And here I should like to touch upon a sore which reviewers customarily do not discuss, for fear of _mauvais ton_. Why are the English translations so careless and comical? The book in question is full of such glaring errors, such nonsensical misunderstandings, such atrocious ignorance, that it has made me pull my hair in despair of solving the dilemma whether I should laugh at the comicalness or whether I should rage at the impertinence. I am quite sure that the translator (his name is not revealed) knows as much Russian as Percy Pinkerton, the crucifier of Artzibashev; he mutilated Gorky from a German translation, I suspect. The book has another jolly feature—illustrations. They are reproductions from popular Russian paintings, with inscriptions that are supposed to illustrate the text. The naive forgery is too crude and unskilful to mislead even the unsuspecting reader. Will the publishers ever acquire respect for the printed word? Instruction _The Greatest of Literary Problems, by James Phinney Baxter. Boston: Houghton Mifflin._ Have you the sense of humor to guess which is the Problem? Shakespeare or Bacon! About seven hundred gigantic pages on this vital question, with illustrations and data. Are you curious to know who wins? I shall not tell. Why should the reader be spared the reviewer’s agony in wading through the bewildering labyrinth of speculations and arguments till he reaches ... the same point that he started from. Bon voyage! Instruction Plus _Tales from Old Japanese Dramas, by Asataro Miyamori. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons._ _Some Musicians of Former Days, by Romain Rolland. New York: Henry Holland Company._ These books, like the preceding one, are intended to be instructive; they attain their purpose, however, thanks to gracefulness of style and fascination of subject. Mr. Miyamori has condensed the plots of the most famous _joruri_—the epical dramas of the Yeddo period, which are to this day chanted in Japanese theatres. It is an exotic atmosphere of oriental fairyland, tapestries of childlike love and naive passion, of smiling bloody tragedies and blissful harakiris. When lovers are prevented from being married they do not employ the cumbersome process of elopment, but transport themselves into the other world by committing _shinju_ or double suicide. The author tells us that Metizahormach shinju dramas have had such powerful influence on the audiences that there have been numerous instances of lovers performing that delicious suicide after leaving the theatre. I fear that for the occidental reader the dramas will not prove as convincing—alas. After _Musicians of To-Day_ the last book of Rolland has little appeal. Journalistic notes, interesting information, brilliant suggestions—and we look in vain for the profound spirit of the old Romain.