“Prelude” pictures without ruth the dominant Anglo-Saxon in decay. But in Selina Jo, the humble fighter whose perseverance and patience land her in the reformatory of her desire, it hints at resurrection out of dust. Stock of the past, impoverished, dry as Phœnix ashes, yet may renew itself, like the fabled bird, for another thousand years. Heritage of the South, the poor white has been loosely accepted as drift left by flood and ebb of a splendid civilization. Only in recent years have writers come out of the South who treat him in the individual manner he deserves. Mr. Smith has done so with originality, true democracy, and thorough understanding. Selina Jo he has made a living girl, typical of her social stratum, seemingly typical in her departure from it. Hope lies in just this seeming divergence, which is in reality the survival of warrior blood second to none the earth has ever produced. Though perhaps not apparent to the reader, “The Wager” represents in its authorship one who carries on the traditions of the feudal South. Those who have been longest in these states are first to scatter to other corners of the world in foreign service, in far-flung naval exploits, and in military outposts. If a considerable percentage of American fiction uses foreign settings, the conclusion must not be falsely drawn, “We have nothing at home to write about, it would appear,” but rather “Most at home in America, most at home abroad.” Isa Urquhart Glenn, in employing the scenes she knew while her husband saw service in the Philippines, only makes use of what for her was immediately at hand. Surely there lie in this tale feeling for race and compassion for the weak--hallmarks of _noblesse oblige_. “Shadowed,” by Mary Synon, climactically presents the few hours which mark the climax of a political career. At the moment Stroude is about to be nominated for the presidency of the United States, he receives a letter from a dying woman. The significance of this letter lies in the facts that he loved her, that she had released him to climb a mountain higher than Pisgah, and that he had promised to return to her if she ever needed him. His struggle must be brief, since he must either accept the nomination without seeing the woman or must see her at the cost of losing the highest honour in the land. His code of honour has never faltered in the years he has smiled at the devious ways of politicians and kept his integrity, nor does it falter now. He goes back to Pisgah. If this eventuality is criticized as the one less likely to occur in real life, yet it has the merit of seeming true in the life of fiction. And every reader will admit the essential truth of the ideal. The author, herself of the Middle West, has paid tribute to the Southern mountaineer.