For Wordsworth imagination is the link between the visible and the invisible world. Esthetic enjoyment of things visible seems at times to bring the very life of the invisible before us. The more freely we plunge into the beauty of Nature, the more palpable becomes the Spirit of Nature. The grounds for such a belief are mystical and sheerly intuitive: we may not hope to reproduce them in argument. We can trace, however, the ways by which Wordsworth tried to describe such experience and to make it communicable. Throughout, he seems certain that in the apprehension of beauty, the human soul is never isolated, but is in contact with a spiritual urgency, which is the origin of beauty. On the other hand, the agony of Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, his utter loneliness of spirit, is in diametric opposition to any love or enjoyment of Nature. Here the mind is closed to any communion or inspiration. It is also without imaginative enjoyment. The Mariner's release from such isolation depends upon the reawakening of his esthetic sensitiveness. In this essay, we shall consider the relation which seems to pertain in Wordsworth's thought between imagination and our awareness of Nature as a mind or spirit. We shall find that for Wordsworth, the boundaries of the finite soul are not final but seem to expand or almost to disappear in the perception of beauty.

Il y a trois mois s'éteignait Alfred Valette, le directeur du Mercure de France depuis sa fondation, exactement un jour et vingt ans après Remy de Gourmont. Des fondateurs de la vivante revue qui célébrera dans quatre ans ses noces d'or avec la littérature, un seul survit aujourd'hui, M. Ernest Reynaud. On écrira un jour l'histoire de la vie littéraire d'avant-hier; le rôle, joué par le Mercure, revue et maison d'édition, se révélera considérable, non seulement à l'égard des lettres, mais de la pensée. Au centre d'une phalange d'hommes de talent, on verra se détacher deux figures, Valette et Gourmont, l'un le directeur identifié à sa fonction, qui communiqua au Mercure sa propre solidité, l'autre, l'auteur des Promenades littéraires, des Promenades philosophiques, des Epilogues, qui lui passa quelque chose de ses goûts universels; l'un, l'homme de jugement et d'action, l'autre l'homme de réflexion. Valette et Gourmont furent les consuls du Mercure de France des vingt-cinq premières années. Il se trouve que les dernières lignes écrites par Valette furent un témoignage d'amitié, rendu à la mémoire de l'autre consul, à l'occasion du vingtième aniversaire de sa mort. Quand elles sortirent de presse, Valette n'était plus.

Frequently it has been said that, of all the Naturalists, Alphonse Daudet was the most kindly received in England. Such a statement tends to place emphasis on the very element of Daudet's work which English critics did not favor during his lifetime—namely, Naturalism. It is the purpose of this study to trace the sentiments of British reviewers and critics in the literary periodicals from 1872 to 1897 towards the works of Daudet and to show that there Daudet's naturalistic qualities hindered rather than aided his reception. Daudet possessed other distinctive qualities which were in accord with English literature of the period —qualities which saved his works from the fate of other French novels of the time. Yet Daudet did not immediately acquire a kindly public abroad. If his early works, including the Tartarin, had at first created little stir in France, in English reviews before 1874 but one solitary mention of them was made, though these same works were later to become Daudet's most widely read books across the channel.

The Mexican literary periodicals of the nineteenth century may be roughly divided into two main classes: the purely literary and the semi-literary. To the second and more numerous group belong such periodicals as those intended primarily for women or certain social classes, and those which had for their purpose the vulgarization of useful knowledge or the dissemination of political propaganda. Of the political, the writer has disposed as follows: those of little or no literary value have been disregarded; those presenting only a few poems of intrinsic worth are mentioned cursorily in the text but not included in the ensuing bibliography; while those in which satiric and political verse is predominant are listed with details at the end of the main bibliography. Much valuable literary material is buried in the daily newspapers, only the most important of which can be considered here, even briefly. The weekly literary editions or supplements of the larger dailies, generally issued separately with volume and issue numbers of their own, are included, for their contribution is of distinct value.

The Spectator of July 10,1886, voiced the general opinion of the then limited group acquainted with Russian literature when it hailed Tolstoy, Turgenev, and Dostoevsky as not only the greatest of Russian writers, but also the most important among contemporary realists. Such enthusiasm seems at first oddly inconsistent with the prevailing popular literary taste, particularly when we remember that these Russian novelists were rather closely identified with the French naturalistic movement—-a movement bitterly assailed by the Victorians. Moreover, their writings, representing virtually the only Russian literature to appear in English translation before 1900, came at a time when the controversy over Balzac had barely subsided and when those over Baudelaire, Zola, and Ibsen had excited a tempest, not only in the literary world, but also from the pulpit, press, and platform—even within the halls of Parliament. The history of Russian realism in England prior to 1900 thus throws into bold relief the essential differences between it and French realism as these two movements appeared to the English, and affords a deeper insight into the Victorian conscience with its troubled concern over art and morality.

No literary quarrel in European annals surpasses for rancor the American one which involved the Peabodys, the Channings, the Hawthornes, and Margaret Fuller in the second quarter of the nineteenth century.

The attempts to analyze the significance of Count Leo Tolstoy and to understand the workings of his mind have not yet reached any satisfactory conclusion. The riddle of the man's personality and the sources of his power still defy careful labelling, for the inconsistencies of his thoughts and actions have been swept away from sight by the blasts of his genius. Out of the confusion has emerged a great Tolstoy, but it is difficult to unite this legend with the man as we know him in sober history and in fact. This difficulty is recognized by many modern students. Thus Aldanov frankly calls his small but suggestive volume Zagadka Tolstogo (The Riddle of Tolstoy), and Alexander Nazaroff in Tolstoy, the Inconstant Genius also emphasizes the contradictions in his life and allows them to speak for themselves. The effect is surprising, but not as unkind as it might seem.

We may search Henry D. Thoreau's writings in vain for the name of Voltaire, or for a hint of influence by him. However, it is impossible to make a parallel study of the lives and works of these men without seeing many similarities. Thoreau was not accustomed to naming the source of his ideas. His writings are full of quotations, and he seldom takes the trouble of telling his readers where he found them. If we consider these two men side by side, we find, in spite of striking divergence, that the points of contact or likeness are more prevailing than are the points of difference.

The critics and biographers of Edouard Rod have almost without exception failed to mention the emotional experience which inspired his best novels. Beuchat, in describing Rod's sojourn at Geneva from 1886 to 1893, does refer briefly and inadequately to his love for André Gladès. His statement, which suggests only incompletely the influence of André Gladès on the composition of Rod's novels, needs to be amplified and clarified. For, notwithstanding Rod's own confession that she more than any other person influenced his subsequent literary career, other critics have ignored the existence of André Gladès and have consequently failed to give a complete and accurate interpretation of his work and its sources of inspiration.

En 1894, M. Binet, qui venait de fonder L'Année psychologique, eut l'idée de s'adresser à quelques-uns des auteurs dramatiques de son temps pour leur demander des renseignements sur la façon dont ils concevaient leurs pièces et les composaient, espérant ainsi “éclaircir la question si importante, si mal connue, si peu étudiée, de l'imagination créatrice.”

To the student of writing and literature few inquiries are more interesting and valuable than that into an author's practices in revising his own work. To observe the various stages in the evolution of the final version, to note carefully an artist at his work of pruning the dead wood, adding fresh material, smoothing away harsh phrases, selecting just words, and letting light into obscure places—to do this is to come somewhat nearer to an understanding of what in spite of all analysis will remain essentially a mystery. Especially fascinating and instructive is the study of Conrad's revision, for here one sees a supreme artist at work. In his vigorous hewing and rebuilding there is conclusive proof of the artist's untiring industry and consummate skill. Conrad's revision of Nostromo is of particular interest, for this novel occupies a critical place in the evolution of Conrad's prose. Mr. Richard Curie has justly characterized the change that came over Conrad's prose—a change perceptible in the “Amy Foster” of Typhoon and fully marked in from Under Western Eyes onward. This evolution has smoothed away the cadence, has concentrated the manner, has toned down the style of Conrad's former exuberance. At first glance the later and the earlier Conrad appear two totally different men. The unruly splendor of the one has given way to the subtle and elastic suavity of the other … His earlier prose is sometimes uncertain, sometimes exaggerated, but his later prose has the uniform temper of absolute mastery.

From the standpoint of his literary criticism, we may say that Swinburne's mature period began in the year 1867, after his defense of the Poems and Ballads, when he turned to an absorbing interest in the freedom of Italy, and began to write poems of fervent patriotism. This inevitably led him away from his intransigeant defense of art for art's sake, which had played so large a part in the Blake, and had helped to shape all his main criticism through Poems and Reviews, in 1866.

The year 1935, celebrating the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the birth of Bach, that great writer of a type of “program” music that for years was never suspected of being such, is an opportune time for a closer study of attempts made by literary men at criticizing and evaluating program music. Even for the great Bach there were no real “program notes” to suggest the attempts to portray definite stories and incidents in his organ chorales until Albert Schweitzer unearthed his clearcut attempts at writing program music, or music based upon facts or with a story. Bach seemed to feel that the music should actually tell the story without further use of words than those of the simple chorale tune he was developing.

Glesener is a realist, as uncompromising as the limits of art allow, a humorist, a satirist, a psychologist, a stylist of the classic tradition—and, above all, a fascinating story-teller. Keen observers of human nature are rarely optimists, and Glesener has been branded as a cynic. Such a charge will not bear close examination, although he wields at times a vitriolic pen; the matter and the tone of his books vary with the characters he has under observation, and the unbiased reader is seldom conscious of any parti-pris. His realism is concentrated on the study of humanity; descriptions are generally short and included only in so far as they serve directly to provoke sentiment or action. Like Stendhal—one of his masters—“il ne veut point, par des moyens factices, fasciner l‘âme du lecteur.” His biographer remarks with much acumen: “Glesener ne narrait point parce qu'il avait vu un paysage digne d‘être peuplé de personnages plus ou moins fictifs; il a devant les yeux des êtres vivants, il en étudie le mécanisme intérieur.” His intellectual interest in all types of men around him is the best guarantee of his sincerity; cynicism, for him, would lie in the falsification of what he has seen. The rôle of the artist is to communicate, still more to interpret boldly and dramatically what his experience of life has taught him and what may have escaped others. Here humour is indispensable. Glesener is richly endowed with it, implicit and explicit; it serves as a leaven to his rather sombre view of life and gives a balance that recalls the classic manner. He has sought a similar effect in his style, choosing sober directness rather than color. “J'ai surtout étudié les écrivains dont la langue, vigoureusement membrée, montrait l'ossature de la phrase sous le revêtement des mots,” he writes; occasionally he relishes a parody of bombastic, flowery Alexandrianism. It seems idle to attempt to trace direct influences in his work. He has made no secret of his youthful cult of Flaubert among others; I shall recall on occasion, by way of illustration, books more widely read in America than are his, but there can be no question of direct borrowing: his vigorous originality stands unquestioned. By mastery of plot which holds his audience and by unostentatious psychological acumen, he is in the first rank. His characters are revealed by action; substituting for commentary a plan more in harmony with his objective method, he frequently conceives them in antithetical pairs; thus one serves as foil to the other. Glesener declares that he has never consciously sought these contrasts, and it is easy to believe him: all his actors seem introduced for their intrinsic interest as well as for their contribution to the whole.

In a previous article I criticized at some length the various approaches to the problem of cultural generations or age-groups in German thought from Goethe to the present day. As pointed out there, it was Wilhelm Dilthey who really developed this concept as a methodological principle. In this connection he once recommended the application of statistical methods to literary research. In spite of the great amount that has otherwise, particularly in recent years, been written on the subject in Germany, this suggestion of Dilthey's has never been followed up. To be sure, some authors, e.g. Hans von Müller, have given us long and laboriously compiled catalogues of authors listed according to their birth dates and on that basis periodized in age-groups. But neither the selection of names nor the dividing lines between the groups are based on any objective principle. Müller imposes a self-devised system of periodization on a self-selected list of representative writers. Nor is such subjectivity limited to this particular case. The entire methodological idea of age-groups based on birth dates has therefore widely fallen into disrepute as an unsound subjective fantasy. In my above-mentioned paper I expressed the hope of enhancing the validity of the age-group principle by trying to establish a truly objective basis. This problem had first presented itself to me in connection with studies in very recent German “Geistesgeschichte” and had led me to a statistical approach even before I was aware of Dilthey's demand for such.