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argued that it stands in direct antagonism to the spirit which has inspired the literature of Germany in the past. The ethical moment of that literature, to make a somewhat wide generalization, has throughout its entire history-from the spiritual and moral "doubt" of Wolfram's "Parzival" to the forebodings of "Faust," to the probblems of "Medea" or "The Nibelung's Ring"centered in the conception of tragic renunciation. Rarely has the pean of triumphant optimism rung out in German literature as it once rang out in the brighter literatures of Greece, of Italy, or Spain. The Titans of German poetry have always been hurled into the abyss; it is in the tragedy of unachieved desire, of broken hopes, of renunciation, that it has touched its highest point. What the future may have in store it is hard to say, but it is doubtful if the ethical spirit of at least 700 years will be so easily dethroned as many of Nietzsche's admirers believe.

Of the purely ethical aspects of Nietzsche's teaching it lies beyond my province to speak. Much has been said of the dangers of Nietzsche's ideas, and dangers they undoubtedly have for the unripe, but, as Nietzsche himself says, "Alles Grosse, zumal Neue ist gefaehrlich." The philosophy of Zarathustra is a philosophy for the few, for the exceptions: "Ich bin ein Gesetz fuer die Meinen, ich bin kein Gesetz fuer Alle." Nietzsche wrote not for the "slaves" but for the "masters" whose "Wille zur Macht" has sprung from a deep experience of the meaning of slavery; his ethics. stand in no such strong contrast to Goethe's rising on our dead selves to higher things, or even to the Hegelian "die to live," as some of his prophets would have us think.

The eternal value of men like Nietzsche is that they go through their age like ploughshares; they tear up the weeds of conventionality and expose fresh soil to the air. They force men to think the vital thoughts of life all over again. Nietzsche's last work was to have been entitled "Die Umwertung aller Werte," but no better collective title could be found for all his work, from the "Geburt der Tragodie" onwards. Here lies his most obvious importance as an intellectual force; he was an "Umwerter aller Werte."-Cosmopolis.


Andrew Lang repeats the well-known story of how Coleridge composed "Kubla Khan" in a dream, but that dream was brought about by opium. Coleridge tells it. He had a quarrel with Lloyd, and he went to a farmhouse near Porlock and took opium to compose his irritated nerves. Maybe he had been reading Marco Polo, and so the glorious verses were dreamed. But the strange thing is how he retained the lines when he was awake. Those who are habitual workers with their pens, as romance makers, when they take

their rest try to drive out of their minds their vocation. Some of their experiences while dreaming they have told. In their sleep fancy and imagination still have play. Suddenly they awake. They have thought out a plot of singular originality. Some few salient points they have retained, but generally, to their disgust, on cooler consideration they find that the plot is absurd, commonplace, and not worthy of a second thought. Nevertheless there are musicians who have dreamed of beautiful melodies, strange harmonies, and have not only preserved them, but utilized them. Mr. Andrew Lang says he is acquainted with a popular novelist who once found a tale under his name in a serial to which he had contributed, "who was paid for the tale, and who had no memory of writing a word of it or of posting his manuscript." When men write a great deal they often forget entirely what they have written. Selfesteem, the laudation of one's self or of one's own

work, may make work, may make some authors think well of what they have written, but generally the effect of reading what was theirs and was printed some years before elicits rather a feeling of indifference. It is rarely as good, according to their ideas, as it should have been, and yet they question, strangely enough, whether they could do it as well to day. Smug confidence in what a man has written is exceptional.

An interesting book included in a catalogue recently issued by an English bookseller is Horace Walpole's "Anecdotes of Painting in England." Walpole's introduction to the book states that the notes were collected by Vertue, and were digested and published from his original MSS. But Walpole did more than this would suggest, for Vertue's notes, for which he gave one hundred pounds, were apparently in such a confused and imperfect condition that Walpole had to practically rewrite them. Besides for the numerous fine portraits with which the book is illustrated, it is interesting as one of the best of the comparatively long series issued from the "Officina Arbuteana." Walpole always spoke of Strawberry Hill as the place he "loved best of all," and it was here that he busied himself with the hobby of printing during the last years of his life. The first three volumes of the "Anecdotes," commencing with 1762, followed one another in rapid succession, but the last did not appear until 1780. Such was the general appreciation of the work that the fourth volume was looked for with a considerable degree of impatience, and a second edition was speedily demanded. The output of the private press at Strawberry Hill was remarkable, considering that its staff of operatives never at any time exceeded a man and a boy. Of the first work published, the "Two Odes by Mr. Gray," one thousand copies were printed, while the first edition of the "Anecdotes," 4 vols, quarto, and fully illustrated, consisted of no less than six hundred copies.



"What's in a name?" asked the Bard of Avon, and James Murray, the English publisher, asked in a letter to Lord Byron, "A book well named is a book quick sold."

In a critical Review published in London, a letter appeared saying that "books were multiplied so fast that there would be no sale for the majority if it were not for the 'catch title.'"

It is true that one of the greatest difficulties an author has to encounter is the naming of the child of his brain. No fond father or mother ever puzzled more over the name of a baby than the author over the nomenclature of his book.

Sometimes, after weeks of brain-twisting, the name is decided by accident and often proves a 'hit.' Sometime ago Charles Frohman, the Napoleon of the American stage, imported a farce without a name. He was puzzled over the title, for he realized the value of a name. After hours of agony he threw down the manuscript and declared that "Never again would he accept a play without a name," and a friend repeated the words, "Never Again." Frohman adopted those two words as the title of his play and the piece was a success.

Books have been named in just such manner, but generally the title is a matter of much thought.

The writer once heard Charles Dickens say that there were three things which worried him more than anything else, first, the opening paragraph of his story; second, the last paragraph, and lastly, but a greater worry than all the rest, what to call the story. After keeping the publisher waiting to the last possible moment he generally named his books after his hero. An author must be well known to risk such nomenclature, unless the name conveys something more than the personality of the hero, as, for example, "Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker."

Every author and publisher must remember that thousands of books are sold, not because of merit, though they may be great, but simply through the catchy title.

"The Triumph of Death" would sell, because it deals with the mysterious, and anyone looking at the shelves of a book shop would have his curiosity aroused by "The Damnation of Theron Ware."

"Vanity Fair" had doubtless a greater sale than if it had been named "Becky Sharp."

Two centuries ago, authors knew the value of book titles. The people had to be tempted to read, it was not a reading age, men almost looked with contempt on the reader. Education was for the few, therefore to catch the masses sensational,

or quaint titles were resorted to. The Puritans especially, knew the great value of a catchy title and made the best use of the language to attract the attention. Thus we find Baxter calling a book, "Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches," and another divine, calling the attention of the public to "A Spiritual Pepper Box to make the Soul Sneeze."

Dumoulen wrote a book entitled "The Waters of Siloam, to Extinguish the Fires of Purgatory," which called forth a reply with the title "The Burning Furnace and Reflecting Stove, to Evaporate the Pretended Water of Siloam."

A well-fed priest wrote "The Sweet Marrow and Tasty Sauce of the Savory Bones of the Saints in Advent," which was not a cook-book but one of spiritual advice for the season of Advent.

"A Bullet Shot into the Devil's Camp by the Cannon of the Covenant," was an attractive name, but another issued the same year called "A Spiritual Pillow, necessary to Extirpate Vice and Plant Virtue," was a peculiar jumble of meaningless jargon, for a pillow is not necessary to "extirpate vice," nor could a pillow plant anything.

Baxter's "Hooks and Eyes" was plagiarized in the name, "Buttons and Button Holes for Believers' Breeches." Another Puritan tried to rouse the curiosity of the multitude by issuing a religious brochure, entitled "A Spiritual Syringe for Souls Steeped in Devotion."

A very good Romanist wrote and published, "The Little Dog Barking at the Errors of Luther," and later "The Little Pocket-Pistol which Fires at Heretics."

In the present time Spurgeon tried to convert his neighbors by issuing "A Check Book on the Bank of Faith," and then seasoned their devotions with his "Salt Cellars."

One of his predecessors published a book of Meditations, called "High Heeled Shoes for those who are Dwarfs in Sanctity."

Dunton, who with Daniel Defoe, published a newspaper called "Dunton's Ghost," wrote a political satire entitled "The She Club, or Sixty Maids at Confession," and another called "A Cat May Look at a Queen or a Satire upon Her Present Majesty."

A newspaper appeared in London in the year 1706 with the name "Jesuita Vapulans, or a Whip for a Fool's Back and a Gag for His Foul Mouth." The "Morning Mercury" had for its second title "A Farce for Fools."

The value of a good second title is known to novelists and appreciated by their publishers. The late Mrs. E. D. E. N. South worth almost made a science of this double naming of her stories, for each title was designed to catch and rivet the attention of a different class, as for example, "The Missing Bride," which would rouse the curiosity

of many a young girl, but there would be many who did not care about a "missing bride," but would be caught by the second title "or Miriam the Avenger."

Some authors used proverbs, notably Charles Reade, with his "Never to Late to Mend," "Put Yourself in His Place" and "Love me Little Love me Long."

Wilkie Collins loved mystery and the casual looker at the bookseller's window is sure to be fascinated by the "Woman in White" and "No Name." But for the attractiveness of title his "Man and Wife" and "New Magdalen" stand preeminent.

Dickens was rugged in his choice of names, but "Oliver Twist" was sure to attract attention, and "Barnaby Rudge" could not be passed by without a thought as to what the book was about.

"Strathmore," Ouida's best novel, commends itself by its stately name, while "Airy Fairy Lilian" tells of love of the kind that the "Duchess" delighted in.

Thackeray chose one word names, "Pendennis," "Newcombes" and the "Virginians," while Marryat humorously called his books by two names, "Peter Simple," Jacob Faithful" and "Midshipman Easy."

How many thousands of purchasers became so through reading the title of Roe's book, "He Fell in Love with his Wife." Black did not hesitate to arouse curiosity by his "Beautiful Wretch."

Haggard could not have found a more taking title than "She," and it was not to be wondered at that a writer should have finished a triology by putting on the market "He" and "It," which commanded immense sales.

"Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow" appeals at once to a large class of readers, and every one wanted to solve the mystery of "Three Men in a Boat, to say nothing of the dog."

"Justice to the Jew" is a fetching title, and there is something fascinating in the "Daughters of Babylon."

So perhaps there is more in a name than Shakespeare dreamed of and many a rose would be left to wither on its thorny stalk were it not for the rare perfume which attracts attention.-Book Notes.


Publishers are often imposed upon by unscrupulous authors, and when we take into account the immense amount of literature published, it is indeed surprising that more plagiarisms do not occur. The latest Parisian scandal of this sort is the more astonishing when we consider that the publisher imposed upon was no less a personage than M. Ferdinand Brunetiere of La Revue des Deux Mondes, and that the material he accepted

and published in his review as original, was from the writings of Honore de Balzac.

In La Revue des Deux Mondes of May and June, 1896, appeared a series of letters said to have been written by a girl to an officer of the Etat-Major. They were called "Roman d'une Inconnue," and have since been published in book form and translated into English as well. They found many readers not only in France, but in England and America, and were variously commented on, but particularly praised for their naturalness and naivete. But not one of the many readers recognized, not the hesitating style of a sentimental and impressionable girl, but the trained hand of one of the greatest French stylists that ever lived. But the fact was there nevertheless, and now the secret is out in spite of M. Brunetiere's positive statement as to their authenticity: "The following letters fell into our hands in a way which we are not at liberty to state."

O, the humiliation of it all! Not only for M. Brunetiere, but for the admirers of the author of "La Comedie Humaine," who assert that the whole of Balzac's one hundred and twenty volumes are more thoroughly read by the French of to-day than by those of any other period.

For two years an unconscious public paid homage to the "Roman d'une Inconnue," and never mistrusted that the gems of the effusions were taken word for word, even page by page, from the "Lys dans la Valle." It is all very astonishing and deplorable for M. Brunetiere and for the friends of the "father of French realism;" not for Balzac, however, for he has been made to surmount the painful indifference with which he had begun to be regarded.


Any library is an attraction. And there is an indescribable delight-who has not felt it that deserves the name of scholar-in mousing at choice among the alcoves of antique book-shops especially, and finding the oldest of these sometimes newest of the new, fresher, more suggestive than the book published and praised in the reviews. And the pleasure scarcely less of cutting the leaves of the new volume, opening by preference at the end rather than title page, and seizing the author's conclusions at a glance. Very few books repay the reading in course. Nor can we excuse the author if his page does not tempt us to copy passages into our common places, for quotation, proverbs, meditation or other uses. A good book is fruitful of other books; it perpetuates its fame from age to age, and makes eras in the lives of its readers.-A. Bronson Alcott.


BY FRANK G. CARPENTER. The American statesman of the stage differs materially from him of actual life. The popular idea that stump-speaking, windy harangues, adroit hand-shaking and baby-kissing make up the capital of our public men is no more true than that the Honorable Bardwell Slote, as depicted in Florence's play, "The Mighty Dollar," is a fair representation of the typical American Congressman. Few of our statesmen have attained prominence who have not been students, and the greatest among them have been widely read and noted for their learning. Benjamin Franklin made an international reputation as a scientist and as a man of learning, and every member of Jefferson's Cabinet was a well-educated man.

Albert Gallatin was highly educated. He was fond of science, and during his later years devoted himself especially to the study of ethnology. He wrote an essay upon the semi-civilized nations of Mexico and America, and he has been called the father of American ethnology. He was fond of Scott, and his favorite novel was "The Antiquary," which he read once a year. He believed in reading for style rather than for story, and he said that novels should be read the last chapter first, in order that the appreciation of the style should not be lost in the interest excited by the story. He was an admirer of Jeremy Bentham and he acknowledged himself indebted to him as his. master in the art of legislation. He was a thorough Latin scholar, and at one time taught French at Harvard College. He was a contributor to the magazines and he wrote many articles upon financial subjects.

Daniel Webster was the best general scholar in college at the time he was at Dartmouth. He was especially well up in Latin. At fifteen his reading included Addison, Pope, Watts and "Don Quixote." He possessed wide information on a number of subjects, and had a clear and retentive. memory. His quotations were chiefly drawn from Shakespeare, Homer and the Bible.

James Madison was also a great Bible student. He remained at Princeton a year longer than necessary for the sake of acquiring Hebrew. He studied the whole history and evidences of Christianity, and it was largely by his influence that freedom of conscience was established by law in Virginia. His health broke down at college, and it was years before he recovered it.

Thomas Jefferson laid down rules of study for Madison, Monroe and others of his friends, and these rules, which were the same as those he adopted for himself, were as follows:

From daybreak until eight in the morning the student should confine himself to Natural Philos

ophy, Morals and Religion; reading treatises on Astronomy, Chemistry, Anatomy, Agriculture, Botany, International Law, Moral Philosophy and Metaphysics. Religion, during these early morning hours, was to be considered under two heads, "Natural" and "Sectarian." For information concerning sectarian religion the student was advised to apply to the following sources: Bible Commentaries by Middleton in his works, and by Priestly in his "Corruptions of Christianity" and "Early Opinions of Christ," and the Sermons of Sterne, Massillon and Bourdaloue. From eight to twelve he advised Madison to read law and condense cases, "never using two words where one will do." From twelve to one he was to read politics; the books were Montesquieu, Locke, Priestly, Malthus, and the Parliamentary debates. In the afternoon the student's mind was to be relieved with history; when evening closed in, he might regale himself with literature, criticism, rhetoric and oratory. No, not regale himself, but sit down to a hard and long evening's work, as Jefferson did himself, keeping it up sometimes till two in the morning. The student was recommended in the evening to write criticisms of the books he read, to analyze the orations of Demosthenes and Cicero, to read good English orations and pleadings with the closest attention to the secrets of their excellence, to compose original essays and to plead imaginary causes with a friend. Hamerton, in his "Intellectual Life," does not imagine a mind which could stand such a strain.

It is little wonder that Madison broke down under such cramming, and it would probably have brought Jefferson to a state of nervous prostration had it not been for his fiddle, his horses and his farms. Jefferson became in after life one of the most learned men of his time, and he was throughout his whole existence a student. He did not like Scott's novels nor Hume's History of England, and, it is said, he never ceased to hate Blackstone's Commentaries. One of his granddaughters says that he read Homer, Virgil, Dante, Corneille and Cervantes as easily as he read Shakespeare and Milton. In his youth he loved poetry, but in his old age he lost his taste for this, except for Homer and the great Athenian tragedies, which he continued to the last to enjoy. He went over the works of Eschylus, Sophocles and Euripides during the year of his death. He was very fond of history, and studied it in all languages, preferring the ancients. He derived greater pleasure from his knowledge of Greek and Latin than from any other branch of literature. "I have," says his granddaughter, "often heard him express his gratitude to his father for causing him to receive a classical education. I saw him more frequently with a volume of classics in his hand than any other book. Still, he

read new publications as they came out, never missed a number of the Reviews, especially of the Edinburgh, and kept himself acquainted with what was being done, said or thought in the world from which he had retired."

When Jefferson was in love he was especially fond of reading Ossian; Parton says that he spent a great part of his honeymoon in reading these poems to his wife. He became so infatuated with

them that he wished to learn Gælic in order that he might study the poems in the original. He was all his life a great book-collector, and his library, which he sold to Congress for about onehalf its cost, or about twenty-three thousand dollars, was so large that it made sixteen wagon loads of three thousand pounds each.

John Randolph of Roanoke quarreled with his doctor on his death-bed about the pronunciation of certain words, and both his letters and his speeches are full of literary allusions. His duel with Clay arose from a comparison of Clay and Adams as a coalition corresponding to that of Bilifil and Black George in Fielding's novel "Tom Jones," which Randolph referred to as a combination unheard of till then, of "The Puritan and the Blackleg." Randolph's whole life was made up of lamentations of remorse, and for him the world in every way went wrong. He lamented through out his life his rambling way of reading, but he covered nearly every field of English literature. Before he was eleven years of age he had read Goldsmith's Roman History, "The Arabian Nights," and Voltaire's "History of Charles the Twelfth." He read "Don Quixote," "Gil Blas," Plutarch, Pope's Homer, "Robinson Crusoe," "Gulliver's Travels," "Tom Jones," "Orlando Furioso," and Thompson's "Seasons." Shakespeare and "The Arabian Nights" were bis idols. bis idols. His letters abound in quotations from Shakespeare, and in these letters he often discusses the books he is reading. In a letter to Francis Scott Key, the author of "The Star.Spangled Banner," he says "that no poet in our language, Shakespeare and Milton apart, has such power over my feelings as Byron, and I cannot yield his precedence to Walter Scott."

On his way to England, Randolph chatted with Jacob Harvey about books. Harvey says at this time Randolph's favorite author was Milton, and that he frequently gave readings from "Paradise Lost" to the company on shipboard. He did not like Young, Thomson, Johnson or Southey. They were, he said, too artificial. Of the poems then current he placed "Tom Cribb's Memorial to Congress" first on the list for its great wit and satire and "The Twopenny Postbag" next for similar excellencies. Third came "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," for every variety of sentiment well expressed; "but," he concluded, "I cannot go

Moore's songs; they are too sentimental by half, all ideal and above nature."

Speaking of Moore, Randolph met him in the House of Commons, and describes him as a spruce, dapper little gentleman, who, upon acquaintance, turned out to be a most fascinating and witty fellow. Said Mr. Randolph, "I told him that I envied him more for being the author of the two satirical poems above spoken of than for all the beautiful songs which play the fool with the young ladies' hearts." Randolph passionately admired Burns as well as Byron, but he said he could not pretend to decide between them in point of genius. John Randolph's religion was much affected by his feelings, and he chose those parts of literature which verge upon the erratic and insane. He was very near insanity himself during a part of his life, and at one time he wrote that he preferred "Lear" to all the rest of Shakespeare's plays, and that in "Timon of Athens" only was the bard really in earnest. He read the Bible also with care and diligence; the story of his conversion describes his struggles as to its comprehension. He could not understand the Epistles of St. Paul, but, he said, by the aid of Locke's "Paraphrase" he hoped to comprehend them.

Randolph did not like novels. He advised Harvey not to read any, concluding his lecture as follows: "When you go home, sir, tell your father that I recommended abstinence from novel-reading and whisky punch. Depend upon it, they are both injurious to the brain."

John Quincy Adams was perhaps the hardest student among American statesmen. He began as a boy, and continued his studies throughout his long life, until he fell dead in the Capitol at Washington. He left a library of 12,000 volumes and a chest of valuable manuscripts, original and translated, prose and poetry.

His earliest letter in existence was written to his father while he was yet under 10 years of age. In this he says:

"Mamma has a troublesome task to keep me a-studying. I own I am ashamed of myself. I I have but just entered the third volume of Rollin's History, but I designed to have got half thro' it by this time. I am determined this week to be more diligent. I have set myself a stent this week to read the third volume half out. If I can keep my resolution I may again, at the end of the week, give a better account of myself. I wish, sir, you would give me in writing some instructions in regard to the use of my time, and advise me how to proportion my studies and play, and I will keep them by me and endeavor to follow them.

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