;s office of ladies engaged in lite-<br /> rature and journalism anxious to found a club<br /> themselves. The chair was taken by Mrs. Stannard<br /> (John Strange Winter). The meeting was nume-<br /> rously attended. It is understood that a resolution<br /> was unanimously passed iu favour of such a club. — •<br /> TO AN AUTHOR WHO COMPLAINED OP<br /> NECJLECT AND DEPRECIATION.<br /> Friend, l&gt;c not fretful if the voice of fame,<br /> Along the narrow ways of hurrying men<br /> Where unto echo echo shouts again,<br /> Be all day long not noisy with your name.<br /> When dumb the noon-day din of praise and<br /> blame,<br /> And heavenly constellations hush the ken,<br /> If yours be light celestial, you will then<br /> Shine like a star, eternally the same.<br /> Nor in your upward journeying stoop to con<br /> The straining petulance of tethered spite,<br /> That still hath railed whenever Genius shone:<br /> As, when dogs bay the moon in midmost night,<br /> The moon nor looks nor listens, but sails on,<br /> Slowly ascending her predestined height.<br /> Alfred Austin.<br /> MY BROTHER CHARLES: An Extract.<br /> • •••••<br /> After these melancholy events, nothing remained<br /> but for the company to break up, and for every<br /> member of it to go his own way. I took a tender<br /> farewell of Dollie, with great sorrow on both sides,<br /> many promises of constancy, and some tears. But<br /> I felt sure—I had a presentiment—that I should<br /> never see her more. The dear girl proposed to<br /> return for the moment to her &quot; Pop,&quot; who conducted<br /> a store at Syracuse, 111., and was a strict church<br /> meml&gt;er. She thought tliat by burying in oblivion,<br /> or carefully editing, the history of the last three<br /> months, and by pretending that she had another en-<br /> gagement as a schoohnarm, she might get some<br /> dollars oiit of the old man, with the help of which<br /> she could try the stage again with better luck. Cer-<br /> tainly, one who has once l&gt;eeii on the boards returns<br /> to them quite naturally, and can never again do<br /> anything else. My presentiment proved true, that<br /> is to sav, I have only seen her once since. I was<br /> tramping through the city of Detroit, when I saw a<br /> name—her name—on a poster with a picture. I<br /> went to the gallery in my rags. I saw her dressed<br /> in tights dancing a breakdown, singing saucy songs,<br /> looking so happy and lively, that it made me sick<br /> and ill just to think of her happiness and mr<br /> rags. And all through one thing. I suppose she<br /> had got the dollars out of her &quot; Pop,&quot; and so got<br /> back to the boards with l&gt;etter luck. Well, when I<br /> had taken her ticket and seen her off, I made the<br /> melancholy discovery that I was left absolutely<br /> penniless—stone broke. I returned to the hotel and<br /> spent the rest of that day and most of the night in<br /> trying to find a way out of the mess. What I wanted<br /> was money to carry me on to New York, and to<br /> keep me going there until 1 should find another<br /> engagement. When I fell asleep, I had fully<br /> resolved what to do. I do not defend the plan<br /> which I finally adopted. I am aware that it mav lie<br /> attacked, especially if a harsh and one-sided view<br /> is adopted; but I do declare that it was forced<br /> upon me, and that I fully intended, but for the<br /> accursed accidents which followed, to repay all<br /> the money I should make by my false pretences.<br /> I daresay I shall not l&gt;e believed, but that was my<br /> honest intention.<br /> I was then six and twenty years of age, an<br /> Englishman by birth, and, as you have guessed,<br /> an actor—not as yet a very successful actor—by<br /> profession. I still think that if I had had the luck<br /> to light upon a really new part, and to make it my<br /> own, I had the touch and go, light comedy style,<br /> and might have made a reputation—ah ! equal to<br /> any. I&#039;ve seen Charles Wyudham, and it is absurd<br /> to suppose that I could not . . . But it is too late.<br /> And all through the most extraordinary mis-<br /> fortune that ever befell any man. There I was, an<br /> honourable, scrupulous young man—I repeat, that<br /> I intended to pay back the money—and I was<br /> wrecked, ruined by one—just one—accident, which<br /> nobody could have foreseen. At the same time,<br /> I admit that I ought to have got away at once<br /> without an hour&#039;s delay. I might have guessed;<br /> and here I am, all in consequence of that accident,<br /> tramp, gaolbird, swindler, thief, and can&#039;t raise<br /> myself again as long as I live. Sometimes when I<br /> think of that accident I feel as if the top of my<br /> head was being lifted off.<br /> In the morning, my plan fully formed, I dressed<br /> myself as carefully as my slender wardrobe would<br /> allow, and after breakfast sallied out, thankful<br /> that it did not occur to the clerk as I passed him<br /> in the hall, to remind me of the hotel bill. The<br /> place was Philadelphia, which is full of rich people,<br /> and has some liu-niry people. I had procured<br /> from the directory certain names and addresses<br /> which I thought would be useful. There was a<br /> great Shakespearean scholar; there was a rich—ft<br /> very rich—editor; there was a poet of eminence;<br /> there were three or four clergymen; there W«*<br /> others—scholars and authors. I called upon all of<br /> them. The Shakespearean scholar lent me $icc; the<br /> rich editor, $125; the poet, $zo; the others, from §to<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 135 (#539) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> 135<br /> to $20 each. I went l&gt;ack to my hotel that morning<br /> richer than when I left it by about S3oo—say, £60<br /> in English money. This was very good business,<br /> so good that I ought to have cleared out at once<br /> without the least delay. I ought to have suspected<br /> that something was going to happen after such<br /> wonderful luck. For I had no dilliculty whatever<br /> with my little plan. It came off without a hitch.<br /> Such a plan generally does. It must be simple;<br /> it must be well and naturally told; there must be<br /> no hint or suggestion that the story could be<br /> suspected or disbelieved. What I did was this: I<br /> sent in my card, &quot; Mr. Wilford Amhurst, Dramatic<br /> Authors&#039; Club, London.&quot; I was taken to see my man<br /> —it was the Shakespearean scholar—in his study.<br /> Now I certainly looked very English, and I believe<br /> I had at that time an honest face and a frank<br /> manner. After all these prisons, and ups and<br /> downs, my face may be English still, but it is no<br /> longer honest, nor is my manner frank. I began<br /> by apologizing for intruding. I ventured to do so<br /> on account of his well known sympathy with letters.<br /> Then I paused a moment. He 1 rowed his head in<br /> silence. I went on to say that the name on my<br /> card, Wilford Amhurst,&quot; was not my real but<br /> my stage name, that I was really Wilford Ingledew,<br /> and that I was the youngest brother of Charles<br /> Ingledew, the well known novelist. The scholar<br /> started and looked suspicions. &quot;Charles Ingle-<br /> dew,&quot; he said, &quot; must be a good deal older than<br /> yourself.&quot; &quot;Not so very much,&quot; I replied, putting<br /> something on my own age and taking something<br /> from his. &quot;I am 36 and he is 46.&quot; He asked<br /> me, still in a doubtful kind of way, but open to<br /> conviction, to tell him a little more about myself.<br /> I said that I was at Rugby and afterwards at<br /> Pembroke, Cambridge, where I did not stay to<br /> take a degree, but left at the end of my second vear.<br /> It was rather a lucky guess about Pembroke, because<br /> I had once stayed with a man who was stage-struck,<br /> and I knew something about the College, a nil so<br /> did lie. He asked me if I had written anything.<br /> I gave him a long list of plays and poems, none of<br /> which I had with me. He then asked me if I had<br /> any letter or anything from my brother which<br /> would go to prove my statement. I pulled<br /> out of my pocket-lxx&gt;k a letter written on some<br /> English note paper—fortunately rather soiled and<br /> dirty, which helped ine. It began &quot;My dear<br /> Wilford.&quot; It lamented my bad luck, gently<br /> intimated that extravagance was partly the cause<br /> of it, and exhorted me to return to England,<br /> where, he said, he had little doubt that with my<br /> undoubted talent I should certainly succeed. He<br /> ended it with two or three purely family matters—<br /> a reference to my mother&#039;s health, and&#039; another to<br /> a married sister who had recently been happily<br /> confined of twins, and he remained, hoping to<br /> sec me at home before long, my affectionate brother<br /> Charles Ingledew. I had written the letter myself<br /> that morning. As for the signature, I copied it<br /> from a magazine. &quot;This,&quot; said my scholar, &quot;is<br /> certainly Charles Ingledew&#039;s signature. I suppose<br /> there is no doubt that you are the person you repre-<br /> sent yourself to be; and, in that case, what do you<br /> want of me?&quot; &quot;Well, I am absolutely j&gt;enniless.<br /> That is my case. I cannot beg or steal. I want to<br /> borrow. Only I want to borrow so that my brother<br /> should not know. He would l&gt;c disgusted if he<br /> knew anything about it. He is always pitching<br /> into me about extravagance. Will you, on my<br /> word of honour only, lend me a hundred dollars?<br /> I am going back to London, and I shall send you<br /> the money as soon as I possibly can. If I don&#039;t<br /> get it by my own work, I shall have to borrow it of<br /> Charles.&quot; Without a word he opened a drawer<br /> and took out notes to that amount. &quot;There,&quot; he<br /> said, &quot;take these for your brother&#039;s sake.&quot;<br /> I wrung his hand, and I went away without<br /> another word. That was the best thing to do.<br /> Gratitude, chokes you see. You press the hand of<br /> your benefactor and yon go, with bowed shoulders,<br /> opening and closing the door with just a little<br /> demonstration and without noise.<br /> In all the other cases I was equally successful.<br /> Not a doubt was raised. Only I asked less of the<br /> clergymen, and wanted nothing more than to pay<br /> my hotel bill and to get on to New York, where I<br /> hail friends.<br /> Now, I .say again, had I possessed any sense at all,<br /> I ought to have been so astonished at my wonderful<br /> good luck that I should have made tracks at once. I<br /> should have gone on by the first train to New York.<br /> I should have made any further question, discussion,<br /> or difficulties impossible. I ought to have known<br /> that such ease in getting would have been followed<br /> by tremendous difficulty in keeping. It is always<br /> the way. The easier you get, the quicker you lose.<br /> Well, I had impressed upon every one the<br /> necessity of keeping my secret. They had all<br /> promised, and to this day I cannot tell who, if<br /> any, did betray me. I incline on the whole to<br /> the belief that the old scoundrel, villain, rogue who<br /> but there, you shall see.<br /> I dined pleasantly and had a small bottle of<br /> Burgundy—fancy a stone-broke player drinking<br /> Burgundy in Philadelphia! and I really felt quite<br /> happv, comfortable, and free from anxiety. As for<br /> baing found out, or anything, that did not enter into<br /> my imagination. After dinner I strolled into the<br /> saloon and s it d jwn with a cigar looking on at the<br /> p.;ople.<br /> They came and went in twos an J threes; they<br /> sat down and talked or they stood at the bar and<br /> drank. I watched and listened, sitting lazily in a<br /> corner under a gas light.<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 136 (#540) ############################################<br /> <br /> 136<br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> Presently two men came in, ami one had un<br /> evening paper. He began to run his eve down the<br /> columns, telling the news as he went on. One<br /> thing after the other lie noted. Then he came to u<br /> paragraph which he rend out at length. &quot;There<br /> is staying at the Lone Star Hotel a young English-<br /> man who is at once actor, poet, and dramatist.<br /> His theatrical name is Wilt&#039;ord Amhurst. His<br /> real name is Wilford Ingledew, and he is the<br /> youngest brother of diaries Ingledew, the English<br /> novelist. He has called upon one of the most<br /> prominent citizens and revealed his name. He is<br /> said to be a handsome Englishman of a thoroughly<br /> Britannic aspect, looking younger than he is—<br /> probably from wearing neither beard nor moustache.<br /> He is ten years younger than his brother, who is<br /> now forty-six, and he greatly resembles him in face<br /> and stature. He has been a member of a travelling<br /> variety company which has not been eminently<br /> successful.&quot; You sec that nothing here was said<br /> about begging and borrowing. Yet I felt uneasy.<br /> He read this out, and said, &quot;Why, I remember<br /> Wilford Amhurst in the piece—what was it—the<br /> Criterion comedy piece. And ...&quot; His<br /> voice stopped short, for he recognised me.<br /> Even then there was still time. I should have<br /> left the saloon immediately and taken the night<br /> train. Fool! double—treble Fool!<br /> The man advanced to me. &quot;Mr. Wilford<br /> Ingledew,&quot; he said, &quot; I have the pleasure of wish-<br /> ing you well. Your brother&#039;s works are so well<br /> known to me that I feel as if-no introduction was<br /> necessary to&quot;<br /> This beautiful and trustful beginning was com-<br /> pletely spoiled, however, by a third person. He<br /> was, to look at, a Brute—a Brute and a Beast.<br /> He was clad in a filthy greasy gaberdine—the poor<br /> despised Jew in the middle ages always wore a<br /> gaberdine, therefore I use that word to describe the<br /> ragged old thing that hung on his shoulders. He<br /> was a man of short grey hair and long grey bristles<br /> —the former on his head, the latter on his chin.<br /> He had a swollen and pimply face, a swollen red<br /> nose, and blue lips. He looked as if he was half<br /> drunk. I never knew him afterwards or saw him<br /> but what he looked half drunk. He had been<br /> standing by, apparently taking no heed of what<br /> was said. Now he came lurching forward.<br /> &quot;Wilford Ingledew? I believe it is. Good<br /> Lord! Here&#039;s a chance! Wilford—Wilford, I<br /> say. Wilford Ingledew—Ingledew—don&#039;t you<br /> know me? Look at me, man. Don&#039;t you know<br /> me now &#039;i Your eldest brother—Jack Ingledew—<br /> I am. Jack Ingledew. Him that went away<br /> 3o years ago and never went home again. Boys,&quot;<br /> —he turned to some loafing blackguards behind<br /> him,—&quot; you all know Jack Ingledew—old Jack.&quot;<br /> They murmured with ono consent that they all<br /> knew Jack—old Jack. &quot;Old Jack—that you<br /> thought dead—eh &#039;&lt; long since dead. And to think<br /> that we meet here after all these years. It makes<br /> me thirsty. Brother—brother Wilford—a little<br /> baby three years old when I went away—shake<br /> hands—shake hands with your eldest brother—<br /> long parted—grief as is felt—happy to part—<br /> happy to meet again. Joy demands a drink. We<br /> must celebrate this happy occasion with a drink.<br /> Come.&quot;<br /> This was the terrible accident. This was the<br /> cause of all the trouble. Through the accursed<br /> mischance of that eldest brother—if he was an<br /> eldest brother—Lord knows !—turning up at that<br /> juncture.<br /> The man who had first spotted ine stepped aside,<br /> leaving me to the Beast of the Greasy Gaberdine.<br /> What I ought to have done is perfectly plain<br /> and simple. 1 did not do it. In fact, I gave him<br /> a drink. I ought, of course, to have refused any<br /> knowledge of the Beast. I ought to have said that<br /> there was no John Ingledew—was there, in fact?<br /> Was this man really Charles Ingledew&#039;s elder<br /> brother? I don&#039;t know. I never could find out.<br /> But the knowledge of my own guilt made me weak.<br /> I accepted his filthy hand. I gave him another<br /> drink. I owned up to the eldest brother; I was<br /> civil to him. I pointed out that I could not very<br /> well remember a man whom I had not seen for so<br /> long. He then asked certain questions which I<br /> answered as well as I could. I incline to the belief<br /> that he was what he pretended, because at one point<br /> he stopped and looked suspicious. Then he caught<br /> me by the waistcoat button and he whispered,<br /> &quot;Brother, Brother Wilford! They&#039;ve telegraphed<br /> across to know if Charles Ingledew has got a<br /> brother Wilford.&quot;<br /> I started, I turned pale.<br /> &quot;Brother—you&#039;d better bolt. I knew you were<br /> a bunco-steerer at the go off. Now, you go in and<br /> make up your grip—quick. Else, to-morrow, you&#039;ll<br /> be laid by the heels. I&#039;ll wait here for you—I&#039;ll<br /> see you through. You rely on me.&quot;<br /> I was so knocked over with the thought of the<br /> telegraph that I curdled and curled up. I did what<br /> he told me. My grip took no time, because it was<br /> reduced to an empty box. I told him so.<br /> &quot;Then,&quot; he said, &quot;we&#039;ll leave it behind. Now,<br /> let&#039;s have one more drink and than catch a train.<br /> I&#039;ll see you through. Your eldest brother John—•<br /> old Jack—he&#039;ll stand by the family.&quot; Yet he had<br /> just before called me a bunco-steerer. But I was<br /> in such a fright about the telegraph that I hardly<br /> knew what he said, and I walked along beside hi in<br /> in a dream.<br /> &quot;We&#039;ll take tickets to New York and we&#039;ll get<br /> out at a station I know,&quot; he said, &quot; That will pre-<br /> vent your being nabbed as soon as you get out of<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 137 (#541) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE A UTHOR.<br /> i37<br /> the train. You&#039;ll have just to lie quiet for a day<br /> or two, and then you can go on.&quot;<br /> I thought that the first thing I would do was to<br /> get rid of him. That proved, as you will see, not<br /> quite so easy. We took a night train; it left<br /> Philadelphia at eleven. We sat down together—this<br /> evil-smelling l&gt;east ami myself. He talked fami-<br /> liarly to the eonduetor—told him that I was his<br /> younger brother, and he grinned; said that younger<br /> brothers ought to look after the seniors, and that 1<br /> was a model younger brother. He said many<br /> more fncetious and pleasant things. You can<br /> suppose that I greatly enjoyed his society and his<br /> conversation.<br /> In aliout two hours or so we stopped at some<br /> small station. &quot;Now,&quot; he whispered, &quot;let&#039;s get<br /> down. I know where you can find a place to hide<br /> in for a bit—a snug quiet place, where the drink<br /> is good. Come along.&quot;<br /> We got down just as the train began to move<br /> on again. The night wits pitch dark; the petro-<br /> leum lamps of the station were extinguished<br /> directly after the train went on.<br /> &quot;This way,&quot; the man took my arm and led<br /> me along in the darkness. I knew not what<br /> direction we took nor how long we walked. It<br /> seemed to me a walk of hours. Presently we<br /> stopped at a house in the midst, as it seemed, of a<br /> wood, where lights were shown in the windows.<br /> My man blew a whistle, and the door was thrown<br /> open. &quot;Walk in, brother Wilford,&quot; he said,<br /> grinning, &quot; Here you will l&gt;c real welcome. Such<br /> a chance as this has never come to you before.&quot;<br /> Within, the place proved to be a kind of log<br /> house. It consisted of one large room with a stove.<br /> Along the walls were lynches, and on these benches<br /> were mattresses, on some of which men were<br /> sleeping. I saw that four were asleep; two more<br /> were playing cards at a table; there was a lire<br /> burning; anil there was the usual detestable smell<br /> of jx&#039;troleum from the lamp. And I discovered at<br /> once that I was fallen among a den of thieves and<br /> rogues.<br /> &quot;Gentlemen,&quot; said my eldest brother, &quot;I have<br /> brought you my brother—my younger brother<br /> Wilford—Wilford Ingledew. He is in a little<br /> trouble just now, on account of certain alleged<br /> false pretences—people will say anything—we have<br /> all suffered from calumny—I&#039;ve asked him here to<br /> share our hospitality for a bit. A clever fellow, I<br /> think, you will find my younger brother Wilford.&quot;<br /> The two men who were playing looked up<br /> anxiously. Then they threw down their cards,<br /> and stood up, feeling at their belts, and I began to<br /> perspire at the nose. &quot;What does he know,<br /> Jack?&quot;<br /> &quot;Nothing. Leave that to me. Now, brother<br /> as we are all friends here and brothers, let us l&gt;cgin<br /> VOL. II.<br /> by sharing. What did you make by the job?<br /> Come—don&#039;t look scared—you can&#039;t get out of<br /> this if you try—by . . .&quot; He lugged out a re-<br /> volver. &quot;So begin. Clear your pockets. You&#039;ve<br /> got to do what you&#039;re told. You&#039;ve got to—or—&quot;<br /> he fingered the pistol. I had to turn every pocket<br /> out, and to show it empty. I had to take off my<br /> boots and coat and waistcoat to show that nothing<br /> was concealed. The whole now lay upon the<br /> table—three hundred dollars and more.<br /> &quot;There are seven of us,&quot; said old Jatk. &quot;You<br /> make eight. Every man&#039;s share is $40, odd. As for<br /> your share, we&#039;ll keep it for you. Oh! You shall<br /> not lose it. You are among men of honour. And<br /> now, brother, if you like to lie down and go to<br /> sleep, you can. If you like a drink, say so. If<br /> you like to cut in with the cards, say so. We&#039;re<br /> all friends here and all brothers. Them as<br /> are not brothers we make dead uns, which<br /> saves trouble.&quot; I stayed in that den for three<br /> weeks. I was never left alone. I was given<br /> to understand by old Jack and one or other<br /> of them that if I chose to throw in my lot<br /> with these miscreants I should be received as one<br /> of the gang. If not, I should not be allowed to<br /> escape, and in fact . . . you may guess.<br /> In a month&#039;s time, I was dressed like a gentle-<br /> man: I was an English nobleman, and I was<br /> living at a high-class New York hotel. I had a<br /> pocket-full of money, and I was working for a big<br /> thing.<br /> You see what I am now—a broken-down tramp,<br /> in rags and penniless. The gang is dispersed; we<br /> have all had sentences to work out. As for old<br /> Jack—my eldest brother—I don&#039;t know what has<br /> become of him, but I should like to murder him.<br /> If I were to meet him on a lonely road I believe I<br /> should murder him. And the moral of my story, I<br /> often think, is that when you have made a lucky<br /> hit you must get away as quick as you cati before<br /> some cussed accident sets things agee. Now, if I<br /> had gone straight away that very moment—think<br /> —I should now—who knows ?—be managing a<br /> London theatre. I might have married Dollie.<br /> Oh! it makes me mad only to think of it. Because<br /> I stayed I had to run awny at night and fell into a<br /> gang of rogues, and was compelled to l&gt;ccome their<br /> confederate and got into prison and . . . there<br /> . you see.<br /> It&#039;s all very well to say that I shouldn&#039;t have<br /> pretended to be the brother of an English writer.<br /> I was stone-broke and I had to get some money<br /> somehow, and I meant to give that money back.<br /> The devil of it was that I stayed and went into<br /> that bar. I stayed. That way the lmd luck<br /> came in.<br /> ♦••■»<br /> K<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 138 (#542) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> PEGASUS IN HARNESS.<br /> Put Pegasus in hnrness<br /> And tench him how to trot;<br /> Take him to the market<br /> With his wares piping hot,<br /> All fresh anil glowing<br /> From his owner&#039;s mind,<br /> Three a penny, four a penny,<br /> Best of their kind.<br /> Lord! here&#039;s a bother,<br /> The creature wants to fly!<br /> Quiet, there, my beauty,<br /> We&#039;ll loose you by-and-bye!<br /> Come now, it&#039;s useless,<br /> Customers don&#039;t soar;<br /> It won&#039;t pay, alack, to scorn<br /> Their muddy floor.<br /> Why, what a blessing<br /> The harness was so strong:<br /> What a task &#039;tis to get<br /> The chafing steed along!<br /> Fold your wings, do, now!<br /> Keep them for the sky;<br /> Men pay to touch their feathers, not<br /> To see them fly.<br /> Pegasus, when night comes<br /> We&#039;ll fly up to the stars,<br /> We&#039;ll soar above Venus,<br /> And we&#039;ll mount beyond Mars;<br /> Earth lies a ball lx»neath—<br /> Alx&gt;ve, still there&#039;s blue—<br /> By day we must earn our bread;<br /> At night we&#039;ll be true.<br /> There—we endeavour,<br /> Here—we must win;<br /> There—lift up our hands,<br /> Here—stoop for a pin;<br /> Turn every penny<br /> Another to gain:<br /> Heaven bids—struggle!<br /> Earth bids—uttain!<br /> But oh ! when night comes<br /> To the earth-wearied man,<br /> To one master he&#039;s true,<br /> And he sleeps while he can—<br /> Swoop ! and a rushing,<br /> The great steed has gone:<br /> The Boundless receives him,<br /> His master sleeps on.<br /> I&#039;mph! what&#039;s to do now?<br /> There&#039;s the bread winner&#039;s flown.<br /> Why—fetch up a mule, man,<br /> Put the gold trappings on;<br /> He&#039;ll give time to see them;<br /> He&#039;s safe, sure, and slow,<br /> If you speak still of &quot; Pegasus&quot;<br /> Xobody &#039;11 know.<br /> Sidney Caxton.<br /> ♦*••♦<br /> &quot;AUTHORS&#039; COMPLAINTS AND<br /> PUBLISHERS&#039; PROFITS.&quot;<br /> IHAVE read with much interest Mr. George<br /> Putnam&#039;s paper on this subject in the Forum<br /> of September, the more so because I have lnul<br /> from time to time several conversations with the<br /> writer on the points raised in his paper, and I<br /> always found him willing to meet me half way on<br /> all essential points, and, to the best of my recollec-<br /> tion, perfectly ready to admit the useful functions<br /> of our Society, and the reasonableness of its aims.<br /> So much, indeed, he admits in this article when he<br /> says—the italics are my own—&quot;Whatever shape<br /> the compensation of the author may take (excepting<br /> only that of a purchase outright of his copyright)<br /> he is of course entitled to precise information us to<br /> the publishing statistics of his boohs.&quot;<br /> Exactly. This concession covers nearly the<br /> whole ground. The chief grievance of the author<br /> is that he has been, and still is, called upon to<br /> surrender his property on terms the half of which<br /> are carefully concealed from him; tliat he is offered<br /> this and that without being informed what the<br /> arrangement gives to the other side. Let us know<br /> what the other side receives for himself as well<br /> as what he ijices the author. Then we shall<br /> understand what we are about. Now, the most<br /> important part of the work of the Society has been<br /> the publication—approximately only, for nothing is<br /> more elastic than a printer&#039;s bill—of the actual cost<br /> of production. With this in our hands, we have a<br /> very simple sum in arithmetic:—(i) The actual<br /> cost of production. (2) The royalty paid to the<br /> author. (3) The trade price of the book. The<br /> publisher&#039;s profit can be easily calculated. Now,<br /> Mr. Putnam in this article talks round and round<br /> the subject, but does not touch the real point at<br /> issue. For instance, he carefully enumerates the<br /> various methods of dealing with authors; he points<br /> out the increased cost of printing, and binding, and<br /> distribution; but he evades the main points, viz.,<br /> the actual profit made by the publishers on the<br /> various methods described and the proportion<br /> which, in his opinion, should be taken by the<br /> publisher.<br /> He complained that I consider only tin? question of<br /> books with a side of 10,000. I suppose he alludes to<br /> Mr. Sprigge&#039;s book—the &quot; Methods of Publication&quot;<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 139 (#543) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> *39<br /> —and to the &quot;Cost of Production.&quot; But in those<br /> books, the sale of 1,000 copies, and even less, is<br /> carefully considered, as well as the sale of 10,000.<br /> He says in one place (p. 74.) that I am &quot; inclined<br /> to contend that there are, as a matter of fact, no<br /> such things as publishing losses,&quot; and that I &quot;claim<br /> that the publishers rarely take any risk in publish-<br /> ing, as they make a practice of putting their money<br /> only into books that an- sure to pay.&quot; On p. 7a he<br /> says, &quot;It is the contention of the English Society<br /> of Authors that the publisher who understands his<br /> business must take, ami, as a matter of fact, does<br /> take, no risk in his undertakings.&quot; Now, there is<br /> a difference between &quot;rarely&quot; and &quot;never&quot;—a<br /> very great difference. What I have said, over and<br /> over again—what I am prepared to prove, by<br /> hundreds of cast&#039;s and agreements brought to our<br /> office—by verbal information from persons who<br /> have been employed in publishers&#039; offices—and<br /> by examination of advertised publishers&#039; lists, is<br /> this. There has grown up of late years a custom<br /> of making authors pay whenever there is any real<br /> risk. It is very seldom that publishers take any<br /> risk. I might go further and say that there are<br /> some houses which never will take any risk at all.<br /> Bv this I mean the simple meaning that the words<br /> convev. In other words, it is very seldom that a<br /> publisher will produce a l»ook unless he sees his<br /> way to the sale of at least as many copies as will<br /> pay the cost of production, with something for his<br /> services or the interest of his money.<br /> Over and over again has this proposition been<br /> stated. Nothing in the world could be more true—<br /> nothing more reasonable and probable. Over and<br /> over again interested or malicious persons have dis-<br /> torted the statement into quite a different one, and<br /> have virtuously argued themselves black in the face<br /> on the assumption that 1 have said that there are<br /> no risks in publishing.<br /> There may be plenty of risk in publishing.<br /> You may produce a lwok on a subject which no<br /> one wants; you may produce a bad book on any<br /> subject; vou may produce tot) large an edition of a<br /> l)ook; vou may spend more money in advertising a<br /> book than the l&gt;ook will bear; you may bring out<br /> a book at a wrong time; many tilings of the kind<br /> may happen. But a skilled—or a well advised<br /> publisher—in this great world of English readers—<br /> with this immense market before him—with all<br /> the various branches of letters—with all the<br /> different audiences—with all the favourite leaders<br /> and authorities in all these branches—need never, I<br /> maintain, unless he pleases, run any risk at all.<br /> And he very seldom does.<br /> He may, it is true, l&gt;c disappointed in the ulti-<br /> mate proceeds. But that is not risk. My con-<br /> tention is that he need never publish a book unless<br /> he knows that the minimum of the sales will cover<br /> his expenditure and something over. And I do<br /> not for a moment agree with Mr. Putnam that a<br /> man would be valuable to a publishing firm who<br /> would keep them from losses, because an educated<br /> man, brought up in the business, will easily, and<br /> does easily, learn for himself. Of course, I am not<br /> speaking of American risks,of which I know nothing.<br /> I agree with Mr. Putnam—and he with me—in<br /> so many points that I should like him to agree with<br /> ine in all. For instance, he is perfectly right when<br /> he says that authors cannot expect compensation—<br /> he means pay—for work which proves to have no<br /> marketable value. An author can only be paid out<br /> of the proceeds of his book. But that must be a<br /> very poor publisher who cannot tell beforehand<br /> whether a book has a marketable value or not. One<br /> publisher—de mes amis—has an eagle eye for the<br /> detection of marketable value in novels He never<br /> fails—at least, I think not—I hope not—in this in-<br /> stinct of his. He produces works by unknown<br /> writers, and they Income known and popular. He<br /> knows. With this and other examples before me,<br /> when a publisher writes complaining that he has lost<br /> by this book and by that book, I am inclined to say,<br /> &quot;Friend, if that is true, you do not know your own<br /> business.&quot; But he never shows his books, remein-<br /> l&gt;er. Mr. Putman makes a great ileal about the<br /> &quot;generosity&quot; of certain publishers. First of all,<br /> we do not want generosity. We do not want to<br /> keep up the old notion which caused a publisher<br /> to be considered as a (generally) malevolent old<br /> man (but sometimes benevolent), who sat upon a bag<br /> of gold—an enormous bag of untold gold—and dealt<br /> out capricious gifts, varying according to his<br /> temper. Nor do we want the other notion which<br /> made of the publisher the guardian angel of letters,<br /> thinking only how he could advance the holy<br /> cause of literature, and careless whether he ruined<br /> himself or not. Nor do we want the old sorry<br /> spectacle of the writing-man who goes humbly, hat<br /> in hand, body bent, voice hushed, to the man who<br /> pays, ami takes with tears of gratitude whatever he<br /> may offer or may chuck. What we now say is<br /> this, &quot;What do you mean by your 4 generosity&#039;?<br /> Hang your generosity! Keep it for the charity<br /> sermon. Give us plain and simple justice. You have<br /> graciously heretofore given this and tossed that;<br /> what have you kept for yourself? Show us your<br /> accounts before you talk of generosity.&quot;<br /> Then; are one or two other points in which Mr.<br /> Putnam unfortunately fails to understand the<br /> position. Thus, he girds at Canon Farrar, saying<br /> that he appealed to the public for sympathy, because<br /> his publishers had made more money than himself<br /> when he had signed a contract to do and work for<br /> so much. Canon Farrar did nothing of the kind.<br /> The grievance in his case was this: He did agree<br /> to do a certain piece of work for a certain sum of<br /> K S<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 140 (#544) ############################################<br /> <br /> 140<br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> money. The work proved enormously successful.<br /> He had no claim for anything more, and never set<br /> up any claim. But when the firm in question<br /> invited him to do another work, they did not let<br /> him understand how successful his first work had<br /> been. They said nothing about the proportion<br /> of profit they had made for themselves; they<br /> said nothing about what they knew they should<br /> make on the next work. This, no doubt,<br /> was what is called business. But the English<br /> publisher has always endeavoured to make the<br /> English author believe that he is his friend. My<br /> own contention in that matter is that Farrar should<br /> not have signed that second agreement until the<br /> firm had shown him by their books what it had<br /> made out of the first. The same remark applies to<br /> all cases of so-called &quot;generosity.&quot; Let the<br /> accounts be produced. Then we shall see. We<br /> do not wish to rob the publisher by accepting his<br /> &quot;generosity.&quot; We, do not wish him to rob us<br /> under the name of &quot;generosity.&quot; I pass over all<br /> Mr. Putnam&#039;s remarks on American publishing for<br /> obvious reasons. I think, for the same reasons, he<br /> should not have entered the lists al&gt;out English<br /> publishing. And I also wish very much that he<br /> had read what has l&gt;een said and printed by my<br /> friends on the subject before committing himself to<br /> statements and charges which cannot be sustained.<br /> He says that we have made &quot;sweeping charges&quot;<br /> against publishers as a class. We have done no-<br /> thing of the kind. We have proved &quot; up to the<br /> hilt,&quot; as the Spectator allowed, that fraudulent<br /> practices exist, and are, indeed, rife. The fact that<br /> many of us are on friendly terms with publishers is<br /> quite enough to disprove the assertion of &quot; sweeping<br /> charges.&quot; It is also a fact that many of the prac-<br /> tices which we have proved to exist are now carried<br /> on in a much more secret and guarded fashion than<br /> prevailed four or five years ago. Meantime, I<br /> commend to Mr. Putnam the consideration of our<br /> great principle that in all business relations, part-<br /> nerships, joint adventures, and enterprises, it is<br /> right, just, and proper that the two parties should<br /> each and severally have a full knowledge of what<br /> the agreements give to either side. That once<br /> conceded, the rest, viz., an equitable understanding<br /> that shall safeguard both parties may be arrived at.<br /> Such an understanding is very much to be desired<br /> in the interests of publishers as well as of authors,<br /> and, indeed, cannot but Ixj desired by every honour-<br /> able publisher as well as by any honourable and<br /> self-respecting author.<br /> Walter Bksant.<br /> POPULAR PLATITUDINOUS PHILOSOPHY.<br /> 1. The publisher risks dire poverty who pays a<br /> new author anything.<br /> 2. Publishing is the most precarious form of<br /> &quot;plunging.&quot;<br /> 3. Every author should rest content with the<br /> honour of appearing in print.<br /> 4. An artist should be above alimony: Art is<br /> degraded by any money.<br /> 5. Publishing is a matter of favouritism, by<br /> which paper-makers, printers, lxx&gt;kbinders, and<br /> booksellers all conspire against unknown genius<br /> 6. Artists should Ik; angels—all soul: eating is<br /> merely animal, and therefore inartistically vulgar.<br /> 7. The general public is divisible into those who<br /> buy books but do not read them, those who read<br /> but do not buy, and those who neither buy nor<br /> read.<br /> 8. What we manufacture we should be jmid for;<br /> but what other people make they should give us for<br /> nothing.<br /> 9. All best work is borrowed, and therefore<br /> belongs to someone else.<br /> 1 o. The alphabet is public property, and whoso<br /> disarranges it into Iwoks only disturbs what belongs<br /> to everybody.<br /> 11. Everything that was best contrived to live in<br /> the past.<br /> 12. In the multitude of conventionalisms is to be<br /> found the highest wisdom.<br /> 13. A publisher is a philanthropist who scorns<br /> coarse commerce.<br /> 14. What is conscience in ourselves is only<br /> conceit in the other man.<br /> 15. Civility is what the other people owe us.<br /> 16. There is no fine art in fiction; it is just as<br /> easy as lying.<br /> Phinlay Olknelo.<br /> NOTES AND NEWS.<br /> fl^HE Spectator devotes an article to some<br /> I remarks made by me in another place on the<br /> distribution of national honours, orders anil<br /> titles. The editor, it appears, does not agree with<br /> these remarks. Now there is one thing for which<br /> I especially respect the Spectator. It always<br /> seeks to represent the views which it attacks,<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 141 (#545) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> 141<br /> honourably and fuirly. This conceded, let me<br /> state my case again. The State confides to the<br /> Sovereign the task of recognising distinction and<br /> good service l&gt;y the grant of certain orders and<br /> titles. The Spectator says that these decorations<br /> are part of the wages of the State for servants of<br /> the State. My position entirely. But I maintain<br /> that everything — every kind of service — that<br /> advances the happiness, the safety, the welfare,<br /> the moral and intellectual level of mankind, is a<br /> distinct service to the State, and should be recog-<br /> nised as such. The Spectator would narrow the<br /> service of the State, apparently, to service paid for<br /> by the State. The writer says that decorations and<br /> titles are &quot;part of the wages of the State, outward<br /> and visible signs of good conduct.&quot; In that case<br /> why were Bass, Allsopp, and Guinness raised to<br /> the peerage? Why, again, is a plain country<br /> gentleman made a baronet? Why is the warden<br /> of a city company made a knight? That defini-<br /> tion clearly will not serve. There is, in fact, no<br /> rule whatever, no principle recognised in the dis-<br /> tribution of honours. Somebody advises the<br /> Queen. Is it the Prime Minister? I do not<br /> know. Whoever it is, he makes no reservation<br /> whatever about paid servants of the State. None<br /> whatever. He says that a soldier or a sailor, a<br /> lawyer, a politician, a rich man, if he is rich<br /> enough, a man in the Treasury, or the Foreign<br /> Office, or the Diplomatic Service, may look forward<br /> to receiving some kind of distinction. No one, he<br /> says, however distinguished in medicine, architec-<br /> ture, painting, literature, music, acting, sculpture,<br /> science, or teaching, must ever expect a peerage.<br /> If a physician were to discover a certain way of<br /> curing gout or rheumatism and abolishing that<br /> agony for ever, he would have no more than a<br /> baronetcy. If a man brews enough beer, of course,<br /> he shall lie raised to the Upper House, and sit<br /> apart—he and his—for ever, but not if he writes<br /> the most splendid play ever produced. In some<br /> of these branches they from time to time offer a<br /> very distinguished man—say a Huxley—the saine<br /> distinction—the smallest of all—that they give the<br /> mayor of a country town. Now, for all these<br /> branches—for every noble calling—I claim the<br /> right of national recognition, in whatever way<br /> tin? nation can or does exercise that recognition.<br /> Especially I claim it for literature, because of all<br /> noble callings it is the one which has lieen the<br /> least recognised.<br /> Observe that I do not ask, as the Spectator<br /> mistakenly asserts, that great authors should<br /> receive the honour of Knight Bachelor. The<br /> Spectator, you see, cannot conceive it possible<br /> that any great author in his wildest ambitions<br /> should look beyond a knighthood. I want a very<br /> great deal more for them. I want ■whatever<br /> honours the State has to bestow—the very highest.<br /> The Spectator mentions the peerage of the<br /> Laureate. I wonder if the Sjwctator rememliers<br /> that at the time when Lord Tennyson received an<br /> honour which recognised the very point I insist<br /> upon, some of the papers tried to make out that<br /> it was conferred upon him because he was of good<br /> birth. Others said that poets ought not to want<br /> peerages—the Spectator to-day says as much.<br /> The answer is clear; great poets do not want<br /> peerages; they confer services upon the State<br /> which cannot be measured; but, in whatever way<br /> the State chooses to recognise great services, it is<br /> bound in that way to recognise a great poet. It<br /> is no honour to Tennyson that he is a peer; it is<br /> the acknowledgment of his vast services to the<br /> State in the way open to a grateful nation. Such<br /> acknowledgments are due to literature as much as<br /> to any other profession. Not that writers will do<br /> better work, but that the world will liegin to think<br /> more highly of its writers and will begin to value<br /> their work more and will lie influenced more readily<br /> by them when it sees that they are recognised<br /> by the State. Now, here is a case in point. In<br /> the year 1887, when the nation rejoiced over an<br /> event of a most remarkable kind, cards of admission<br /> were sent to the most distinguished persons in the<br /> country for the great ceremony in Westminster<br /> Abliey. There were present men of every calling;<br /> it was a national representative gathering. For<br /> most of those who were present, the card was not<br /> so much an honour as a thing due to their position.<br /> Very well. Not one single man or woman of<br /> letters was invited as such. The whole of litera-<br /> ture was absolutely ignored and contemptuously<br /> passed over. Would that insult have been possible<br /> had men of letters lieen regarded, like soldiers, as<br /> servants of the State, and, like soldiers, to lie<br /> recognized in the distribution of honours?<br /> The Spectator sup]Kises the Prime Minister<br /> worried between the rival claims of half-a-dozen<br /> poets; well, why not? There is nothing so very<br /> absurd about that. I suppose he is now worried<br /> lietween the rival claims of Mr. Facing-both-Ways,<br /> politician, and Mr. Creeping Backstairs, professional<br /> Worm, both of whom ardently desire to be<br /> knighted. Then we are told dogmatically, &quot;We<br /> have no business whatever to give titles and deco-<br /> rations to literary men. They are far lictter<br /> without them.&quot; Does this mean that they write<br /> lietter without them? If so, one might just as<br /> well say that they have no business with new coats<br /> —&quot; they are far better without them.&quot; Or does<br /> it mean that they will feel better in their insides<br /> without titles and decorations? There is, in<br /> fact, absolutely nothing that can be said against<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 142 (#546) ############################################<br /> <br /> 142<br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> granting titles to one class any more than to any<br /> other class j the arguments of the Spectator apply-<br /> just as well to engineers as to poets. Do Millais<br /> and Leighton paint worse since they had titles?<br /> Can anyone in his senses believe that either Lecky<br /> or Meredith would write worse if he were made a<br /> Peer? Does anyone believe that Lord Lytton is a<br /> worse ambassador because he is a poet? Lastly,<br /> the Spectator asks what Browning would have done<br /> as an ambassador? Of one thing I am quite<br /> certain: If he was in other respects fitted for the<br /> post of ambassador, his poetry would have l&gt;een no<br /> disqualification.<br /> The Victorian reign will be glorified in after<br /> ages mainly for three splendours. First, the<br /> enormous and unparalleled increase of the English-<br /> speaking race; so that they began with thirty<br /> millions, and, after fifty years, have grown to a<br /> hundred millions. Second, the wonderful ad-<br /> vancement of science, by means of which almost<br /> the elementary conditions of life have been revo-<br /> lutionized. Thirdly, the magnificence of the<br /> Victorian literature. When the future historian<br /> dwells upon these illustrations of the period, he<br /> will go on to remark that all of them flourished<br /> under the absolute neglect and contempt of the<br /> English Court and the English Government. The<br /> colonies owed nothing, except snubs, to the Colonial<br /> Office. No Government has ever attempted to<br /> organise, to control, to assist, to direct, or to advise<br /> emigration. The Government, without making an<br /> effort to divert the stream, allowed the half of the<br /> Irish ]&gt;eople to go over bodily to the United States,<br /> and to lend their invaluable legs and arms to the<br /> material progress of that Republic. Until the<br /> latter years of the reign, no colonist, however<br /> great his services, was recognised even by the<br /> insignificant distinction of a Knight Bachelor. As<br /> for science, there have never been, since the world<br /> began, such giants as those of our century. Have<br /> any of these men of science been raised to the<br /> House of Lords? Not one. Has there ever been<br /> any national recognition of the best of them?<br /> Perhaps it may be replied that a knighthood was<br /> offered to one. A knighthood? In literature it<br /> is an age which has produced two or three; English<br /> writers of the first rank—the very first rank; it<br /> has also produced a great number of writers whose<br /> work is good, lasting, most useful, ami helpful,<br /> beyond anything of the sort ever seen lx&gt;fore in any<br /> generation. Have these men received any national<br /> honours or recognition? None whatever. The<br /> House of Commons grants a little sum of £400 a<br /> year for distinguished service in literature, and the<br /> First Lord of the Treasury refuses to use it for<br /> that purpose—gives it to widows of officers<br /> instead. One simple distinction, or recognition,<br /> is the command to dine with the Sovereign. Do<br /> these men ever receive such a command. Never.<br /> My &quot; grievance,&quot; as the Spectator calls it, is, in<br /> short, that national distinctions, which should<br /> belong to every intellectual calling, are limited to<br /> one or two, and are even bestowed without reference<br /> to distinction at all.<br /> I have received a paper—Hearth and Home—<br /> which contains an account of a little discussion<br /> between three persons—a Member of Parliament, a<br /> &quot;Labour Leader,&quot; and a lady journalist. The dis-<br /> cussion turned on the influence of a certain novel<br /> on certain changes in opinion and reforms in<br /> action. The Member of Parliament and the Labour<br /> Leader maintained that the novel had nothing to do<br /> with any reform. The lady said that, the novel had<br /> everything to do with it. It was clear, from the<br /> remarks of the other two, that they were totally<br /> ignorant of the force of sentiment, or the power of<br /> the artist to create, arouse, and direct public<br /> opinion. They could not understand that senti-<br /> ment, of which they doubtless supposed themselves<br /> to have none, could possibly have anything to do<br /> with practical things. That is to say, they knew<br /> nothing of the history of popular opinion on popular<br /> movements, and nothing whatever of the part<br /> played by the poet, the dramatist, and the novelist.<br /> This is very interesting. The same men who, after<br /> reading &quot; Uncle Tom&#039;s Cabin,&quot; would be maddened<br /> by the cruelty and the wickedness of slavery, and<br /> if the opportunity arose, would be spurred to action<br /> by that madness, stoutly maintain that sentiment<br /> plays no part in affairs; and that poet, artist, actor,<br /> and novelist can effect nothing. On the same day,<br /> as an illustration of the supposed powerlessness of<br /> sentiment, all the world reads that Mr. Hall Caine<br /> is going to Russia to study the question of the Jews<br /> with a view, if he sees his way, to write a novel about<br /> it. The English Jews who have proposed this task to<br /> him are wiser, you see, than the Member of Parlia-<br /> ment and the Labour Leader. The genius of the<br /> novelist, who concentrates the attention and the<br /> interest on a single group of the wretched, starving<br /> fugitives—perhaps on a single figure—will do more<br /> to bring home to our understanding the true,<br /> nature of their sufferings than a thousand telegrams<br /> and as many leading articles.<br /> The story which is going about the papers con-<br /> cerning French publishers is simply incredible. It<br /> is said that the enormous editions of novels adver-<br /> tised on the covers of the books are to a great<br /> extent fictitious, and that those magnificent figures<br /> —200th edition—5ooth edition, which fill the<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 143 (#547) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> *43<br /> breast of the British publisher—and, to a humbler<br /> extent, the British author—with envy, are simply<br /> trade lies. It is further stated that French authors<br /> have been receiving royalties on the fictitious<br /> numbers—in other words—that the publishers have<br /> been paying for thousands of books which have<br /> never been sold: in other words again that they<br /> are possessed of secret mines of gold. It is again<br /> stated that they have actually printed, though they<br /> have not sold, the numbers they advertise, and that<br /> their warehouses are bulging and bursting from top<br /> to bottom with unsold novels. Lastly, it is stated<br /> that certain firms are on the verge of bankruptcy<br /> in consequence of this practice. We are not sur-<br /> prised. There is, however, a way of explaining the<br /> story. The trick of advertising edition after edition<br /> of a book is not unknown in this country. The<br /> edition may be as small as you please—a single<br /> copy, perhaps—or fifty copies. It is a dirty trick;<br /> a fraudulent trick; it assures the public that the<br /> book is so much in demand that all these editions<br /> have been taken up; the public believes that a<br /> genuine edition is meant and is deceived ; the state-<br /> ment was issued with intent to deceive; it is therefore<br /> fraudulent. The trick is brother or sister of that<br /> other trick by which a publisher buys a whole<br /> edition of the author without stating the number<br /> and trades on the omission. Henceforth I shall<br /> accept the French novel in its 5ooth edition as<br /> having probably circulated to the extent of a thou-<br /> sand. Let us cease therefore to wish we had been<br /> born in a country so eager to possess new literature.<br /> The circular of a Society called the &quot; British and<br /> Foreign Association&quot; lies before me. It has about<br /> 90 &quot; Honorary Meml&gt;ers,&quot; among whom are several<br /> very good names indeed. It lias a President, a<br /> Chief Secretary, General Councillors, and Repre-<br /> sentative Councillors. Its prospectus states that it<br /> has 4,000 members. Its objects are three-fold:<br /> (l) To promote fraternity among the nations.<br /> Very good indeed. (2) To encourage literary<br /> talent among the members by means of a monthly<br /> magazine. Hum! By means of a monthly maga-<br /> zine? But surely there are already dozens of<br /> monthly magazines which do that very same thing.<br /> And (3) to aid in popularising the works of the<br /> members. Surely that is done already by the<br /> reviews, and by the recommendation of readers one<br /> to the other. What other method has this<br /> Association?<br /> Turning to the &quot;advantages of membership,&quot;<br /> we find that the first advantage is social. Wrecked<br /> on a desert island, you find the other inhabitants<br /> also members—and there you are. The next<br /> advantage is that you can find persons with whom<br /> you will correspond—&quot; exchange ideas &quot;—says the<br /> prospectus. This opens up a new, broad, and<br /> hitherto unworked field of misery. Fancy belonging<br /> to a Society which will provide an endless supply<br /> of unknown correspondents anxious to exchange<br /> ideas!<br /> A third advantage is found in &quot;the Literary<br /> Branch.&quot; This means the monthly magazine of<br /> which I have never yet seen a copy. If there are<br /> 4,000 members all wanting to get their con-<br /> tributions in, where is the advantage? If the<br /> magazine is not known to the world, what is the<br /> good of appearing in it? If the contributions<br /> are worthy of publication, there are dozens of<br /> magazines which will gladly pay for them.<br /> Fourthly, there is a &quot;Tutorial&quot; department.<br /> This seems to be a bid at a tutorial agency. Do<br /> many of the 4,000 members join in the hope of<br /> getting a tutorship?<br /> Fifthly, there is the &quot;Hotel Tariff.&quot; Members<br /> get a reduction at certain hotels—it is not stated<br /> which these are, or where they are, or why they<br /> make a reduction.<br /> Sixthly, the &quot;Commercial&quot; side. Valuable<br /> business connexions are said to have been formed<br /> by correspondence between members. This seems<br /> quite a new departure for a Literary, Peaceful,<br /> Popular Association.<br /> Here you have the Association—its objects and<br /> advantages—all drawn up by its own officers; the<br /> annual subscription is only half-a-guinea. What is<br /> that in return for the chance of getting into the<br /> magazine, and &quot;exchanging ideas&quot; with all kinds<br /> of wonderful people, and opening valuable business<br /> connexions, and getting tutorships? Meantime,<br /> one would like to know on what representations<br /> the 90 Honorary Members gave permission for<br /> their names to appear? We will inquire further<br /> into this very interesting &quot;British and Foreign<br /> Association.&quot;<br /> The competitive columns of certain popular<br /> papers are producing very dangerous consequences<br /> in inducing young winners of prizes to l&gt;elieve<br /> themselves born for literary fame. I fear that<br /> these lines will not fall into the hands of any<br /> such, but if they do, let me most earnestly implore,<br /> them not to attempt Editor or Publisher with<br /> original work without taking advice ns to the<br /> quality of their work, either of the Society or of<br /> some competent friend. We have been richly<br /> blessed, as they used to say, in our efforts at<br /> dissuasion. We have succeeded in leading out of<br /> the stony fields of unsuccessful Literature many<br /> who are now grazing sweetly in pastures of Clerk-<br /> land or Trade-land. Sometimes those who are thus<br /> turned aside kick and are restive. Then they<br /> answer the advertising publisher&#039;s letter that he<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 144 (#548) ############################################<br /> <br /> 144<br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> will moot all demands up to 5,ooo copies for £60,<br /> and proceed to learn the rest of the lesson which<br /> never fails to follow. After that they go hack<br /> into Clerk*land meekly, if somewhat bruised and<br /> battered.<br /> Some months ago I wrote a little paper called &quot;A<br /> School for Novelists,&quot; in which I pointed out how,<br /> given the natural aptitude to begin with, the<br /> aspirant in Romance might rind his way greatly<br /> smoothed, and might be saved from many dis-<br /> appointments and humiliations, by learning the<br /> technique of the Art. There was the usual and<br /> expected kind of comment. Everybody who saw<br /> his way to a clever thing ignored my saving clause<br /> concerning the natural aptitude, and extended the<br /> finger of scorn at the man who could lie such a<br /> fool as to suppose that novelists can be made by<br /> schools and lectures. But the project still remains<br /> even when the clever things have all been said at<br /> the cost of truth, and by the suppression of the most<br /> important part of my contention. We shall see a<br /> School of Fiction yet. If I had the time I would<br /> start one myself, and I believe that I should do<br /> very well with it, both for myself and for my<br /> pupils. I now learn that there has been founded,<br /> or will soon be founded, a College for Journalists<br /> in the United States, out of which should come<br /> many good things, and especially that regard<br /> for truth which is surely the one thing most<br /> wanted in American Journalism. And I am re-<br /> minded that there has existed for some years a<br /> School of Journalism in this London Town. The<br /> school gives lectures and instruction in all the various<br /> duties of a journalist: among them, on paragraphs,<br /> reviewing, special and war correspondence, art and<br /> dramatic criticism, leaders, editing, sub-editing, &amp;c.<br /> In other words, the school undertakes to turn out<br /> a practical journalist in 12 months. It is directed<br /> by Mr. David Anderson, himself a well-known<br /> leader writer on the best London Papers.<br /> Now, here comes in the reservation. The School<br /> of Journalism can no more make a journalist, than<br /> a School of Fiction could make a novelist; but it<br /> can prepare the way for one who has the natural<br /> aptitude. Many of those who pass through the<br /> course may fail afterwards in their profession; but<br /> that failure ought not to bring discredit, on the<br /> school, so long as some can be found who attribute<br /> their success mainly or in part to the work of the<br /> school. For my own part, I welcome such schools<br /> as additional proof, for the eyes of the world, that<br /> Literature is a profession, and one with many<br /> branches, of which journalism is one.<br /> Certain not unfriendly critics have questioned the<br /> use of my suggestion that authors should practise<br /> the art of public speaking. &quot;Why,&quot; asks one,<br /> &quot;should authors make public speeches at all?&quot;<br /> Because they are sometimes very much wanted to<br /> do so in the interests of their own calling. Because<br /> they often know a great deal on special subjects on<br /> which their spoken judgment might be very useful<br /> indeed. Because authorship belongs to every pro-<br /> fession and (idling under the sun, and he who<br /> would teach or guide the world should lie able to<br /> do so by word of mouth as well as by pen. Cer-<br /> tainly there are men, as this critic points out, who<br /> could never become orators. Thackeray was one;<br /> Anthony Trollope was another; John Stuart Mill<br /> was a very ineffective, unattractive speaker. Yet,<br /> had one of those three studied and practised the.<br /> art, he might at least have been able to say the<br /> thing he wautcnl to say effectively and convincingly.<br /> The last named might certainly have increased his<br /> influence and power enormously. He did his best<br /> and the House emptied the moment he rose.<br /> Their desk, my critic goes on to say, is their<br /> proper place. If so, John Morley had lietter go<br /> liack te his desk; Mr. Arthur Balfour also, the<br /> author of one admirable book at least, had better<br /> go back to his; Mr. Gladstone to his; all the<br /> Divines and Theologians must go back to their<br /> desks. In fact, everylnxly who writes books must<br /> be forbidden to do anything else. Docs not this<br /> seem a little absurd? Behind the notion, you see, is<br /> concealed some of the old contempt of the literary<br /> man. He is still, as of old, held te be useless except<br /> with a pen in his hand, and not of much use then.<br /> I find a very apt illustration of my remarks con-<br /> cerning authors and oratory in a certain ceremony<br /> which took place at Canterbury the other day.<br /> The address of the occasion, which is given l&gt;elow,<br /> was delivered by Mr. Henry Irving. Now, there<br /> is no iM&#039;tter speaker than Mr. Irving — &#039;tis his<br /> vocation. Also, the address was everything that<br /> could lie desired. But I should have preferred<br /> seeing a poet—a dramatic poet—or a leading man<br /> of letters at least, deliver that address. And I take<br /> it that the reason why Mr. Henry Irving was<br /> invited to perform the task was the difficulty of<br /> finding an English author of eminence who can<br /> speak. It was not altogether because Mr. Lowell<br /> was an American that he was invited to deliver the<br /> address on the unveiling of Fielding&#039;s bust.<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 145 (#549) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> J45<br /> Vague reports are flying about concerning a<br /> monster pet ition about to be drawn up and presented<br /> to the Archbishop of Canterbury. It will be signed<br /> by millions, and it will bo a request that prayers<br /> should l&gt;e put up in all the churches, and con-<br /> tinued for twelve months, that the heart of the<br /> young journalist may be inclined unto verifying his<br /> references, and that the heart of the editor may be<br /> inclined unto visiting the neglectful with stripes.<br /> My sympathy is entirely with that petition. I find,<br /> for instance, that at least a dozen paragraphs have<br /> appeared stating (i) that I myself have by myself<br /> decided against admitting ladies to the Authors&#039;<br /> Club: (2) that my reason is that they write for<br /> religious periodicals, and therefore they cannot pay<br /> the five-guinea subscription. These statements are<br /> entirely false. &quot;What happened was this. At the<br /> preliminary meeting of the Temporary Committee,<br /> July 23rd, a set of tentative Resolutions were<br /> drawn up and passed. These Resolutions con-<br /> templated a club of men only. One of the chief<br /> reasons for such a conclusion was the fact that<br /> so many ladies had written to say that they could<br /> not jwssibly pay a subscription of five guineas.<br /> Therefore, the Committee, and not I myself, passed<br /> Resolutions contemplating a club for men only.<br /> They inserted these Resolutions in the Author,<br /> and asked for opinions. Moreover, in the Sep-<br /> tember number of the Author I expressly called<br /> attention to these facts, so that it is pure invention<br /> to say that I have excluded ladies. Another<br /> ingenious inventor of copy has added that the reason<br /> why ladies cannot afford five guineas is that they<br /> work for religious periodicals. Another want of<br /> verification! What I said was this: &quot;An ideal<br /> club of authors should admit women as well as men.<br /> Literature is, above all others, a profession open to<br /> both sexes. Yet literary women are even more<br /> mercilessly sweated than men, especially by religious<br /> societies, who pretend not to know that sweating<br /> was specially contemplated in the framing of the<br /> Eighth Commandment; and the number of ladies<br /> who live by their literary work, and can afford even<br /> so reasonable a subscription as five guineas is very<br /> small.&quot; It is, indeed, very small indeed. Some<br /> day I hope to show what the sweating of women in<br /> literature really means. In the case of one religious<br /> society I have already done something in tliat<br /> direction.<br /> Walter Besant. ♦■»■♦<br /> LISTS AND RISES.<br /> f |^HE long lists of announcements of new books<br /> I show no falling off in numbers, at least.<br /> Modern English literature appears to flourish<br /> in every branch. Those who think that nobody buys<br /> books may look at these lists and ask themselves for<br /> whom the new books are all printed and published?<br /> To lie on the shelves? To l&gt;e given away? For the<br /> pride of the publisher? Nay, but to be sold. There<br /> is, again, we are expected to believe, an enormous risk<br /> in bringing out every one of these books. The very<br /> length of the lists shows the absurdity of the risk<br /> bogey. Looking through the lists one sees a book<br /> here and a l&gt;ook there whose success seems doubt-<br /> ful—new poems, but these are always paid for by the<br /> author; novels by unknown hands, which are also<br /> paitl for by the author, unless they are so striking as<br /> to leave no doubt in the mind of the reader; books<br /> of essays, by unknown writers; biographies of<br /> unknown persons, and so forth, of which all that<br /> one can say is that if a publisher were to bring<br /> them out at his own risk he would l&gt;e a very<br /> sanguine person and a very bad man of business.<br /> But the chief lesson to be learned by this enormous<br /> output is the enormous market. We who live in<br /> London are too apt to fall into the error of judging<br /> everything by a London standard; more than that,<br /> by the standard of a small piece of London. For<br /> instance, in Club land nolxxly buys Ixwks, news-<br /> papers, or magazines; but in the suburbs there are<br /> hundreds—thousands of houses—who buy both<br /> books and magazines, while in the country houses<br /> and country towns, though the circulating library<br /> goes for much it is not everything, and there are<br /> India and the Colonies. The inquiry which we con-<br /> ducted some months ago gave us some insight into<br /> the vastness of the book market. The autumn lists<br /> enlarge that view. To take nine publishers only out<br /> of the daily increasing number of firms, we find the<br /> following numbers of new lxx&gt;ks announced re-<br /> spectively :—82, 57, 57, 5i, 43, 37, 36, 35, and 34,<br /> or an average of 43&#039; 2 among the nine. Probably<br /> there are a thousand in all for the autumn output.<br /> This represents at an average of £100 a-piece, an<br /> outlay, or an investment, of £ioo,coo, and, of<br /> course, this is only a part of the whole year&#039;s<br /> enterprise. It is a large sum of money. Would it<br /> be embarked year after year—would new firms,<br /> some of them without any capital at all—come into<br /> the business if it were full of risks? Of course not.<br /> For my part I have never been able to understand<br /> why some publishers—not all—affect to be engaged<br /> in a kind of gambling business. It is not reputable<br /> to them as business men; it is not in the least<br /> true; and it damages literature by making authors<br /> believe that everything is a toss up. &quot;Rider<br /> Haggard has succeeded,&quot; says some lunatic, who<br /> thinks he can write, &quot;Why shouldn&#039;t I get a<br /> chance as well as he?&quot; Literally, this notion is<br /> widespread. A great many people write to the<br /> Society in this sense and under this idea. And they<br /> are greatly helped by the absurd way in which some<br /> publishers wish risk to be considered as the first<br /> element in their work. You can hardly read a<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 146 (#550) ############################################<br /> <br /> 146<br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> leading article on the subject which does not start<br /> with the assumption that publishing is pure gamb-<br /> ling—speculation—a toss up. The bogey springs<br /> up like a jack-in-the-box in all kinds of unexpected<br /> places. The other day I bought Mr. Andrew<br /> Lang&#039;s &quot;Hypnerotomachia,&quot; in a second-hand<br /> bookseller&#039;s, and carried it home. It is prefaced<br /> by an introduction which is both attractive and<br /> instructive. In the middle of it occurs this<br /> remarkable passage, &quot;and there is risk in pub-<br /> lishing, though a hundred Mr. Besants say there<br /> is not.&quot; Where are these hundred? I only know<br /> one person of that name who has written upon the<br /> subject, and he most certainly has never said any-<br /> thing so foolish. There is risk, and plenty, as I<br /> have said elsewhere and everywhere, in publishing.<br /> But then publishers of the present day very seldom<br /> take any. If anybody takes upon himself to deny<br /> this statement he must do so only after he has care-<br /> fully examined publishers&#039; books, with the aid of<br /> an accountant, if he is not skilled in accounts. If<br /> anyone will produce such proofs I am ready to<br /> modifv my statement. For my own part, I have<br /> been enabled to see, what nobodv else in the<br /> world has seen, except our secretaries, a very<br /> large and perfectly unique collection of pub-<br /> lishers&#039; agreements and publishers&#039; accounts, to<br /> which we have added a mass of information on<br /> the cost of production never l&gt;efore possessed by<br /> anyone. And with this knowledge in my hands,<br /> I lx)ldly say that very few publishers ever take any<br /> risk in the production of new liooks. As to new<br /> magazines and such ventures I sav nothing, of<br /> course. I take only new books written by living<br /> authors. Meantime, this absurd sentence stands in<br /> the middle of Mr. Lang&#039;s Introduct ion to a mediaeval<br /> book like a bit of modern common earthenware<br /> on a shelf filled with Murano glass. The effect is<br /> very striking. There will not, I suppose, be<br /> another edition of the liook for a hundred years to<br /> come, and many a pleasant little controversy will<br /> arise when we are all forgotten as to this wonderful<br /> glimpse of a hundred all clamouring like one man,<br /> that there was no risk in publishing.—What hun-<br /> dred? Who were they? Where did they clamour?<br /> Why, in the nineteenth century it was notorious that<br /> every publisher quickly went to immortal smash,<br /> and the Court of Bankruptcy was filled with<br /> unhappy publishers who had failed, and on days<br /> &quot;out,&quot; the streets were crammed with publishers<br /> dressed in the livery of their Union!<br /> W. B.<br /> FROM AMERICA.<br /> WE are certainly not going to interfere<br /> between American authors and American<br /> publishers. But the following seems to<br /> show that all is not complete happiness across the<br /> ocean. It is taken from the New York Critic:—<br /> &quot;A publishing-house of old and high standing<br /> bought a MS. of 3o,ooo words at an agreed price,<br /> plus a share on sales. A year elapsed and then the<br /> author was asked if he would extend it to 60,000<br /> words, which he did, without asking that the<br /> original price should be doubled, but he drew<br /> the balance, which was not to have been paid until<br /> publication. At the end of 18 months it was<br /> found that the lxx&gt;k could not l&gt;e issued until<br /> two years had elapsed since the original sale.<br /> There was no stipulation as to date of publication.<br /> At this stage the author sent in proposals to the<br /> publisher asking that, in consideration of the<br /> unreasonable delay of two years, and also of his<br /> complacency in doubling the work at their sugges-<br /> tion, they should make a further payment, either<br /> in full purchase of author&#039;s interest, or as an<br /> advance. No sort of complaint had been made<br /> against the MS. from first to last. To this the<br /> representative of the firm replied with a flat refusal<br /> to submit the proposal, on the ground (to quote his<br /> letter) that &#039; it is absurd to claim that the delay in<br /> publication is either a matter for which we should<br /> be blamed or that has caused you loss.&#039; As to the<br /> suggestion of reciprocity in goodwill based on<br /> the author&#039;s readiness in furnishing twice the<br /> quantity of matter specified in the contract,<br /> the reply is simply the remark &#039;you readily offered<br /> to enlarge it without charge.&#039; From which it<br /> appears that time is not money to the author tribe,<br /> and the driving of a sharp bargain absolves the<br /> gainer from any obligation, to do a favour to the<br /> one who suffers through his lordly leisureliness.&quot;<br /> Thus far the correspondent, on which the editor<br /> remarks—<br /> &quot;There seems in this case to have been some<br /> &#039;reciprocity in goodwill,&#039; as the writer admits<br /> having been paid &#039;the balance &#039; which was to have<br /> been paid on publication.&quot;<br /> True, Mr. Editor, but what were the respective<br /> values of the &quot;reciprocity in goodwill&quot;? The<br /> writer was to have received, say, £100 on<br /> publication. This was delayed for 18 months,<br /> although when the bargain was made, immediate<br /> publication was, in fact, contemplated. The writer,<br /> however, got paid his £100, so that the publisher<br /> clearly lost 18 months&#039; interest on his money. But<br /> the writer doubled the length of the work, and<br /> should have received double the pay. Therefore<br /> the writer lost £100, while the publisher lost only<br /> £7 io«., reckoning 5 per cent, interest. But in<br /> what other profession in the world would an<br /> employer dare to propose that payment made for a<br /> stipulated piece of work should be made to serve<br /> for double that piece of work?<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 147 (#551) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE A UTHOR.<br /> EEVIEWEES AND EEVIEWS.<br /> I.<br /> IT would appear, from certain papers which have<br /> at various times occupied your columns, that<br /> many writers believe that favourable notice<br /> from the various reviews is sufficient to secure a<br /> reasonable sale for most books. If such an impres-<br /> sion prevails, there may be some use in detailing my<br /> own experiences. Some years since, I made my first<br /> venture with a volume of verse. My reasons were<br /> various, the proverbial vanity of the verse-writer<br /> amongst them, but the hope of profit was not.<br /> My own knowledge, lmcked by competent advice,<br /> and the opinion of my publisher was sufficient, I<br /> think, to prevent any disappointment upon that<br /> head, when a publication which had cost me about<br /> £70 brought in a return of £|5 in sides. Yet, in<br /> one way, I was unfortunately very successful. The<br /> reviews, from which I had expected very mixed<br /> criticism, were uniformly in my favour, and some<br /> half-dozen proved enthusiastic. It may cut matters<br /> short if I say that, encouraged by their tone, I<br /> followed this first venture with two similar ones,<br /> the results, pecuniary and critical, being almost<br /> identical, so that I was the proud possessor of<br /> some 70 eulogiums of my work in print, besides<br /> letters from various writers, including our great poet,<br /> in return for which I had invested a capital of some-<br /> thing over £200. A wealthy man might consider<br /> this money well invested for such a result. I did<br /> not, and encouraged this time by the advice of<br /> friends, I set to work to recover my stake by<br /> publishing, at my own cost, a prose work. The<br /> reviews were even warmer in tone than they had<br /> been as regarded my verse, with a solitary ex-<br /> ception in a non-literary pa|X&#039;r, and I ln-gan to<br /> feel confident of a return ; so that I was considerably<br /> mortified this time on receiving once more an<br /> account of the sale of about a hundred copies out<br /> of what I had hoped, from the tone of the critics,<br /> would prove to be merely a first edition. This<br /> time I thought that my publisher might be at<br /> fault, though I had no definite cause of dissatis-<br /> faction with him. Accordingly, I carried my<br /> fifth venture, a work of fiction, to another firm to<br /> which I had l&gt;ccn recommended. With regard to<br /> the manner in which I was advised and treated by<br /> this firm, I may have something to say at a future<br /> date. Once again, all the papers which reviewed<br /> my tale praised it, and I lost something over £40.<br /> I returned to my old publishers, anil had a sixth<br /> book printed last year. Results were about the<br /> same: one unfavourable review in the Church<br /> Times; about a score of favourable notices in<br /> various well-known papers; side about ioo<br /> copies.<br /> Now, as many of the sales of my various works<br /> were made in quarters known to myself, I am able<br /> to state, with fair certainty, that from 100 to i5o<br /> favourable reviews have not averaged a return of<br /> more than three or four shillings apiece from sides<br /> obtained by their influence. How many sales the<br /> two unfavourable notices may have prevented is a<br /> doubtful question.<br /> It may possibly lx- of some interest if I set down,<br /> in conclusion, the course taken by the four chief<br /> weekly Metropolitan Reviews, as showing the risks<br /> which an author, otherwise favourably received,<br /> may have of being overlooked by them.<br /> The Saturday Review ignored my first two<br /> volumes, and published favourable notices of the<br /> last four with fair promptitude. No beginner<br /> need complain of such a course.<br /> The Spectator commenced with number two,<br /> and has fx-en extremely kind: however, the notices<br /> appeared at from three months to a year after<br /> publication, and my last work, published ten<br /> months since, is, I believe, still unnoticed by them.<br /> The Athcnrrum noticed number five only.<br /> The Academy noticed number one only.<br /> I may mention that both these last notices were<br /> favourable, and the notice in the Academy of my<br /> first volume of verse, coupled with those in the<br /> Scotsman, Graphic, &lt;&amp;c, was the chief inducement<br /> to the publication of my second and third volumes.<br /> Y. A. G.<br /> II.<br /> We have recently had a little talk about the<br /> reviews of novels. It may be interesting to some<br /> of our readers to see how an American paper, the<br /> New York Critic, reviews novels. First of all, the<br /> Critic gives to each work its own separate space<br /> and title. The notices are short, but they are<br /> detached. The author is treated as an individual,<br /> not as one of a herd. This is respectful and polite.<br /> The reviewer then gives a short account of the<br /> work—so far as one can judge, a fair account.<br /> In this account he tells something of the story.<br /> And it ends with a few words of appreciative<br /> approval or the reverse. This method is not pro-<br /> posed as a model, but it is suggested for considera-<br /> tion. The following, for instance, is the notice of<br /> Hardy&#039;s &quot;Group of Noble Dames &quot; :—<br /> &quot;At a meeting of one of the Wessex Field and<br /> Antiquarian clubs, held in the museum of the town,<br /> certain stories were partly told, partly read from<br /> manuscript. The club was of an inclusive and<br /> intersocial character, the meeting was to extend<br /> over two days, the rain came down in an obstinate<br /> jwtter which revealed no sign of cessation, and the<br /> members agreed to let the stories do duty for the<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 148 (#552) ############################################<br /> <br /> 148<br /> THE A UTHOR.<br /> regulation papers on deformed butterflies, fossil<br /> ox-horns, and other prehistoric relics. Some of<br /> them observed tlint a storm-bound club could not<br /> be selective, and they were much pleased to hear<br /> such curious chapters from the domestic histories<br /> of the country. There was no lack of material in<br /> Wessex. Many were the legends and traditions of<br /> gentle and noble dames, renowned in times past in<br /> that part of England, whose actions and passions<br /> were now, but for men&#039;s memories, buried under<br /> the brief inscription on a tomb or an entry of dates<br /> in a dry pedigree. The stories, once told, were too<br /> good to be lost, so they were gathered together and<br /> published in a volume called &#039;A Group of Noble<br /> Dames.&#039; Truly fascinating tales they have proved<br /> to be, well calculated to while away the dreary and<br /> monotonous hours of many a club called together<br /> for more serious work. Their local colour is perfect,<br /> their interest is absorbing, and the style in which<br /> they are told is so simple and so natural that, in<br /> speaking of them, one drops unconsciously into the<br /> quaint old English expressions in vogue in those<br /> days. They are among the best things that<br /> Thomas Hardy has ever done, and are issued in a<br /> very attractive cover. (81.25. Harper &amp; Bros.)&quot;<br /> <br /> MAGAZINES AND CONTRIBUTIONS.<br /> AGliEAT many letters from time to time<br /> have reached the Society on the subject of<br /> prices paid for articles in magazines. There<br /> have been so many that the Society has now an<br /> actual knowledge of the ordinary rate of pay of<br /> every magazine, including certain organs whose<br /> editors (or proprietors) go on the principle of<br /> never paying anybody if they can possibly avoid<br /> it. The rates vary very largely, partly depend-<br /> ing on the name and reputation of the writer,<br /> partly on the circulation of the magazine, and,<br /> in some cases, on the sweating disposition of<br /> the proprietor. They vary, indeed, in an astonish-<br /> ing manner. One or two of the oldest and the best-<br /> known magazines are offering their contributors<br /> sums which would be thought contemptible by the<br /> new and cheaper organs, while some of the latter<br /> are offering prices for work by well-known men<br /> far above any dreamed of by their older contem-<br /> poraries. It would seem that there is, and can be,<br /> no fixed rate for contributions. Journals do not<br /> all have a wide circulation. When the circulation of<br /> a magazine has begun to go down, the effect upon<br /> payment of contributors must, sooner or later, be<br /> marked; in fact, at this moment certain magazines<br /> are proving their decline and impending fall<br /> by the decrease in the amount of the contributor&#039;s<br /> cheque. It is impossible, without loss; to pay the<br /> old scale for half the old subscription. On the other<br /> hand, these things get whispered abroad. Then<br /> good writers cease to send in work. Then the<br /> paper is no longer looked at, or inquired after; at<br /> the clubs it remains in its case ; no new subscribers<br /> take it in; it gradually fades into decay and<br /> forgetfulness. There are, besides, certain maga-<br /> zines—of which an example was given in last<br /> month&#039;s Author—which simply go on the broad<br /> and intelligible principle of never paying any<br /> contributor at all unless they are compelled. The<br /> Society is accumulating evidence on all these points.<br /> Other considerations affect tht question. Thus:<br /> (I) There are always a great many people who will<br /> willingly contribute papers for nothing, except the<br /> joy of seeing their names in print. If, therefore,<br /> there were enough of these writers to fill a magazine<br /> with papers attractive, pleasant, and popular, it<br /> could be run for nothing. Happily, the numlier<br /> of writers who are pleasant and popular is very<br /> limited; therefore, this resource is soon exhausted.<br /> Yet the number of articles offered to editors on<br /> all conceivable subjects is incredible. (2) It<br /> must be remembered that the question is, or should<br /> be, one of bargain only. The writer, for instance,<br /> who might possibly be accepted on some magazine<br /> if he offered his work for nothing, would be cer-<br /> tainly rejected if he demanded what he might<br /> himself consider a reasonable sum for his work;<br /> and, even in the higher-class magazines, if an editor<br /> chooses to offer only so much—a great deal less,<br /> perhaps, than the writer expected—it is oi&gt;en for<br /> him to refuse or to accept the offer. Only, as said<br /> above, where such small offers are made, it is a<br /> proof of a falling circulation.<br /> It wotdd be, perhaps, as well if writers, before<br /> sending a paper to a magazine, were to ascertain<br /> at the Society&#039;s office the usual scale of pay. They<br /> could then decide whether it was worth while to<br /> send in their papers, and could stipulate beforehand<br /> what price they would be prepared to take.<br /> <br /> COMMISSION BOOKS.<br /> fl^HE Secretary is continually receiving letters<br /> I and requests on the subject of commission<br /> books; that is to say, books which the author<br /> pays for and the publisher sells on a commission of<br /> 10 or 15 per cent, There are a great number of<br /> books published at the author&#039;s expense, and yet<br /> there are not many commission l&gt;ooks. In other<br /> words, as we arc always insisting, a vast number<br /> of novels are issued every year by foolish and<br /> deluded people who pay in advance what they are<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 149 (#553) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> 149<br /> informed is half the cost, and afterwards receive<br /> what they are informed is half the proceeds.<br /> They can then imitate Mr. Bob Sawyer by placing<br /> their profits in a wine-glass ami covering them<br /> with a gooseberry skin. Generally, however, they<br /> cannot even do that, for the profits turn out to<br /> be &quot;nuppence.&quot; That is not commission pub-<br /> lishing. Yet, if a man has got a good book, there<br /> can be no better way of publishing, provided he<br /> can get a good house. It is said, and lielieved, that<br /> a house will not push a book on a 10 per eent.<br /> commission. That may be true. If it is, perhaps<br /> they would push it on a i5 per cent, commission.<br /> Let us see how this works out, taking the<br /> average six-shilling novel of about 17 sheets. The<br /> first edition of 1,000 copies costs about £90. The<br /> next edition of 3,ooo costs about £118. The price<br /> being 3s. ^d., the first edition, allowing for pre-<br /> sentation copies, realizes about £i5o, the next<br /> about £5oo. On the first edition the publisher, at<br /> 15 per cent., takes £22 ios., and on the second<br /> edition £75. The author, on the other hand,<br /> makes on the first edition £37 10s., and on the<br /> next edition of 3,ooo he makes about £3oo. It<br /> certainly seems to me as if this was a very equitable<br /> arrangement. I suppose that all the trouble of<br /> printing the book is taken by the author.<br /> AN INSTRUCTIVE CASE.<br /> AN agreement and a bundle of accounts are<br /> l)efore us. The agreement contains as an<br /> integral part an &quot;estimate&quot; of the cost<br /> of production. Observe, that if the author, having<br /> signed the agreement, afterwards discovers that the<br /> &quot;estimate&quot; was fraudulent, he has no redress<br /> except by action in the High Court of Justice, and<br /> a very difficult business it is to prove by experts<br /> the fraud in such a case. In the Author we have<br /> repeatedly warned readers against signing any<br /> agreement containing an &quot;estimate.&quot; Now the<br /> book before us being submitted to a printer, it is<br /> actually found that his &quot;estimate&quot; has been<br /> exactly doubled, i.e., that the printing and produc-<br /> tion of the book really cost exactly half of what<br /> was stated in the &quot;estimate.&quot; The author in the<br /> agreement bound himself to pay half the &quot; estimate,&quot;<br /> i.e., he was made liable, really, for the whole of the<br /> cost. He did pay, in reality, half the sum in<br /> advance, and left the rest to come out of sides.<br /> At the close of the iirst edition the publisher<br /> having, in addition to the other fraud, and contrary<br /> to the agreement, charged a much larger sum for<br /> advertisements than was arranged, how does the<br /> account stand?<br /> 1. According to the publisher&#039;s returns, the cost<br /> of the book exceeds the sales by about £70.<br /> Placing against this the sum actually paid<br /> by the author, he loses aliout £3o. Very<br /> bad business indeed.<br /> 2. According to the reality of the case, the sales<br /> of the book exceed the cost by about £5.<br /> Add the sum paid by the author, and the<br /> publisher is in pocket to the tune of about<br /> £40. Not such IkkI business, after all,<br /> with quite a little book, and quite a little<br /> fraud.<br /> <br /> THE MARLOWE MEMORIAL.<br /> f|&gt;HE following is the address of Mr. Henry<br /> I Irving on the unveiling of the Marlowe<br /> Memorial, as reported in the Times:—<br /> &quot;We are here to-day to pay tribute to a<br /> great memory and to repair a great omission.<br /> England has always set much store by the men<br /> who helped to save the State in the supreme<br /> crisis of her history. The statesmen and<br /> warriors of the Elizabethan times have never<br /> lacked a grateful recognition from their descen-<br /> dants. The literature which was the flower and<br /> crown of that period of our national growth ban<br /> remained our chief glory to these days, and the<br /> works of its greatest representative are the most<br /> enduring possessions of all who speak the English<br /> tongue. Of Shakespeare there are memorials which<br /> attest at almost every turn in our daily lives our<br /> reverence for his surpassing genius. But till to-<br /> day we have presented to the world no conspicuous<br /> symbol of our enormous debt to a man who was<br /> contemporary with Shakespeare, and in one sense<br /> his tutor, antl who was the first to employ with<br /> a master hand the greatest instrument of our<br /> language. It was natural enough that the fame of<br /> Christopher Marlowe should be overshadowed by<br /> that of William Shakespeare, but it is surely some<br /> discredit to Englishmen that the fine sense of<br /> Marlowe&#039;s gifts and services to letters, which<br /> scholars have always had, have hitherto found no<br /> substantial shape in some trophy for the acclama-<br /> tion of the world. To-day this long oversight has<br /> been repaired. Here, in the birthplace of Marlowe,<br /> rich as it is in the commanding associations of our<br /> history, you have erected a monument which to<br /> future generations will speak with a voice no less<br /> potent than the. historic echoes of this city.<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 150 (#554) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE A UTHOR.<br /> (Hoar, hear.) What manner of man Marlowe<br /> was in outward seeming I suppose nobody knows.<br /> Even if it were fmniliar to us, the counterfeit<br /> presentment could not have the force and signifi-<br /> cance of the beautiful figure which we owe to the<br /> art of the sculptor; but it is not with Marlowe; the<br /> man that we need busy ourselves, even if there<br /> were more material than there is for judgment of<br /> his brief and sad career, for it is the ideal of the<br /> poet whose &quot; raptures were all air and fire&quot; that<br /> must constantly be present to our minds as we gaze<br /> on this image of his worship. It recalls some<br /> of his own Hues which are eloquent of this<br /> devotion :—<br /> &quot;Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend<br /> The wondrous architecture of the world,<br /> And measure every wandering planet&#039;s course,<br /> Still climbing after knowledge infinite<br /> And always moving as the restless spheres,<br /> Will us to wear ourselves, anil never rest<br /> Until we reach the ripest fruit of all.&quot;<br /> The man who struck such chords as these is not<br /> unworthy of a monument in his native place.<br /> (Hear, hear.) It was Marlowe who first wedded<br /> the harmonies of the great organ of blank verse<br /> which peals through the centuries in the music of<br /> Shakespeare. It was Marlowe who first captured<br /> the majestic rhythms of our tongue, and whose<br /> &quot;mighty line&quot; is the most resounding note in<br /> England&#039;s literature. Whatever may be thought<br /> of his qualities as a dramatist, and whatever place<br /> he may hold amongst the great writers who framed<br /> the models of English tragedy, he stands foremost<br /> and apart as the poet who gave us, with a rare<br /> measure of richness, the literary form which is the<br /> highest achievement of poetic expression. I do not<br /> pretend to do justice to Marlowe in this very<br /> imperfect utterance of some thoughts which are in<br /> your minds. It has been a great privilege to me<br /> to come here to-day to perform an office which<br /> might have been placed in far worthier hands.<br /> But I am glad to have an opportunity of speaking<br /> as an Englishman of the claims of Marlowe&#039;s<br /> fame to be prized and cherished by his countrymen.<br /> His reputation should be an abiding element of our<br /> national pride. And, finally, as an actor, I am<br /> proud to remember that Marlowe&#039;s work, like<br /> Shakespeare&#039;s, was written primarily for the stage,<br /> that, if not an actor himself, Marlowe was intimately<br /> associated with the actor&#039;s calling, and that the<br /> Elizabethan dramatists, with Shakespeare, the<br /> actor, at their head, in employing the stage as the<br /> first medium of their appeal to posterity linked it<br /> for ever witli an imperishable glory.&quot; (Cheers.)<br /> GOOD WORE, SURE PAY.<br /> IN a paragraph which recently appeared in the<br /> Author, under the somewhat mystic headline<br /> &quot;One Word from you. Sir,&quot; literary aspirants<br /> who are constantly having their overtures declined<br /> by editors and publishers were exhorted to produce<br /> &#039;• (food Work &quot;—a direct and perfectly intelligible<br /> proposition—as the one way out of their difficulties;<br /> and they were further assured that &quot; Good Work,&quot;<br /> of no matter what kind, had always its mercantile<br /> value, and could always (consequently or presum-<br /> ably) command its price. It seems almost a pity<br /> that so genteel and reputable a fallacy, the<br /> fostering of which may suit the interests of more<br /> than one faction in the literary state, should be<br /> doomed to fall beneath the slow cruel axe of Time,<br /> yet fall it must. No doubt editors and publishers<br /> are made the recipients of a vast deal of trash (for<br /> which commodity, by-the-bye, there is always a<br /> brisk and healthy demand at the bookstalls, which<br /> makes it a wonder why publishers should decline<br /> any of it); but these gentlemen, who have some-<br /> how l&gt;een empowered to direct and regulate the<br /> reading of the nation, may be accredited with dis-<br /> crimination sufficient to enable them to know the<br /> true metal from the base. But, distinctly and<br /> emphatically, once and for all, the refusal of a<br /> manuscript by an editor or publisher, or by all the<br /> editors and publishers existent, is simply no<br /> criterion of its merit; a fact which it seems the<br /> object of certain (possibly interested) persons to<br /> deny, conceal, or disguise, while it should l&gt;o<br /> proclaimed far and wide. Need I do more than<br /> name the historic cases of &quot; The Vicar of Wake-<br /> field,&quot; &quot;Vanity Fair,&quot; and &quot;Sartor Resartus &quot;?<br /> The other day a highly popular and (it must be<br /> concluded) able author, who made his name two or<br /> three decades since, told me that &quot; every publisher<br /> wants a good work, and would not refuse one.&quot;<br /> He subjoined—as if he were making an unexpected<br /> and handsome concession—&quot; Of course a publisher&#039;s<br /> judgment is not infallible.&quot; We are told on<br /> good authority that there is nothing either good<br /> or Imd but thinking makes it so, and we may be<br /> sure that in most cases the non-accepting publisher<br /> thinks he is doing right. The fallacy which I<br /> have defined and denounced is bolstered up in<br /> other quarters. One example: A certain pub-<br /> lishing house in London issues a printed circular<br /> for the guidance, or rather misguidance, of<br /> uninitiated writers, wherein the latter are treated<br /> to the statement (in effect) that if he, the publisher,<br /> does not entertain a work, it is practically useless<br /> to try it elsewhere. Of course, every author who<br /> has a right to the name merely chuckles at such<br /> audacious irrelevancies. Then as for the printing<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 151 (#555) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> one&#039;s book at one&#039;s own expense, when publishers<br /> will not take the risk, a course which is uniformly<br /> discouraged by this Society (of which I have the<br /> honour to l&gt;e a Member, and in regard to which I<br /> hope and predict great things). This position implies<br /> that if (say) half-a-dozen publishers decline your<br /> book the book is probably worthless, and had<br /> letter therefore be left unpublished. In the<br /> majority of cases this may Ik- the fact; in certain<br /> others it is quite otherwise. The writer of con-<br /> scious individuality and power will not have his<br /> faculty explained away thus lightly, and small<br /> wonder if, despite probable loss, he prints and<br /> pays for it. The weakling or pretender, on the<br /> other hand, is easily discouraged—and very pro-<br /> perly so. If the man who, in English creative<br /> and realistic art, stands next to Shakespeare, had<br /> not possessed both the courage and the money<br /> to print at his own cost, in the teeth of at least<br /> 20 head-shaking publishers, the world might this<br /> day l&gt;e without &quot;Vanity Fair.&quot; Here we may<br /> pause and tremble. This ease may be claimed as<br /> exceptional. I do not think it is. I think—I<br /> fear—that masterpieces have been lost to us owing<br /> to the pecuniary helplessness of their producers.<br /> We cannot too much insist on the hard-and-fast<br /> distinction between intrinsic value and marketable<br /> value. The two are sometimes associated—not<br /> always. Every true man of letters will seek (at<br /> least so far as his own work is concerned) to make<br /> the two identical. But there seems to linger some<br /> little doubt or confusion on this point in the public<br /> head, unless it is that the idea that the successful<br /> book is the good book—an idea which, strange? to<br /> say, even successful authors will not very warmly<br /> combat—is fixed immovably there.<br /> C. Davenport Jones.<br /> [Our correspondent is perfectly right in his<br /> position that a good book may be refused by pub-<br /> lishers, and that the refusal is not in itself a<br /> sufficient condemnation. At the same time, our<br /> contention was, and is, that publishers are always<br /> on the look out for go&lt;xl work—especially saleable<br /> work—and that no publisher will let good work—<br /> i.e., saleable work—leave his house if he can keep<br /> it there. This is equivalent to saying that pub-<br /> lishers are men of business, and that they do not<br /> go to their offices for the sake of fooling away their<br /> money. To argue that good l&gt;ooks —i.e., saleable<br /> l&gt;ooks—are often refused is to argue that publishers<br /> do not know their own business, and that their<br /> readers are incompetent. Does not our correspon-<br /> dent confuse two things, good literary work and<br /> good saleable work? It is quite possible that a<br /> very good liook indeed might be produced—good<br /> from the literary point of view—which would, be<br /> quite unsaleable for some defects, or from its length,<br /> or from its subject? For instance, a mathematical<br /> treatise on elasticity, such as is announced, would<br /> not l&gt;e sold on the bookstalls. If Browning<br /> were an unknown person offering a MS. called<br /> &quot;The King and the Book,&quot; nobody, certainly, would<br /> publish it for him, and it has been suggested that<br /> the reason why &quot;Vanity Fair &quot; was sent round to<br /> so many houses was its very great length, twice the<br /> length of an ordinary novel. To be sure it was<br /> not an ordinary novel. The advice persistently<br /> given by the Society to an author, not to publish at<br /> his own expense a work refused by publishers, is<br /> based on the assumption that the latter know their<br /> business, and that the work is commercially<br /> worthless. It may not lie artistically worthless, but<br /> that is a very different thing. We seek to protect<br /> our profession in all questions that have to do with<br /> their property. If they believe that their work<br /> ought to appear, without consideration of its<br /> commercial value, we can still protect them by<br /> keeping them in honest hands.—Editor.]<br /> +~~~*<br /> CORRESPONDENCE.<br /> 1.<br /> The Statute of Limitations.<br /> IN 1886 I suggested a subject for an article to a<br /> magazine editor. The article was ordered and<br /> written, delivery being made in November 1886.<br /> After a long delay and some correspondence a proof<br /> wits submitted, corrected, and returned; the article<br /> has not yet appeared, and of course has not been<br /> paid for. If I allow the matter to remain another<br /> 12 months, shall I be barred, by the Statute of<br /> Limitations, of power to recover at law? If I<br /> am to be so barred, is it possible to recover now,<br /> i.e., prior to the publication of the article, by taking<br /> out a county court summons, or by any other means?<br /> G. W.<br /> II.<br /> Fiction and Reality.<br /> Some years ago a well-known novelist described,<br /> let us say, a Polish Count as occupying rooms<br /> in the Grand Hotel in London. The other day<br /> two less well-known writers of fiction described<br /> another noble Pole as occupying rooms in the same<br /> hotel. Then comes a critic who wisely says,<br /> &quot;This is shocking; it is a mixture of fiction and<br /> reality.&quot; Query: Which of the two Polish Counts<br /> is the live man?<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 152 (#556) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> in.<br /> Slating.<br /> One must hesitate before challenging Professor<br /> Skeat on a point of etymology. But may I call<br /> attention to the fact that in &quot;Books and Bookmen&quot;<br /> Mr. Andrew Lang, in a note to his &quot; Ballads of the<br /> Ileal and Ideal,&quot; says:—&quot; Slate is a professional<br /> term for a severe criticism. Clearly the word is<br /> originally &#039;slat,&#039; a narrow board of wood with<br /> which a person might Ik; l&gt;eaten.&quot; Webster gives<br /> the verb &quot; slat,&quot; and the quotation from Marston :—<br /> &quot;How did you kill him?<br /> Slat[t]ed his brains out.&quot;<br /> Surely this &quot;will serve.&quot;<br /> Jamks Nias.<br /> IV.<br /> Words and Biucks.<br /> The writer of the following letter is evidently of<br /> opinion that &quot;the Editor&quot; should recognise his<br /> initials, and arrive at his subject by intuition. He<br /> also seems to think that words, like bricks, arc sold<br /> by the thousand, and that one man&#039;s word is as good<br /> as another&#039;s.<br /> Andrew W. Tukr.<br /> The Leadenhall Press, E.C.<br /> [Copy.]<br /> To the Editor of the Leadenhall Press.<br /> Dear Sir,<br /> I shoold feel obliged if you would inform<br /> mc whether you have any opening for a MS.<br /> consisting of 11,000 words, the Copyright of which<br /> I am desirous of selling. I want an early reply.<br /> Yours truly,<br /> P. 11. R.<br /> V.<br /> A Provident Society.<br /> Whether or not Mr. Andrew Lang believes in<br /> the existence of a New &#039;Grub Street, it is certain<br /> that some of us writing-people have a perpetual<br /> struggle to keep above water. May I suggest to<br /> you the possibility of forming an &quot;Authors&#039;<br /> Provident Society?&quot; What I propose is this. A<br /> graduated scale of subscriptions varying according<br /> to the income of the writer, aud entitling him to a<br /> weekly amount in time of sickness or nou-employ-<br /> ment. I do not think you would find a single poor<br /> author who would be so foolish or so reckless as<br /> not to take advantage of a club of this kind. The<br /> fees might lie as low as is. 6d. a week, and the<br /> scheme be started on precisely the same lines as<br /> working men&#039;s sick benefit clubs. As to the rich<br /> authors, let them subserilK&#039;, and be entitled to some<br /> advantage; in the way of recommending a poorer<br /> brother for the club&#039;s aid.<br /> Quill Driver.<br /> VI.<br /> An Honourable Action.<br /> When so many unjust editors and publishers are<br /> pilloried in the Author, it is only fair to give some-<br /> times an opposite instance.<br /> I lately sent a book to certain publishers, and in<br /> time received a letter stating they were willing to<br /> give me so much—about three-quarters of what I<br /> expected—as the book would make a certain size—<br /> which, like the sum offered, was about a quarter<br /> less than I bad calculated. Greatly puzzled tliat<br /> my MS. should prove so short, I still thought that<br /> they must be able lxjst to judge the length it<br /> would make in print, and so I accepted the sum<br /> offered, and signed the agreement of copyright.<br /> But when the proof came, I found I had l&gt;ecn<br /> right. The book was even longer than I expected.<br /> When I pointed this out to the publishers, they<br /> honourably gave me the remainder of the price<br /> without a question.<br /> But this is a hint to me—and may be to others—<br /> in future to notice very carefully the length of<br /> my MS. Other publishers might not be so just to<br /> the unwary writer.<br /> RossiGNOL.<br /> VII.<br /> Reviews and Newspapers.<br /> Your note in reply to my letter printed in the<br /> Author this month, does not seem to me to contain<br /> such a strong objection to what I propose as at<br /> first sight appears.<br /> I do not for a moment advocate that copies of<br /> new books should not be supplied to newspaper<br /> proprietors or editors by the publishers, but that,<br /> after the books have been sent, the bill for them<br /> should follow. The reviewer would be at no more<br /> trouble than now in getting his copy, for it would<br /> l&gt;e supplied to him either by the publisher direct,<br /> or by the editor.<br /> It is only just that the books should be paid for<br /> by the newspaper proprietors, for it is primarily<br /> for the benefit of the papers that reviews are<br /> inserted therein.<br /> H. Haes.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 153 (#557) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> PAGES CUT OR UNCUT?<br /> SHALL we have our books and magazines cut<br /> or uncut?<br /> For the cutting of the pages the following<br /> advantages are claimed :—<br /> 1. The convenience.<br /> One receives the book ready for reading, as it<br /> ought to be. A book whose pages have to be cut<br /> is not ready for the reader. It still lacks some-<br /> thing which must be done to it. Suppose the<br /> reader had to number the pages before he could<br /> begin the book. Yet to cut them is no more<br /> trouble.<br /> 2. The neatness.<br /> Very few men can cut abook properly. They grow<br /> impatient; they slip the paper-knife and carve into<br /> the page; they hold it loosely and tear the page;<br /> the only way to get a neat edge is to cut the pages<br /> with a machine.<br /> 3. The saving of time.<br /> To cut the pages of a thick octavo takes at least<br /> half-an-hour of valuable time. We do not waste<br /> half-an-hour in sweeping the floor, dusting the<br /> table, or laying the tire. Why should we waste<br /> our time in doing any other perfectly menial act,<br /> such as cutting the leaves of our books?<br /> 4. Its cheapness.<br /> The cost of cutting the leaves is estimated at<br /> something under io«. per 1,000 volumes. This<br /> is nothing.<br /> Against these arguments it is urged that the<br /> fashion of collectors is the book with rough and<br /> uncut leaves; that a book which has been cut will<br /> not sell so well as an uncut book.<br /> But we are considering the general convenience<br /> of readers, not the hobbies of collectors; and the<br /> the interest of readers, we think, will be best served<br /> by giving them their books ready cut.<br /> - •<br /> &quot;AT THE AUTHOR&#039;S HEAD.&quot;<br /> AMONG the announcements of the season, we<br /> can pick out an edition de luxe of a volume<br /> of Essays by Professor Huxley; the &quot; Vision<br /> of Saints,&quot; by Lewis Moris; a novel by J. M.<br /> Barrie—&quot; The Little Minister &quot;; a &quot; Dictionary of<br /> Religion,&quot; by the Rev. AVilliam Benham; Dr.<br /> Cunningham Geikie on the Holy Land, with<br /> illustrations by that most charming artist, Mi-.<br /> Henry A. Harper; a cheap illustrated Edition of<br /> Farrar&#039;s &quot; Life of Christ&quot;; the eighth volume of<br /> Professor Morley&#039;s &quot;English Writers&quot;; Sidney<br /> Colvin&#039;s&quot; Letters of Keats&quot; ; Buchheim&#039;s &quot;Balladen<br /> mid Romanzen &quot;; the publication of Mr. Henry<br /> A. Jones&#039;s &quot;Saints and Sinners&quot;; new tales by<br /> Marion Crawford, Rudvard Kipling, and Rolf<br /> Boldrewood; a book on the Elements of Polities<br /> by Henry Sedgwick; Sir William Muir&#039;s &quot;History<br /> of the Caliphate &quot;; new novels by George Manville<br /> Fenn and Algernon Gissing; verses by George<br /> Sand; &quot;Hone Sabbatiea&#039;,&quot; a collection of essays<br /> contributed to the Saturday lieview by Sir James<br /> F. Stephen; essays by E. A. Freeman; a novel by<br /> Mr. J. H. Shorthouse; a novel by Mrs. Oliphant;<br /> essays by Bishop Lightfoot; sermons by the late<br /> Dean of St. Paul&#039;s, by F. Denison Maurice, by<br /> Archdeacon Farrar, by Professor Kirkpatrick;<br /> two new volumes of &quot; Men of Action &quot;; &quot;Rodney,&quot;<br /> by Mr. Hannay; and &quot; Montrose,&quot; by Mr. Mowbray<br /> Morris; two new volumes of &quot; English Statesmen &quot;;<br /> Mr. Churton Collins 011 the Study of English Lite-<br /> rature; a posthumous work of Gifford Palgrave;<br /> novels by Clark Russell, Miss Doudney, C. J.<br /> Wills, Florence Marryat, Norris, Rider Haggard,<br /> Baring Gould, L. T. Meade, Hall Caine, Jessie<br /> Fothergill, Robert Buchanan, Tasma, Maarten<br /> Maartens, Mrs. Chandler Moulton, and many<br /> others. It is, as said elsewhere, a truly wonderful<br /> list; but then it is addressed to a hundred millions<br /> of readers.<br /> An example of the growing curiosity on the<br /> continent about English contemporary literature is<br /> a translation of Mr. Swinburne&#039;s &quot;Poems and<br /> Ballads,&quot; 1st Series, into French by Gabriel<br /> Mourey, with an introduction by M. Guv de Mau-<br /> passant, the greatest, perhaps, of living French<br /> novelists. As in all translations, the magic of Un-<br /> original has disappeared, but admirers of Mr.<br /> Swinburne (that is to say, all competent judges of<br /> poetry) should get this work, if only for the intro-<br /> duction. The &quot;Poems and Ballads,&quot; though Mr.<br /> Swinburne calls them &quot;Peches de Jennesse,&quot; are<br /> after all one of the milestones in our life of literary<br /> appreciation. Nothing can ever quite take their<br /> place, thoHgh we have become old, good, anil<br /> respectable.<br /> Everyone will have read with interest Mr.<br /> Archer&#039;s article on Maeterlinck, the new Belgian<br /> dramatist, in the September number of the<br /> Fortnightly Review. This is, however, by 110<br /> means the first account of his marvellous dramas<br /> that have been written in England. A review of<br /> &quot;La Princesse Maleinc&quot; appeared in the St.<br /> James&#039; Gazette a long while ago, and in the June<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 154 (#558) ############################################<br /> <br /> 154<br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> number of the Author there was a critical estimate<br /> of Maeterlinck&#039;s dramatic and literary methods in<br /> &quot;Les Avengles&quot; anil &quot;LTntruse.&quot; Mr. Archer<br /> writes as if he were the first in the field. Mr.<br /> Heinemann is about to publish a translation of &quot;La<br /> Princesse Maleine,&quot; with an introduction by Mr.<br /> Oscar Wilde, and then everyone will have an<br /> opportunity of judging the merits of the Flemish<br /> Shakespeare.<br /> In the next Author there will be something<br /> more, it is hoped, about the i st issue of the Oriental<br /> Translation Fund (new series), edited bv Dr. F. F.<br /> Arbuthnot, M.R.A.S., printed and published under<br /> the auspices of the Royal Asiatic Society. The<br /> undertaking is due to the energetic and untiring<br /> efforts of the editor, who is a well-known expert<br /> in Oriental literature. Uninitiated readers should<br /> not be frightened by the name &quot;Rawsat-Safa, or<br /> the Garden of Purity.&quot; Some of the Persian<br /> versions of the old familiar Biblical stories are<br /> delightful, being no less interesting to Christians<br /> than Moslems.<br /> Miss Frances Younghusband, the able trans-<br /> lator of the &quot;Myths of Hellas&quot; has again used her<br /> talents by a version of Witt&#039;s &quot;Retreat of the<br /> Ten Thousand,&quot; which is based on Xenophon&#039;s<br /> &quot;Anabasis.&quot; Xothing could possibly be better<br /> done, though Miss Younghusband might give us<br /> some original work for which she is so thoroughly<br /> capable. The illustrations are artistic and in-<br /> structive, and go far to enhance the value of this<br /> work. Many schoolboys would like to confine<br /> their knowledge of Xenophon to Miss Young-<br /> husband&#039;s version, but let us hope that it will<br /> regenerate them rather than spoil them for their<br /> Greek studies. The book is published by Messrs.<br /> Longman.<br /> &quot;The Critic&#039;s exposure of the young man who<br /> passed himself off on credulous Americans as a<br /> brother of Mr. Walter Besant had the effect of<br /> stopping his depredations upon the literary guild,<br /> and turning him off to prey upon the represen-<br /> tatives of other professions. Sir Morell Mackenzie<br /> has receive:! a letter from Mr. A. P. Gordon<br /> Gumming, in which the latter informs the eminent<br /> &#039;medicine man&#039; of his son&#039;s appearance at<br /> Sykesville, en route to Xew York, after a disastrous<br /> experience on the stage in Australia. And one of<br /> Sir Morell&#039;s veritable sons, who is an actor and<br /> manager, and calls himself H. H. Morell, without<br /> the Mackenzie, writes to the Spirit of the Times<br /> from London that he himself is the only son of his<br /> father who is connected with the theatrical pro-<br /> fession, and that his only brother is a physician.<br /> Mr. Morell is Miss Fortescue&#039;s manager. The<br /> Dramatic Jfirror also has exposed his swindling<br /> double.&quot;—Xew York Critic.<br /> Miss Frances Armstrong, author of &quot;Her Own<br /> Way,&quot; &amp;c. has brought out a new novel called<br /> &quot;Changed Lots.&quot; Griffith and Farran. 5*.<br /> Dr. L. A. Buchheim sends a copy of his<br /> &quot;Balladen und Romanzen&quot; (Macmillan &amp; Co.).<br /> It is a selection of German ballads uniform with<br /> the &quot;Golden Treasury,&quot; and belonging to the<br /> series so-called. It is a very beautiful collection,<br /> and ought most certainly to be in the jwssession of<br /> all who read and love German poetry. A portrait<br /> of Uhland adorns the title page. It is a pity<br /> that it was not taken before the poet&#039;s hair fell off.<br /> A lady sends me a little volume of verse called,<br /> simply, &quot; Poems,&quot; bearing the initials &quot;D. M. B.&quot;<br /> and with the names of &quot;Young and Cooper,<br /> Maidstone,&quot; on the title page. It is a very little<br /> volume, and there are in it verses which are quite<br /> too simple for publication. On the other hand,<br /> there are sonnets which seem to have the true<br /> ring, and we may very well imagine this writer<br /> soaring high above these early rhymes, and be-<br /> coming ashamed of them. Then this copy in my<br /> hands would become rare and priceless. May this<br /> be so!<br /> William Westall is writing Christmas stories for<br /> the Manchester Weekly Times and the Glasgmc<br /> Herald. He has also written a short serial for the<br /> Traveller, a new magazine which is to appear<br /> in December, and a novel which is being syndicated<br /> by the Authors&#039; Syndicate, and will &quot;run&quot; in<br /> sundry English and American newspapers next<br /> year.<br /> &quot;It is said that there are three million volumes<br /> of unsold novels lying on the shelves of the Paris<br /> publishers, and that the number increases every<br /> dav. What to do with these unsold and apparently<br /> unsaleable b &gt;oks is a problem. It was proposed by<br /> someone that they should be distributed at country<br /> fairs as prizes for children, instead of gingerbread<br /> or Scripture texts. The innocent country people<br /> were greatly pleased with this proposition, and<br /> quite e.iger to accept it; but the more knowing<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 155 (#559) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> i55<br /> prefect of police interfered and stopped the dis-<br /> tribution; not, however, until some volumes had<br /> been given away. It is hoped that the local<br /> Sunday schools will put in their best work in this<br /> neighbourhood l&gt;efore the seed already sown has<br /> bourgeoned ami born fruit.&quot;—New York Critic.<br /> Miss Elizabeth Bisland is said to be now engaged<br /> on a romance and play in collaboration with Bhoda<br /> Broughton.<br /> Mrs. Bernhard Whishnw has disposed of the<br /> American rights of &quot;Zephyr,&quot; and it will be produced<br /> before long in New York with Miss Loie Fuller in<br /> the title part. It will be remembered that this<br /> young actress made a decided hit its &quot; Zephyrina&quot;<br /> when the play was performed at the Opera Comique<br /> last May.<br /> A new volume by Mr. J. E. Gore, F.B.A.S.,<br /> entitled, &quot; Star Groups: a Students Guide to the<br /> Constellations,&quot; is in the press, and will be published<br /> immediately by Messrs. Crosby, Lockwood, and<br /> Son, Stationers&#039; Hall Court.<br /> The following books are about to be issued by<br /> Miss Bramstou, author of &quot; Apples of Sodom &quot; :—<br /> &quot;Abby&#039;s Discoveries.&quot; Tale of child-life 5o years<br /> ago. National Society.<br /> &quot;A Village Genius.&quot; Story of the Composer of<br /> the Passions music still sung at Ober<br /> Ammergau. National Society.<br /> &quot;Neal Russell.&quot; One-volume tale, suitable for<br /> free and parish libraries. Swan, Sonnenschein<br /> Miss Jessie M. Barker&#039;s &quot;Daisy&#039;s Dream: a<br /> Story of the Earth and its Sculptors,&quot; is to appear<br /> in the October, November, anil December parts of<br /> the Girls&#039; Own Paper.<br /> &quot;In Two Moods,&quot; by Stepniak and Westall,<br /> from the Russian of Korolenko, was published on<br /> September 18, in New York, by the American<br /> Book Company; and in London by Ward and<br /> Downey.<br /> Mrs. Alfred Baldwin has a one-volume novel in<br /> the press called &quot;Where Town and Country meet.&quot;<br /> It will be published by Longmans and Co.<br /> Mr. Bertram Milford will publish in the middle<br /> of October a novel called &quot;Golden Fan : A Tale of<br /> the Wild AVest.&quot; (Trischler and Co.)<br /> A new edition of &quot;The Sandcliff Mystery,&quot; by<br /> Scott Graham, author of &quot; The Golden Milestone,&quot;<br /> &quot;A Bolt from the Blue,&quot; &amp;c, is published at 2s.<br /> and 2*. 6d. by Messrs. Oliphant, Anderson, and<br /> Ferrier.<br /> Mrs. Jenner&#039;s novel &quot;Love or Money,&quot; which<br /> has been running in Temple Bar, will be issued in<br /> volume form on October the 19th. Bentley and<br /> Son are the publishers.<br /> Miss Selina Gaye&#039;s new book &quot;From Advent to<br /> Advent &quot; was published in the summer by Messrs.<br /> Griffith and Farran. 2i3pp. Price 3-v. bd.<br /> The forthcoming memoir of the late Watts<br /> Phillips, which is to be issued by Messrs. Cassell<br /> and Co., is written by Miss Emma Watts Phillips,<br /> the sister, not the daughter, of the subject.<br /> Mr. Walts Phillips had one daughter only, who is<br /> now in Australia.<br /> NEW BOOKS AND NEW EDITIONS.<br /> Theology.<br /> Drivf.u, S. R., I).I). An Introduction to the Literature of<br /> tlie (Jlil Testament. Clark, George Street, Edinburgh.<br /> Vol. of the International Theological Library. 12*.<br /> McEvilly, Most Rev. J., 1).I&gt;. An Exposition of the<br /> Epistles of St. l&#039;uul anil of the Catholic Epistles.<br /> With introductions, analyses, a paraphrase of the text,<br /> and a commentary, interspersed with moral reflections.<br /> Two vols. Fourth Edition, revised. Dublin: M. II.<br /> Gill.<br /> PiiKi-rs, Austin, LL.D., D.I). My Note Hook. Frag-<br /> mentary studies in theology and subjects adjacent<br /> thereto. With portrait. Fisher 1&#039;uwiu. 6s.<br /> Thk Powkb of thk Phkskxck of God. Hy the Author of<br /> &quot;Prayers and Responses for the Household.&quot; Skeffing-<br /> tou. Paper covers.<br /> Stkwart, Pkof. Alkxandkb. Handbook of Christian<br /> Evidences. A. and C. Black, (xl.<br /> Tkmperaxtia. Ity the Kev. H. H. Gowen. Six Short<br /> Sermons on the Apostles Creed. By the Kev. J. J.<br /> Soden, M.A. Short Sermons for Children. By the<br /> Kev. H. J. Wilmot Buxton, M.A. Third Edition. On<br /> the Way Home. Sixty Short Sermons for Life&#039;s<br /> Travellers. By the Kev. W. H. Jones. Sermon Out-<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 156 (#560) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> lines. By the Bev. V. St. John Corbett, M.A. The<br /> Master&#039;s Message. A Series of Plain Sermons, By<br /> the Rev. H. .1. Wilmot Buxton, M.A. Sermons for the<br /> Christian Year. Two vols. By the Rev. A. Noel<br /> Hunt, B.A. Skeffington, Piccadilly.<br /> History and Biography.<br /> Belcher, T. W., D.l). Robert Brett (of Stoke Newington),<br /> his Life and Work. Griffith, Furruii. 3s. bd.<br /> Brown, James. The History of Sanquhar. Burgh Asses-<br /> sor. To which is added the Flora and Fauna of the<br /> district. By Dr. Anatruthcr Davidson. Anderson,<br /> Dumfries.<br /> Crump, C. G. Imaginary Conversations. By Walter<br /> Savage Landor. With biographical and explanatory<br /> notes. In Six vols. Vol. II. J. M. Dent, Great<br /> Kastern Street. 3s. bd. net.<br /> Dictionary of National Biography. Kdited by Sidney<br /> Lee. Vol. XXVIII. Howard—Inglethorp. Smith,<br /> Elder.<br /> Evkbard, Major H. History of the 29th (Worcestershire)<br /> Foot, Thos. Farrington&#039;s Regiment. (1694 to 1891.)<br /> Worcester: Littlebury &amp; Co.<br /> Fitzgerald, Percy, F.S.A. Life of James Boswcll (of<br /> Auchinleck), with an account of his sayings, doings,<br /> and writings. Two vols., with four portraits. Chatto<br /> and Windus.<br /> Historic Houses ok the United Kingdom. Descriptive,<br /> Historical, Pictorial. Part I. Cassell. Paper, jd.<br /> Hoddkr, Kdwin. George Fife Angas, Father and Founder<br /> of South Australia. With portrait. Hodder and<br /> Stoughton. 11 at.<br /> Hume, Martin A. S. Chronicle of King Henry VIII. of<br /> England: being a Contemporary Record of some of<br /> the Principal Events of the Reigns of Henry VIII. and<br /> Edward VI. Written in Spanish by an unknown<br /> hand. Translated, with notes and introduction, by.<br /> George Bell. is. bd.<br /> Law, George, B.A. History of Hampton Court Palace.<br /> Vol. III. Orange and Guelph times. George Bell.<br /> Lewis, J. G. Christopher Marlowe: Outlines of his Life<br /> and Works. Gibbings, Bury Street, W.C.<br /> Muir, Sir W. The Caliphate, its Rise, Decline, and Fall.<br /> 8vo. 1 os. 6&#039;/., cloth.<br /> Sydney, W. Connor. England and the English in the 18th<br /> Century; Chapters in the Social History of the Times.<br /> Two vols. Ward and Downey.<br /> Educational.<br /> Bebesford-Webb, H. S. German Military and Naval<br /> Reading Book: For the use of Candidates for Army<br /> and other Examinations. Percival, Covent Garden.<br /> Ss.<br /> Fletcher, Banister. Dilapidations; A Text-book for<br /> Architects and Surveyors, in tabulated form, corrected<br /> to the present Time, with all the most recent legal<br /> cases. With the Conveyancing and Law of Property<br /> Act and the Agricultural Holdings (England) Act.<br /> Fourth Edition. B. T. Batsford, 5z, High Holboru.<br /> 6s. 6d.<br /> Kingsbury, G. C, M.A., M.D. The practice of Hypnotic<br /> Suggestion, an Elementary Handbook for the use of<br /> the Medical Profession. Siutpkiu.<br /> Marshall, A. Milnes, M.D. The Frog: An Introduction<br /> to Anatomy, Histology, and Embryology. Fourth<br /> Edition, revised and illustrated. Smith, Elder.<br /> Martinkau, G. A Village Class for Drawing and<br /> Wood Carving, is. 6d., cloth.<br /> Nisbet, H. Lessons in Art. Crown 8vo. is. 6d., cloth.<br /> Ostwale, W. Solutions. Being the Fourth Book, with<br /> some additions, of the Second Edition of Ostwald&#039;s<br /> &quot;Lehrbuch der Allgemeineu Chemie,&quot; translated by<br /> M. M. Pattison Muir, Fellow of Gouville and Cains<br /> College, Cambridge. Longmans. 10s. bd.<br /> Philip&#039;s New Series of Travelling Maps: South Ame-<br /> rica, with Index. George Philip, Fleet Street.<br /> Solly, J. Raymond. Acting and the Art of Speech at the<br /> Paris Conservatoire. Hints on reading, reciting, acting,<br /> and the cure of stammering. Elliot Stock.<br /> Solms-Laubach, H. Graf. Fossil Botany, being an Intro-<br /> duction to Palffophytology from the Standpoint of the<br /> Botanist. The authorised Kuglish translation by Henry<br /> E. F. Garnsey, M A., Fellow of Magdalen College,<br /> Oxford, revised by Isaac Bayley Balfour, M.A., M.D.,<br /> F. R.S. With illustrations. Clarendon Press. 18s.<br /> A Text Book of Musical Knowledge. Part II., Inter-<br /> mediate. Part III., Senior. Also Questions and<br /> Exercises intended for practical use during the study<br /> of the foregoing. Prepared for the use of Students,<br /> more especially for the local examinations in musical<br /> knowledge of Trinity College, London. Hammond,<br /> Vigo Street, is. each.<br /> General Literature.<br /> Adams, F. John Webb&#039;s End. 2*.<br /> Alexander, Mrs. A Woman&#039;s Heart. A Novel in 3 vols.<br /> F. V. White.<br /> Well Won. In 1 vol. F. V. White. Paper<br /> covers, is.<br /> Bali.axtyne, R. M. The Buffalo Runners. A Tale of the<br /> Red River Plains. Illustrated by the author. James<br /> Nisbet. Ss.<br /> Behnke, Emil. Stammering: its Nature and Treatment.<br /> Second thousand. Fisher Unwiu.<br /> Besant, W. Armorel of Lyonesse. 3s. bd.<br /> Burton, Mina E. Ruling the Planets. 3 vols. Richard<br /> Bentley.<br /> Carey, R. N. Our Bessie. 3s.<br /> Colvills, H. E. Wafted Seeds. Nisbet. is.<br /> Cook, W. The Horse: its Keep and Management, is.bd.<br /> Craik, Georoina M. (Mrs. A. W. May). Patience Holt:<br /> a Novel. 3 vols. Bentley.<br /> Davenport-Adams, W. With Poet and Player. Essays<br /> on Literature and the Stage. Elliot Stock,<br /> Dawson, W. J. The Redemption of Edward Stratum: a<br /> Social Story. Hodder and Stoughton. 3s. bd.<br /> Donovan, Dick. A Detective&#039;s Triumphs. Chatto and<br /> Windus.<br /> Edgar, Matilda. Ten Years of Upper Canada in Peace<br /> and War—i8o5-i8i5—being the Ridout Letters, with<br /> annotations. Fisher Unwin. 10s. bd.<br /> Fenn, G. M. Mahine Nousie. 2 vols. 21s.<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 157 (#561) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE A<br /> UTHOR.<br /> Ford, James L. Hypnotic and Other Tales. Illustrated.<br /> Brentano&#039;s, West Strand.<br /> Fotheroill, Jessie. Aldyth: or, Let the Knd Try the<br /> Man. A Story. Rentier.<br /> Frederic, Harold. In the Valley: a Novel. Popular<br /> edition. Heinemann. 3s. 6d.<br /> Gaskell, Mrs. Mary Barton. With biographical intro-<br /> duction. Volume of the Minerva Library. Ward,<br /> Lock, Bowden. IS.<br /> Gellie, M. K. (M.K.B.). Raffan&#039;s Folk: a Story of a High-<br /> land Parish. I lines, Bedford Street.<br /> Green, K. E. Fir Tree Farm. 5«.<br /> Haggard, H. Bider. Maiwa&#039;s Revenge: or, The War of<br /> the Little Hand. Illustrated. Longmans. is.<br /> Henty, G. A. Tliose Other Animals. With portrait of<br /> the author, and illustrations by Harrison Weir. Volume<br /> of the Whitefriars Library of Wit and Humour.<br /> Henry, Bouverie Street. 3s. 6&lt;/.<br /> Herman, Henry. Scarlet Fortune: a Story of the New<br /> World and the Old. Trischler. Coloured boards, is.<br /> Hudson, W. C. The Man with a Thumb. Cassell. is.<br /> Huefher, F. H. Madox. The Brown Owl: a Fairy<br /> Story. With two illustrations by F. Madox Browne.<br /> Volume of the Children&#039;s Library. Fisher I&#039;nwin.<br /> is. 6d.<br /> Hughes, Josiah. Australia Revisited in 1890: being<br /> Kxtracts from the Diary of a Trip Bound the World.<br /> Simpkin, Marshall.<br /> Johnston, H. H., C.B., &amp;c. Livingstone and the Explora-<br /> tion of Central Africa. With illustrations and maps<br /> by E. G. Bavenstein, F.B.G.S. George Philip.<br /> 4*. 6d.<br /> Kenton, F. G., M.A. Classical Texts from Papyri in the<br /> British Museum; including the newly-discovered poems<br /> of Herodas. With autotype facsimiles of MSS.<br /> Clarendon Press.<br /> K.NEirp, Sebastian. My Water Cure, as tested through<br /> more than 30 years. With illustrations. Translated<br /> from the 3oth German edition by A. de F. Blackwood.<br /> Lindlev, Percy. Walks in Epping Forest. With illustra-<br /> tions and maps. New edition. 113, Fleet Street. 6d.<br /> Lynch, A. Modern Authors: a Review and a Forecast.<br /> 5*.<br /> Marshall, Emma. Those Three: or, Little Wings. A<br /> Story for Girls. James Nisbet. 5».<br /> Born in the Purple: a Story. James Nisbet,<br /> is. M.<br /> Mathers, Helen. My Jo, John: a Novel. F. V.<br /> White. Paper covers, is.<br /> Maude, F. W. A Merciful Divorce: a Story of Society,<br /> its sports, functions, and failings. Second thousand.<br /> Trischler.<br /> Maurier, G. du. Society Pictures. Drawn by. Selected<br /> from Punch. No. 11. Bradbury, Agnew. Paper<br /> covers, is.<br /> Meade, L. F. Hepsy Gipsy. Illustrated by Everard<br /> Hopkins. Methuen.<br /> Meadows, A. M. The Romance of a Madhouse. Arrow-<br /> smith. Paper covers, is.<br /> Molesworth, Mrs. The Red Grange: a Tale. Illus-<br /> trated by Gordon Browne. Methuen.<br /> Montt, Pedro. Exposition of the Illegal Acts of ex-<br /> President Balmaceda, which caused the Civil War in<br /> Chile. Brentano&#039;s, Strand. Paper covers, is. 6d.<br /> MuiR, Sir Wm. The Caliphate: its Rise, Decline, and<br /> Fall. From Original Sources. Religions Tract<br /> Society, Paternoster Row. ios. 6d.<br /> Murray, R. W. South Africa: from Arab domination to<br /> British rule. Edited by. With maps. Stanford.<br /> Norris, W. E. Miss Wentworth&#039;s Idea: a Novel. Ward<br /> and Downey.<br /> Phillpotts, Edex. Folly and Fresh Air. Trischler.<br /> Potter, G. W., M.I). Ministering Women: the Story of<br /> the Royal National Pension Fund for Nurses. The<br /> Hospital, i4o, Strand.<br /> Pryce, R. Miss Maxwell&#039;s Affections: a Novel. 2 vols.<br /> Chatto and Windns.<br /> Sargant, G. E. John Tincroft, Bachelor and Benedict,<br /> is. 6d.<br /> Serrano, Mary J. Letters of Marie Bashkirtseff. Trans-<br /> lated by. With Portraits. Cassell.<br /> Shaw, G. B. The Quintessence of Ibsenism. is. (nl.<br /> Sherard, R. H. By Right not Law: a Story. Cassell.<br /> Picture boards, is.<br /> Somerville, E. R. and Ross, M. Naboth&#039;s Vineyard: a<br /> Novel. Spencer Blackett. 3s. M.<br /> Stone, Percy G. The Architectural Antiquities of the<br /> Isle of Wight, from the nth to the 17th Centuries.<br /> Part II. Collected and drawn by, and published by<br /> him at 19, Great Marlborough Street, W.<br /> Story, W. W. Excursions in Art and letters. Black-<br /> wood.<br /> Turner, J. H. An Endeavour to Fix the Date of the<br /> Crucifixion. J. Palmer, Alexandra Street.<br /> Walford, L. B. The Mischief of Monica: a Novel.<br /> 3 vols. Longmans. iSs. 6d.<br /> Watson, H. Marriott. The Web of the Spider: a Talc<br /> of Adventure. Hutchinson, Paternoster Square. 6s.<br /> Wheeler, Owen E. Military Photography. Iliffe,<br /> St. Bride Street. Paper covers, is. 6d.<br /> Witt, Emilie de. Sinner or Scientist: a Novel. Tallis,<br /> Farringdou Street, is.<br /> Poetry and the Drama.<br /> Byron, Lord. The Poetical Works of, with original and<br /> additional notes. In 11 vols. Vol. I. (Hours of Idle-<br /> ness—English Bards and Scotch Reviewers). Griffith,<br /> Farran. Paper covers, is.<br /> Chambers, R. The Life and Works of Robert Hurns.<br /> Edited by. In 4 vols. W. and R. Chambers.<br /> Ecritt, W. H. Heart Throbs. Harrison, Pall Mall.<br /> E. S. G. S. The New Christian Year; or, Thoughts (in<br /> verse) on the Present Leetiouary. Stoneman, Warwick<br /> Lane, Paternoster Row.<br /> Jones, Henry* Arthur. Saints and Sinners: a new and<br /> original Drama of Modern English Middle-class Life,<br /> in Five Acts. Macinillan. 3s. 6d.<br /> Levy, Amy. A Minor Poet and other verse. Volume of<br /> the Cameo Series. With Portrait. Fisher Unwiu.<br /> 3s. 6d.<br /> O&#039;Brien, Constance. Possible Plays for Private Players.<br /> Griffith, Farran. is.<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 158 (#562) ############################################<br /> <br /> THE AUTHOR.<br /> Palgrave, Francis T. The Visions of England: Lyrics<br /> on Leading Men and Event! in English History.<br /> Cassell&#039;s National Library. Cloth, 6d.<br /> PMLirs, E. C, and Grindy, S. The Dean&#039;s Daughter:<br /> a Play in Four Acts; as produced at the St. James&#039;s<br /> Theatre in October 1888. Trischler. Paper covers,<br /> is.<br /> Williamson, J. K. A Ballad of a Jester and other Poems.<br /> Heywood, Manchester and London.<br /> Law.<br /> Russkll, Francis, M.A. A Treatise on the Power and<br /> Duty of an Arbitrator and the Law of Submissions<br /> and Awards, with an Appendix of Forms anil of the<br /> Statutes relating to Arbitration. Seventh edition, by<br /> the author and Herbert Russell, B.A., of the Inner<br /> Temple. Stevens, Chancery Lane. 3o.s.; for cash, 24s.<br /> Science.<br /> Kingsbury, G. C. Practice of Hypnotic Suggestion. 6*.<br /> Robkrts, J. Handbook of Weights and Measures. 4a. 6d.<br /> Watkrdalk&#039;s Fresh Light on the Dynamite Action and<br /> Ponderosity. 3». id.<br /> Watts, W. Marshall. A Practical Introduction of the<br /> Elements of Chemistry. James Xisbet. IS.<br /> Parliamentary Papers.<br /> Keturn as to Alien Immigration during August, \d. Com-<br /> parative Statement of Pauperism, June 1891, id. Re-<br /> port from the Select Committee on Railway Servants&#039;<br /> Hours of Labour, with Proceedings of the Committee<br /> and Minutes of Evidence, 5.». i\d. Standing Order of<br /> the House of Commons relating to Public and Private<br /> Business, it. id. Eyre and Spottiswoode.<br /> Railway Statistics of Canada for 1890. Annual Report of<br /> the Department of Fisheries, Dominion of Canada, for<br /> 1890 ; and Fisheries Statements and Inspectors&#039; Reports<br /> for 1890. Brown Chamberlen, Ottawa.<br /> 34th Report of the Commissioners of the Inland Revenue<br /> for the year ended March 3i last, 6d. Return of Ships<br /> ordered by the Board of Trade to be provisionally<br /> detained as unsafe from July 1, 1890, to June 3o,<br /> 1891, i\d. Report of the Hoard of Trade&#039;s Pro-<br /> ceedings during last Session under the Tramways Act,<br /> 1870, and the Gas and Water Works Facilities Act,<br /> 1870, ir/. Special Report from the Select Committee<br /> on Teachers&#039; Registration and Organization Bill, 3 s. 3rf.<br /> Report from the Select Committee on Town Holdings,<br /> 3s. Sd. Department of Science and Art Directory,<br /> revised up to June 1891, with Regulations for esta-<br /> blishing and conducting Science and Art Schools and<br /> Classes, (id. Return as to the Salaries of Attorneys<br /> and Solicitors General, \d. Return showing the<br /> Annual Output of Principal Minerals of Great Britain<br /> and Ireland from i860 to 1890, ijrf. Return as to<br /> persons suffering sentences for Treason-Felony, \d.<br /> Return of Information as to the detention of prisoners<br /> before trial in England and Wales during 1890, z\d.<br /> General Report to the Board of Trade on the capital,<br /> traffic,expenditure,and profits of the Railway Companies<br /> of the United Kingdom for 1890, ikd. Abstracts of<br /> Returns to the Board of Trade on Shipping Casualties<br /> from July 1, 1889, to June 30, 1890, 4». 6&lt;f. Report<br /> of the Committee of Council on Education in Scotland,<br /> 2.v. Hoard of Trade Reports on the classification of<br /> Merchandise Traffic and Schedule of Maximum Rates<br /> in respect of the Abbotsbury, Aylesbury, and Bucking-<br /> ham, Ballycastle, and certain other railway companies,<br /> 6d. Report of the Committee of Council on Education<br /> (England and Wales), with Appendix, 1890-91, 3». id.<br /> 23rd Report on the Judicial Statistics of Scotland for<br /> 1890, I*, id. Accounts relating to Trade and Navi-<br /> gation of the United Kingdom for August, 6rf. Board<br /> of Agriculture Report on the Distribution of Grants to<br /> Agricultural and Dairy Schools in Great Britain for the<br /> Financial Year, 1890-91, Sd. Annual Colonial Re-<br /> ports.—Reports for 1890: No. 12.—Turks and Caicos<br /> Islands, id. No. i3.—Gibraltar, id. No. 14.—Zulu-<br /> land, irf. No. i5.—Sierra Leone, i\d. Government<br /> Departments Securities: Return of the Amounts of<br /> British Government Securities held by the several<br /> Government Departments and other Public Offices on<br /> the 31st of March 1891, specifying whether held in<br /> England or Ireland (in continuation of Parliamentary-<br /> Paper No. 263, of Session 1890), id. Return : Savings<br /> Bank-. &lt;)\d. Australasian Federation : Official Record<br /> of the Proceedings and Debates of the National<br /> Australasian Convention, held in the Parliament House,<br /> Sydney, New South Wales, in the months of March<br /> and April, 1891, 4*. 3d. Eyre and Spottiswoode.<br /> Agricultural Statistics, Ireland: General Abstract, showing<br /> the acreage under crops, also the number and de-<br /> scription of live stock in each county and province,<br /> 1890-91. Banking, Railway, and Shipping Statistics,<br /> Ireland, June 1891, id. Alexander Thorn and Co.,<br /> Dublin.<br /> Electrical Standards: Report of the Committee appointed<br /> by the Board of Trade on New Denominations of<br /> Standards for the Measurement of Electricity, lid.<br /> Board of Agriculture: Report on the Distribution of<br /> Grants to Agricultural and Dairy Schools in Great<br /> Britain for the Financial Year 1890-91, with an Ap-<br /> pendix, Sd. Public Accounts: Third Report from the<br /> Committee of Public Accounts, with proceedings of<br /> the Committee and Minutes of Evidence, is. Town<br /> Holdings: Report from the Select Committee, with<br /> proceedings of the Committee and Minutes of Evidence,<br /> 3». Sd. Railway Returns for England and Wales,<br /> Scotland, and Ireland, for the year 1890, with Sum-<br /> mary Tables for I&#039;nited Kingdom for each year from<br /> 1854 to 1890, 11 J. Department of Science and Art<br /> Directory, with regulations for establishing and con-<br /> ducting science and art schools and classes, 6rf. Re-<br /> turn of Episcopal Fees and Charges paid by every<br /> Archbishop and Bishop since January 1, i885,<br /> Reports by Board of Trade on the Classification of<br /> Merchandise Traffic and Schedule of Minimum Rates,<br /> determined in respect of the East London Railway<br /> Joint Committee, and the Loudon and North-Western<br /> and Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway Companies,<br /> and the Corporation of Preston, Ribble Branch, Joint<br /> Railway, 6d. each. Reports by the Board of Trade on<br /> the Classification of Merchandise Traffic and Schedule<br /> of Maximum Rates determined in respect of Barry<br /> Docks and Railway Company (3s. 3d.), the Fe.stiniog<br /> Railway Company (6&lt;/.), and certain other companies.<br /> Reports by the Board of Trade on the Classification<br /> of Merchandise Traffic and Schedule of Maximum<br /> Rates, determined in respect of the Ely Valley, Brecon<br /> and Merthyr Tydfil Junction, and Golden Valley<br /> Railway Companies, 6rf. each. Eyre and Spottiswoode.<br /> <br /> <br /> ## p. 159 (#563) ############################################<br /> <br /> ADVERTISEMENTS.<br /> 159<br /> THE CENTRAL TYPE-WRITING OFFICE,<br /> (ESTABLISHED 1887,)<br /> 57 &amp; 58, Chancery Lane, W.C.<br /> Principals :<br /> Miss M. E. DUCK and Miss I. B. 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