quantity of it is prodigious, and it is a commodity of which, however the demand may be estimated, the supply will be sure to be, in any supposable extremity, the last thing to fail us. What strikes the observer above all, in such an affluence, is the unexpected proportion the discourse uttered bears to the objects discoursed of-the paucity of examples, of illustrations and productions, and the deluge of doctrine, suspended in the void, the profusion of talk, and the poverty of experiment, of what one may call literary conduct. This, indeed, ceases to be an anomaly as soon as we look at the conditions of contemporary journalism. Then we see that these conditions have engendered the practice of "reviewing"-a practice that, in general, has nothing in common with the art of criticism. Periodical literature is a huge open mouth which has to be fed-a vessel of immense capacity which has to be filled. It is like a regular train which starts at an advertised hour, but which is free to start only if every seat be occupied. The seats are many, the train is ponderously long, and hence the manufacture of dummies for the seasons when there are not passengers enough. A stuffed manikin is thrust into the empty seat, where it makes a creditable figure till the end of the journey. It looks sufficiently like a passenger, and you know it is not only when you perceive that it neither says anything nor gets out. The guard attends to it when the train is shunted, blows the cinders from its wooden face, and gives a different crook to its elbow, so that it may serve for another run. In this way, in a well-conducted periodical, the blocks of remplissage are the dummies of criticism -the recurrent, regulated billows in the ocean of talk. They have a reason for being, and the situation is simpler when we perceive it. It helps to explain the disproportion I just mentioned, as well, in many a case, as the quality of the particular discourse. It helps us to understand that the organs of public opinion must be no less copious than punctual, that publicity must maintain its high standard, that ladies and gentlemen may turn an honest penny by the free expenditure of ink. 66 T HENRY JAMES (Philadelphia Paper). TWO ACTIONS AT LAW. I. PINNOCK v. CHAPMAN AND HALL. HE same number of the Times-Wednesday, December 9th--contained two reports of cases, both of the greatest importance. The first of these was Pinnock v. Chapman and Hall. This case VOL. II, was probably seen by all our readers, who have also read the comments upon it in most of the papers. Briefly, it was an action by a private person against a firm of publishers for an alleged libel contained in a certain book of stories. In this book the plaintiff stated that he had been introduced in such a manner as to make the identity impossible to be doubted, and in such a way as to convey charges affecting his honour. The defence set up was not that a novelist has the right to place any person he pleases under disguise, real or slight, but that the plaintiff was not intended. The judge, in summing up, put these two questions to the jury: (1) Did the author have the plaintiff in his mind and intend him when writing this story? (2) Was the tale so written that those knowing the plaintiff would reasonably infer that he was intended? If either question was answered in the affirmative, the jury would have to consider only the question of damages. The jury did find an affirmative reply to these questions and returned a verdict for the plaintiff with 200l. damages. The comments on the case mostly turned on the publisher's side of the question. Everybody asked how a publisher could protect himself. Nobody seems to have perceived that it is perfectly simple to insert a clause in every agreement to the effect that the author is liable for any damages or costs in fighting an action for libel. Such a clause is inserted in some agreements, and it is one which no author could refuse to accept. With this clause, and with the additional precaution of a careful reader--in this case the reader was led to believe that the whole book was fiction -there should be little danger for the publisher. Of course, the author might be unable to pay the damages. On that point the publisher would take care to be informed beforehand. Some twenty years ago a similar case was brought. The offending author was reported at the time to have paid the damages inflicted on the firm out of his own pocket. If he did so his action was just and honourable. The real difficulty is the novelist's, not the publisher's. Our whole gallery of fictitious characters is a gallery of portraits. There is not a novelist living or dead whose books are not filled with portraits drawn from the life. There is not a single book of any note in which there are not living characters, and for the most part characters well known and easy to be recognised. Fiction, like painting, must have models. It will be the beginning of the end for fiction when she ceases to draw from the life. Now, it is easy to get a model for the studio-but difficult-almost impossible-to get a model for the study. Who would consent to sit for the Marquis of Steyne-for Major Pendennis-for Jos Sedley -for Blanche Amory-for Ralph Nickleby-for Squeers for the Egoist? These portraits have to Q be taken surreptitiously-a line here, a line therehere the Kodak-there a word of talk. They have to be drawn with selection and discrimination. Hitherto, none of these unwilling models have brought their unwillingness into court. All the world, perhaps, knew who was meant, but the subject pretended either not to know or not to care. Henceforth the novelist must be very careful. If he takes from his acquaintance a villain, a hypocrite, a sensualist, an egotist, a man selfish, voluptuous, vain, foolish, priggish, a humbug, a bully, a poseur-anything--he must be very careful so to disguise him that the model, though he may know, may have no legal cause for complaint. He may transform to his canvas the mental qualities of the model or the physical peculiarities or the conditions and facts of the model's life. But not all together. Thus, if his character adorn New York, transfer him to London; if he be mentally humpbacked transpose the hump to a person physically unlike the real man. The effect is not quite so happy as the bodily transfer of the whole man with all his surroundings, and the conditions which have made him what he is. But it is safer. The portrait of a dead man may, one supposes, be shown accurately without danger of legal proceedings. In such a case the painter need only fear the vengeance of able-bodied sons, brothers, or cousins. II. THE PROPRIETOR OF A MAGAZINE V. THE This case is also one of considerable importance, because it involves some definition of the right of a newspaper to copy or abridge work appearing in a magazine. The defendant admitted the publication of an abridgment, but contended that he had acted in perfect good faith; that he had received a copy of the magazine containing the story, and that he had believed that he had the consent of the plaintiffs to publish the story. It does not appear, in fact, that the defendant did more than has been very often done by country papers. Yet it was necessary that the powers of a newspaper to reproduce magazine articles should be defined. There can be no doubt that the reproduction of papers or portions of papers from certain magazines may materially advance their popularity and increase their circulation, so that, to some extent, editors should be encouraged to reproduce them. But it is well to remember that the copyright belongs to the man who has bought it, and that copyright means the right to publish. There can be no harm done so long as editors recognise the necessity of getting permission to reproduce, and so long as that permission is freely granted. But it should not be asked, nor would it be granted, in the case of stories which form the most attractive part of most magazines. H THE STORYTELLER'S NIGHT. ERE is a hint for the Authors' Club. At the Aldine Club, New York, they have a Storyteller's Night. Their last was on Thursday, December 17th. Mr. Frank Stockton took the chair. The storytellers were Mr. George Cable, M. Paul du Chaillu, Mr. Charles Dudley Warner, Mr. W. Hamilton Gibson, Mr. Will Carlines, and others. One after the other they stood and told their stories, and sat down again. up In one respect we cannot imitate the Aldine Club. Their dinner was not served till ten o'clock. Our people wouldn't stand that. Here is Mr. Charles Warner's story as reported in the Critic :— "There was once a robber in Cairo who fell from the second story of a house he was trying to enter, and broke his leg. He went to the Cadi and complained. The man's window was badly made, and he wanted justice. The Cadi said that was reasonable, and he summoned the owner of the house. The owner confessed that the house was poorly built, but claimed that the carpenter was to blame, and not he. This struck the Cadi as sound logic, and he sent for the carpenter. The charge is, alas, too true,' said the carpenter, but the masonry was at fault and I couldn't fit a good window.' "So the Cadi, impressed with the reasonableness of the argument, sent for the mason. The mason pleaded guilty, but explained that a pretty girl in a blue gown had passed the building while he was at work, and that his attention had been diverted from his duty. The Cadi thereupon demanded that the girl be brought before him. It is true,' she said, 'that I am pretty, but it's no fault of mine. If my gown attracted the mason, the dyer should be punished and not I.' Quite true,' said the Cadi,' send for the dyer.' The dyer was brought to the bar and pleaded guilty. That settled it. The Cadi told the robber to take the guilty wretch to his house and hang him from the door-sill, and But the populace rejoiced that justice had been done. pretty soon the crowd returned to the Cadi's house, complaining that the dyer was too long to be properly hanged from his door-sill. Oh, well,' said the Cadi, who by that time was suffering with ennui, go find a short dyer and hang him. Justice shall prevail. His literary partners are Mr. H. S. Bunner, Mr. Walter Pollock, Mr. George H. Jessop, and Mr. F. Anstey. All the stories are good, but the first and the third seem to me especially good. There is an introduction in which Mr. Brander Matthews (without a collaborateur) treats of the art and mystery of collaboration. I think that this is the only essay ever written on the subject; that is to say, many have written about literary partners, but none on what is really meant by a literary partnership; how men may collaborate in literary work; what constitutes partnership; the advantages of such partnership; its dangers and disadvantages and limitations. The scanty limits of the Author do not permit a summary, however brief, of this valuable essay, nor do they permit certain comments which one would like to make. These must be reserved for another place. Meantime I beg to recommend the book to all who write fiction, not only for its excellent stories but for this introductory essay. 66 It One point I note in this place. Mr. Brander Matthews claims for collaboration an educational value so far as concerns construction. succeeds," he says, "most abundantly where clearness is needed, where precision, skill, and logic are looked for, where we expect simplicity of motive, sharpness of outline, ingenuity of construction, and clearness of effect." Observe that these are all things which are absolutely essential to the success of a drama. It is, he thinks, because the habit of collaboration so much obtains in France that the constructive part of their work is generally so much better than with us. Now, in fiction as well as the drama, all these qualities are desirable. And a want of clearness in outline, a want of sharpness, is one of the most common faults in English fiction. If this could be removed by a little collaboration, let us collaborate. The reason why collaboration proves a remedy for this fault is, I apprehend, that the inventor of the fable-there can be two minds working upon it, but there can be but one inventor-is thus enabled to see his own idea projected upon another brain; he sees it as it is, not as he imagines it is; he sees it in the mind of another man. Why is it that the unsuccessful man of letters so often cannot understand his ill success? Mainly, perhaps, because he cannot really see his own work; he sees the vision of it in his own brain, and he cannot understand that he has not transferred it to the page. With a collaborateur he would have had to bring out every character, every incident, every name to be discussed, arranged, altered, and made presentable. Collaboration has many dangers and many difficulties. One would not recommend a young writer to collaborate, except for quite short things, first of all; to feel his way; to enter into no lasting engagements; and never, whatever disputes may afterwards happen, to claim more than a just half share in the work. Perhaps, after all, the best form of collaboration is that which has produced this volume. It is when two friends, in after-dinner talk, hit upon an idea, begin to turn it about, to see its possibilities, and in an hour's amusement actually to construct a story which either of them can write down. Every great thought proves to have been anticipated by somebody else. For instance, when we talked of a school for novelists and of the possibility of teaching those capable of learning something of the elements, just as rhetoric may be taught to one who wishes to know how to conduct an argument, we were quite ignorant that there was already in the field a Professor of the Art-a Literary Tutor-and that he had been in practice for many years. That is, however, the case. This gentleman edits a magazine-not one of those, apparently, which pander to the taste of the day and are read by such people as ourselves, because it is not on the bookstalls. Moreover, on application to the office we found it gone-the people knew not whither. The The tuition is conducted by letter only. fees are decidedly low-thirty shillings for three months and five guineas a year, and the tutor offers (at least he has offered to one editor) the splendid commission of half a guinea on every literary pupil obtained for him. He says in his prospectus that many of his former pupils have now "ascended several steps up the ladder of Fame." Now, in all departments of learning, the teacher must be able to show that he is able to do, himself, the thing that he teaches. Let us, therefore, beg all who think of getting such help as that proffered by this gentleman, or others like him, ascertain that he has shown himself, by his own writings, a competent guide. That one has never heard of him is not enough to make one refuse his services or to warn others against him. Let him prove his competence in the only way possible, by the production of his own work. If it is good work, there is a possibility that he may be able to teach. But that proved, the next question is whether the man is able to teach? Meanwhile, that offer of the half guinea commission does not, somehow, inspire one with confidence. A communication has been received from the advertiser in the Daily News whose proposal was commented on in the last number of the Author under the title of "A New Departure." What he says is practically this-which one is quite ready to admit-that a literary agent, or middleman, may be very useful for an author. It is quite true, and there are literary agents already in existence; the advertiser would do well to find out a good one and employ him. He must be very careful not to employ anyone not well recommended. He goes on to say that "not a quota "-what is that?-of MSS. submitted to publishers are ever read. My own experience is that MSS. are always read by publishers. He therefore thinks that a literary agent would read them though the publisher will not. A literary agent would not read MSS.; he cannot possibly do so. He might, as publishers do, employ a staff of readers, but he could not, personally, read MSS. Here then is advice for this advertiser. Withdraw your advertisement; apply to the society for advice; if you employ a literary agent you will have to pay him a great deal less than the 25 per cent. you foolishly offer to any shark who may be on the look out for prey. 66 "It is a part of the literary gift," says a correspondent, that authors should express their disagreements in the most disagreeable manner possible." Profound observation! It explains in one short sentence the whole of the history of authors and their quarrels. It also affords hope to the despondent. There may be a brighter future for literature, when its followers will cease to scratch and claw and revile and scarify each other. Manners will, some time or other, be taught. Thus the natural woman, when she disagrees with her friend, scratches, clapperclaws, and tears out hair. One has seen the natural woman so displaying her disagreement; the onlooker, at such a moment, thinks of authors with a sigh. But the blessings of civilisation are teaching the natural Why should not the But the circumstances He is part of the office. manager pay his reader? are not quite similar. Editors of magazines and publishers must always be bringing out new things-every month for the magazines-every season for the book list. The manager only brings out a new thing when he is obliged. If he gave the world a new play every two months or so as he could were it not for the present lavish expense of mounting and dressing-he would want a reader. As he looks for a run of twelve months at least, he does not; he prefers arranging for a new play with an old hand. Think of a new piece every month at the Lyceum, and another at the Haymarket, and another new piece at the Comedy, the Prince of Wales's, and all of them! In ten years we should have such a company of dramatic authors in this country as was never before known. A successful play would not then be worth, as it is now, a small fortune; it would, as it should, be worth what a successful novel is worth, and no more. But that should be quite enough to stimulate hundreds of active brains. And then the manager's reader would be a very useful person indeed. one. 66 Mr. Andrew Lang's "Sign of the Ship" is always a thing to look for- it is one of the minor events of the month-though, like the delicacies of the Christmas season, he does not always agree with This month he contributes a few interesting statistics concerning novels. There have been, he says, 270 novels of the year, as recorded in a library catalogue. As a fact, there have been many more. A "student "-of fiction or of folk lore?-has kindly erased 254 from this catalogue, as not to be sent. Of these, about 24 had been read before; of those left on the list, twelve, at least, were experimental. Of the whole 270, there were about forty that a male human being might read." The rest, he says, were all for ladies. "Ah!" he cries, “that authors would not write, that publishers would not publish, that libraries would not buy, the common, mild, middle-class domestic novel any more!" one were obliged to read them, one would certainly echo that sigh. But then, you see, one is not obliged-and one does not read them. In the same way as we pass a pastrycook's shop, and observe the masses of tarts, cakes, buns, chocolate, and confections of jam, one might cry, "Ah! that pastrycooks would not make, that people would not buy, that children would not eat the common, mild, domestic biliousness any more!" Or, when one passes the fragrant fried fish-shop, one might equally ejaculate, "Ah! that fryers would not fry, that shops would not sell, that workgirls would not eat, this If terrible, horrible, awful mess!" Or, again, when one goes to an exhibition of pictures, and sees the acres of wall space covered with feeble and conventional daubs, one might cry, "Ah! that painters would not paint, that exhibitions would not exhibit, that people would not buy these mild, domestic, middle-class conventional pictures any more!" Now, let us make out what case we can for the mild novel that nobody wants. In the first place, does it injure the circulation of the forty which the male human being can read? It may injure, to a very small extent, their circulating library circulation. That is to say, the latest work of the Eminent novelist may be bought by the hundred instead of the hundred and twenty, and readers are made to wait a little for him, because-it is reported the small fry can be bought-" sorted out "at a much lower price-sometimes at five shillings the three volumes. But at Smith's they will get, I believe, any book that the subscriber asks for. If that is the case, then the Eminent one suffers not at all, however many domestic novels are produced. But readers always have the remedy in their own hands. They can send back, by return post, the rubbish which fills the box. Or, better still, they can select books for themselves, and return all those which are not in the list. As to the cheap edition-the one-volume edition--of course the mild domestic novel, which never gets to that edition at all, injures nobody. In fact, the whole 230 out of the 270 appear, flutter about for a month or two, and then vanish for ever. Their real end, which is pieces, comes to them after a few seasons in the seaside circulating library. Broadstairs, for instance, hath a noble, unique collection of the novels that nobody wants. Even little Llanfairfechan is not without this museum, though on a smaller scale. Again, there are many, very many, desperately dull houses in country towns and country villages where the ladies must, perforce, devote part of the day to reading. I hope we have long since passed the old fashioned stage of believing that one must read only with a view to improving the mind. Those ladies read with a view to getting out of their dullness-away from themselves. therefore read novels. They read a novel in two days, or three at the most, say three a week. They therefore read a hundred and fifty in the year, or, leaving out eight weeks for amusement, travel, and other distractions, they read one hundred and thirty-two novels in the year. Now, if there were published none but the forty readable by superior VOL. II. They man, these poor ladies would simply have nothing to read, nothing to talk about, nothing to distract them from the deadly petty gossip of the place, for about forty weeks in the year. Think-oh! think-What a calamity would be the suppression of the Two Hundred and Thirty! Again, let us acknowledge, for argument, the feebleness and the conventionality of the stuff. But it is intended for the distraction of minds not too strong at best, and, in their hours of relaxation, at their feeblest. Do these books harm anybody? Indeed, no, unless feebleness of writing injures the mentally weak. Do they lower, for those who read, their standard of purity, of nobility? No. These writers accept this standard to the best of their abilities, and, for the most part, maintain it. I do not profess to have read much of the work of this poor company of Two Hundred and Thirty, shivering and trembling beneath the forefinger of scorn, but I believe that if they ventured to assail our morals, they would be instantly annihilated. There is an Eye-a watchful Eye-upon the morals of the novelist. In my own humble way, I have received remonstrances which revealed the existence of that Eye. Once-only once-I suffered-nay, encouraged-a sailor to kiss a girl in a summer houseonly a kiss, nothing more, but it was wrong-it was sinful, and I heard of it. "I thought," wrote the indignant moralist, "that your books were safe reading for my daughter. Most providentially I looked into that one called "The World went very well then before placing it in my child's hands. I can only say-may God grant you repentance and forgive you!" If this wholesome watchfulness is kept upon the male novelist, how much more upon the artist of the other sex! Again, there are about thirty or forty ladies who, by writing these domestic novels for other ladies, manage to make a little income, varying from fifty to a hundred pounds a year, bringing out one every year. The libraries take three or four hundred copies of each. The publishers makesay, a hundred pounds to a hundred and fifty pounds by each work. Are we to deprive these ladies of their income? It is of vital importance to them. If we have no pity on the poor ladies, shall we not find one tear for the innocent publisher? Or, if this company of Two Hundred and Thirty were annihilated, think what would happen to the R |