lishing his father's memoirs in 1906. Forced to live unwillingly in political retirement, Prince Hohenlohe lost no whit of his interest in things political, as these fascinating memoirs prove.

The same publisher has just issued a remarkable book by Gunther, Freiherr von Pechmann, "Die Qualitätsarbeit" (Work of Quality), which the author calls in a subtitle "a handbook for merchants, industrials, and commercial politicians" - by which he means to appeal of course to those who make commerce into politics, not those who make politics into a commerce. Although written for Germans and dealing with German conditions, the book treats of such universal thoughts and problems that the native of any country would be stimulated by reading it. The high ethical standard taken up in this practical question of the value and use of high-quality work in the general market, is typical of the attitude which more and more gains ground here among industrials of importance the Werkbund ideal the desire to keep up the standard for the standard's sake, not only because of the importance to trade. "What is true of the individual is true of the nation; it grows toward the goal it sets", declares the author, and the sentence might serve as a motto for this deeply interesting book.

chuckle, many a droll picture and quip, the wanderer through these volumes finds himself absorbing a good dose of cultural history, seeing a nation's soul revealed, its fantasy and its oddities, its particular way of looking at life and the world.

That one man journal, "Der Querschnitt", original, somewhat fluttering and unstable, full of quips and quotations, illustrations, and the personality of its editor, H. von Wedderkopf, has passed into the hands of the mammoth Ullstein Verlag. But since the editor remains unchanged, the magazine will probably retain its original character.

An enthusiastic yet restrained appreciation of that delicate, fantastic yet powerful master of etching and illustration, Ferdinand Staeger, written by Reinhold Conrad Muschler, has just been issued by Max Koch, Leipzig. Staeger's name and work are famous far beyond his native land, and many will be glad to possess this critical account of painter and achievement. An interesting novelty lies in the fact that the cover and end papers for the book were designed by Staeger himself; and the reproductions of the illustrations, over a hundred and fifty, mostly full page, and the type employed were chosen under supervision of the artist. A pleasure for lovers of Staeger's fanciful hand, reminding one somewhat of Walter Crane, and a surprise for those unacquainted with his art.

The "Reichsverband der Deutschen Presse" (German National Press League), meeting in Berlin, has been discussing a project for a journalistic statute. The journalists, not content with the freedom from without which is now practically their own, now demand freedom from within. That is, they desire to create and maintain a class of free and responsible editors who

will dare to withstand any attempt to exercise undue influence on the part of the publisher of the paper, with his business and other interests. The responsibility of the editor must be twofold, declares the proposed statute

commercial responsibility toward his concern and moral responsibility toward his public. The journalists want to do away with any attempt on the part of the publisher to exercise direct editorial influence, unless he be capable of establishing himself as editor, with editorial responsibilities; otherwise publishers' views must be printed as such, apart from the editorial ægis. An inspiring fight for newspaper probity; one may watch with interest the development of these ideal projects to see whether this sketched out statute ever becomes law.

One of the oldest established and most popular magazines in Germany, "Velhagen und Klasing's Monatshefte", offered a prize of ten thousand marks for the best short story. The result is just out. Faced with three competitors of equal merit, the publishers generously increased the prize. The prize winners are all well known in the short story world - Friede H. Kraze, Dr. Oskar Jellinek, and Wolfgang Goetz. They receive five thousand marks each. A Munich newspaper, the "Münchner Neueste Nachrichten", has offered one hundred thousand marks for a serial novel extremely high, reckoned even in dollars. Many pens will be set

scratching by the announcement, and the only thing the authors will fear is a new devaluation.

The evangelical Synod of Germany has begun a process against the world. famous humorous weekly "Simplicissimus" of Munich, on the score of blasphemy! One cannot expect an evangelical synod to have a sense of humor, but if the case is not settled out of court it should provide some amusing reading.

Thomas Mann has just returned to his home in Munich after a most successful lecture tour in Denmark. He gave his lecture on Goethe and Tolstoy and was received everywhere with great enthusiasm. He proposes to

make a lecture tour to Norway and Sweden in the spring.

The Drei-Masken Verlag set a fashion in facsimile reproduction of famous manuscripts, and two other publishing houses have now followed suit. The Paul Zsolny Verlag, Vienna, has published Gustav Mahler's "Tenth Symphony" in facsimile, even going so far as to imitate the covering portfolio and the paper of the original. Still more interesting is an exact facsimile of Beethoven's "Ninth Symphony". This appears in Verlag Kistner und Siegel, Leipzig. The reproduction, from the original manuscript preserved in the Prussian State Library, is beautifully done, and must be a joy to all adorers of the greatest German musician.

ETHEL TALBOT SCHEFFAUER

Y DEAR JOHN FARRAR:

MY

I notice that in your short review of new books, "Paulus Fy" is reviewed as "an unsuccessful attempt at sophisticated writing". I might with equal authority say that is sheer nonsense. And that it is more than merely a matter of opinion. If it were only a matter of opinion, there are some seventeen reviewers who disagree with yours.

Just what does your reviewer mean? It is an attempt at sophisticated writing. And since it is an attempt, and the attempt has come about, it is successful. How can such an attempt be unsuccessful? If it is a question of whether the writing is sophisticated, what does sophistication mean? Amusing? An ultramodern viewpoint? No bourgeois compromise? Unexaggerated? Novel? Naive? "Paulus Fy" is all of these and more.

But all of this is beside the point. The point, from my standpoint, is that in this day of so few beginners of promise, it seems to me that there is a duty on the part of THE BOOKMAN, which I and many others use as a guide and help. A duty of saying which book is "a first". And a duty to consider it rather more carefully than "the arrived". And if, as "Paulus Fy", there's evidence of extraordinary talent, it should not be dismissed with a line of scoff. "Paulus Fy" was written by Helene Mullins and her sister. of the finest verse written by an American has appeared in F. P. A.'s column by Helene Mullins. I venture to predict that THE BOOKMAN will one day herald her as a great force in American letters. Sincerely yours,

EAR MR. FARRAR:

DE

Some

S. JAY KAUFMAN.

Ruth Hale's article "As a Child Reads" in the November BOOKMAN brought to mind two things: my grandfather's fondness for the old Alsatian proverb, "Paper is patient, one can print anything on it", and Owen Wister's onetime description of something of Harold Bell Wright's as a • "bewildering mess of mildewed pap".

And then a letter by Amy E. V. Putnam in THE BOOKMAN'S Mail for September has been rankling in my mind. Her complaint on the lack of suitable reading matter for pupils in schools reads like letters written twenty five years ago by Dr. Burke, the noted California educator

who recently died. Since that time this problem has been solved in California by exactly the agency which Miss Putnam claims will not supply the need. She says "The public libraries will not solve this need and there is no use putting up that argument." Yet in forty two of California's fifty eight counties one can go to the remotest school and find a live, new collection of children's books and school books which are changed constantly throughout the year, and this because the schools pool their funds with a library at the County Seat which buys with their needs in mind, making it a point to meet teacher and children and pay attention to their individual requests. These books go over mountain and stream, often on muleback in the mountainous counties, but they go. Only through cooperation could this have been accomplished. Yours sincerely,

ESTELLA DEFORD, County Librarian, Napa, California.

In passing a news stand recently, my eye, accustomed to devouring title pages en route, lighted on this "How to Stay Out of the Movies". Observing also that this article appeared under John Farrar's editorship in THE BOOKMAN, I delightedly pressed forty cents upon the bored magazine vender and went my way with said BOOKMAN tucked cozily under my arm à la Ben Franklin. I was consumed with curiosity and my funnybone considerably tickled at seeing such a title in THE BOOKMAN I could not help but wonder what the subtitles were! Presently I had a chance to regale myself on a Hershey bar (you don't have to be thin to write for Pictures) and the surprising "How to Stay Out of the Movies chuckling away in the privacy afforded by a full train bound Somewhere on a holiday.

- this

My suspicions were confirmed effusion proved to be merely a part of John Farrar's consistent and laudable campaign against all those stepping studioward. However whimsically, sarcastically and dishearteningly written it may be, it does contain several truths apparent to the

discerning eye and worthy of being followed by the discerning genius, eager and determined upon success. Course, if you're just writing to fill up your wastepaper basket, pay no heed to these friendly signboards!

The need for action stories and character stories is apparent to all, even to those who are not interested because of a clandestine desire to "get into the movies". When you've missed your train and go to the movies for consolation and to find a more comfortable seat than the depot bench, the picture must be gripping enough to catch your interest and thoughts at once, lest they deteriorate into angry mutterings at fate for letting you miss your train and lest you realize that your present seat is just as hard as the bench you just left!

"How to Stay Out of the Movies", especially its last paragraph, makes one reminiscent of articles read in other warning publications which told of the hosts of pretty waitresses in Hollywood — all "would be" but "not yet" screen stars "of great magnitude". If directors would more often avail themselves of their eyes while lunching, some of these geniuses might come into recognition even if it were via spilling soup down someone's neck or giving the wrong change. A small price, indeed, to pay for Fame and we must remember that talent is talent no matter how humble its medium of expression!

But what brings forth my one and only dimple in reading these red lantern writings (this particular bit by James Creelman, several of John Farrar's fatherly admonitions and others) is the understanding of the conviction that must have been well up in the minds of these fellows at the time of writing said articles. They must believe that all of us who chew pens and drink

ink will immediately abandon this nourishing diet upon reading their portentous words and become grave diggers, ragmen, "I Confess-ers", or what nots.

At least such scripts reveal one certain fact and, I fear me, a fact which their authors did not intend: how little, evidently, these gentlemen know of "bulldog grip" characters and antlike workers who for neither a John Farrar nor a James Creelman will give up one drop of their daily sweat even though they "arrive" barefoot and ragged with tongue lolling out. There are, to my way of thinking, two concrete things which such essays will accomplish. First, they will scare and dissuade everybody who's out with the desire to pose exchange for a meal ticket and a bed tag. Second, they will inspire (by rousing their dander) those who have real ambition and a love for the job to a definite "I'll show you if I can stick" course of action.

in

And though, naturally, I hate to travel second class, I admit that this time I fall in this latter category in other words, personally these articles make me want to scale the highest walls of all and slide triumphantly down t'other side into the very "Secret Gardens" of the Moving Picture World. After which rather Patrick-Henryian speech I am reminded of the little engine chugging hardly up the hill: "I think I can, -I-think - I - can, I think — Í can", was its refrain wearily puffed over and over. But do you remember its jolly descent with changed tempo and tune? — “I thought I could, I thought I could, I thought I could."

WE

E have an unhappy faculty of saying unpleasant things about people's books to audiences, whereupon the uncle or cousin of the maligned person appears upon the scene and says, "I was so interested in what you said about Lulu." In Cleveland, the agreeable sister of Anne Douglas Sedgwick was introduced - only we hadn't said anything so very dreadful about "The Little French Girl". How could one? It's a harmless book. In Canton, Ohio, we didn't make any breaks of that sort, although we remember distinctly talking of the forthcoming John L. Sullivan autobiography. However, what's such a break in a world of Fords? Of course, Indiana is a dreadful state for authors and their relatives. Three charming cousins of Booth Tarkington smiled nicely at us in Greencastle, even though we had opined that Mr. Tarkington sadly misunderstands modern young folk.

We received several new ideas about young folks out west. The papers are filled with their scandalous goings on, yet those we met seemed mildmannered and sober. We cannot figure out whether it's just because these things get into the papers out there, or whether youth is really a little more tempestuous in the corn belt. In Greencastle, we were introduced to a high school class under the able tutelage of Miss Lela Walls. One young man presented us with several of his poems and informed us that Henry van Dyke was his favorite author of all time. We liked one of the poems quite a little, and we hope that, unless he finds something more

useful to do, he will keep on with his writing. We liked Indiana. We liked Greencastle. It reminded us, somehow, of Vermont, where the people have the same slow, dry wit and something of the same drawl, where they are cordial enough, but curious. As the large gentleman in the small hotel at Greencastle said, "Out west further they're nice to people no matter who they are; but here, well, we sorta like to know what it's all about, I reckon." A midwest basket ball game is quite as exciting as eastern football, and far more strenuous. A close contest between Butler and De Pauw found us cheering lustily. It was the first athletic contest we had ever attended at a large coeducational institution, and you have no idea how the feminine shriek in large quantities adds to the tone of excitement. R. W. Pence, who edits anthologies of short stories and essays, teaches at De Pauw. He, with a patient group of undergraduates, won our eternal gratitude by sitting with us for hours in the dawn, while the train which should have arrived didn't, and didn't and didn't some more.

Why do all the young men with artistic ideas want either to write or to act, and refuse to be told that both callings are not only overcrowded but precarious? Also they all want to come to New York City and prove for themselves how difficult it is, and we don't blame them; we know just how they feel. What a desperate and fine and altogether encouraging thing it is to find youth daring the impossible and making it actual.