Just now the stage and story-book seem to vie with one another in putting on parade the Men and Women who Did for the delectation of those who Have or May. The motif in all these books and plays is to depict the torturing emotions that wring and tear the hearts of these unhappy mortals. The Camp of Philistia does not boast that there are in it no People who Did, neither do we deny the reality of the heartaches and tears that come from unrequited love and affection placed not wisely. But from a somewhat limited experience in wordily affairs I arise to say that life does not consist entirely in these things, and furthermore that the importance given to the Folks who Have is quite out of proportion to their proper place with the procession. There are yet loves that are sweet and wholesome; there are still ambitions that are manly and strong. Let’s write and talk of these. But still even in spite of a morbid plot and many incidents that are rather bluggy, Mr. Cudahy has produced a work that probably will outsell any of the other volumes issued by Chicago’s Enterprising Decadent Publishers. This book has a few positive virtues. Evidently it is a collaboration. I think the author has employed some exceptionally bright apprentices and like Dumas the Elder, Mr. Cudahy is to be congratulated on the rare discrimination shown in choosing his help. In literature, as in commerce or war, much depends on selecting one’s aides: every good general must be properly reinforced. The prospectus of _The Pawns of Chance_ describes the binding of the book as “a symphony in pig-skin.” And the volume is certainly very pleasing to the eye. The paper is hand-made—deckle edge; the illustrations and etchings on Japan paper; and the portrait of the author that serves as frontispiece is a genuine work of art. The space in THE PHILISTINE at my disposal will not admit of an extended criticism, so I will briefly trace the plot, and make a few casual remarks on the more important situations, trusting that my readers will procure the work and each read for himself. For while its faults are many, yet there are here and there redeeming features, and in the moral at the close is a suggestion that is worth one’s while. Now for the story: James Hunks, known on the bills as Signor De June, was in 1875 proprietor of a Ballet Troupe. The corps de ballet consisted of sixteen ladies who were personally selected by Signor De June, and trained by him so that they performed some very wonderful terpsichorean evolutions. Eight of these women were blondes and eight brunettes. Surprising to state, none were over thirty and none under twenty years of age. But they were all Women who Did—that is to say, Ladies with a Past.