This state of affairs has given rise to countless rumours and jokes over the compilation of the eternal dictionary upon which the illustrious company is engaged. How is it possible for men who disagree upon the essentials of morality, justice, honour, and truth to agree upon the definition of a word? In olden days the occasional antagonisms of this renowned salon were rare or were revealed with a sympathetic vivacity and wit. Sainte-Beuve could say: “The Academy is the place where literature is the best discussed and where all the amenities are most rigorously observed.” Now all that is changed. Happily, as an interlude in internecine warfare, there is the yearly examination of books and prizes to award. These are many. It is a mistake to believe that a book crowned by the Academy is necessarily good. Noting one year that several absolutely bad, as well as many mediocre, books had been crowned, and sums of money awarded to the malefactors who had perpetrated them, I asked an academician how it was. His explanation was, that so much must be spent on prizes every year, whether there are books to crown or not, as it would excessively complicate the affairs of such a rich body if these sums were allowed to accumulate. Of course there are certain large prizes, such as the Jean Reynaud (£400), which are carefully and justly disposed of, but the multiple insignificant ones of £10, £20, and £40, are distributed as well as they can be in days when there is not a plethora of real talent in France. It is not only literary works that merit academical prizes. There is the Montyon prize, awarded to “the poor French man or woman who has done the most virtuous action during the year.” The sum spent on prizes under this head is £800, and it is divided between several poor persons whose lives are looked into, and of whom usually a touching and admirable picture is drawn. It would not be in the nature of things if the distribution of this prize did not provoke much humorous comment in France. Some satirists maintain that the candidates for the Montyon prize invariably go to the dogs after they have been rewarded. I was once present at the reading out of the numerous actions so recompensed by M. Brunetière, and I was never more deeply impressed by the splendid record of virtue, of unparalleled abnegation and generosity, among the French poor. The second Montyon prize is destined to reward the most useful moral book written during the year. There are also prizes destined to alleviate literary misfortunes, that is, unfortunate authors or their widows and families in trouble.