_Leonid Andreiev is a talented member of the youngest school of Russian literature. He was born at Oriol in 1871. He studied law at the universities of St. Petersburg and Moscow and graduated in 1897. He wrote some stories while still a student, but did not meet with recognition until 1898, when he wholly abandoned his unsuccessful career as a lawyer and devoted himself to literature._ _Andreiev, like some of the other young Russian writers, Gorki included, is groping his way--his talent has not yet adopted a permanent manner. He has two distinctly different styles, one symbolic and elusive, the other clear and sane, though melancholy. It may interest some readers to compare his “Valia” with Frapié’s story in the volume of French short stories in this series._ [Illustration] VALIA BY LEONID ANDREIEV Translated by Lizzie B. Gorin. Copyright, 1907, by P. F. Collier & Son. Valia was reading a huge, very huge book, almost half as large as himself, with very black letters and pictures occupying the entire page. To see the top line Valia had to stretch out his neck, lean far over the table, kneeling in his chair, and putting his short chubby finger on the letters for fear they would be lost among the other ones like it, in which case it was a difficult task to find them again. Owing to these circumstances, unforeseen by the publishers, the reading advanced very slowly, notwithstanding the breath-catching interest of the book. It was a story about a very strong boy whose name was Prince Bova, and who could, by merely grasping the legs or arms of other boys, wrench them away from the body. But Valia was suddenly interrupted in his reading; his mother entered with some other woman. “Here he is,” said his mother, her eyes red with weeping. The tears had evidently been shed very recently as she was still crushing a white lace handkerchief in her hand. “Valichka, darling!” exclaimed the other woman, and putting her arms about his head, she began to kiss his face and eyes, pressing her thin, hard lips to them. She did not fondle him as did his mother, whose kisses were soft and melting; this one seemed loath to let go of him. Valia accepted her pricking caresses with a frown and silence; he was very much displeased at being interrupted, and he did not at all like this strange woman, tall, with bony, long fingers upon which there was not even one ring. And she smelled so bad: a damp, moldy smell, while his mother always exhaled a fresh, exquisite perfume.