He would be a false teacher who should put the immediate in the place of the permanent in any such calculation. The world that listens has an equal responsibility. The greatest artist can only paint passing phases of the limitless evolution going on about him. It is heresy in itself fatal to put a phase in the place of the infinite process. Grant that society is always at war with itself, always repressing truth, always promoting animalism by its very more or less disguises. The paradox of these results can never be wholly escaped. The teacher who sees what is and was in due proportion will judge what is to be, though no son of a prophet. The new realism for which Philistines contend is no expose of the evils of modern society, no uncovering of a witch’s pot. It holds all these manifestations in perspective, but substitutes none of them for a general view of life and human destiny. It would make health instead of disease infectious, substituting for blind Oriental imitation a truer standard of custom, freer from convention that has no warrant of purpose, more direct in its expression of natural and normal vitality in personal living and thinking. “From within outward,” is its motto. It would depose and outgrow self-consciousness—the vampire fungus that signalizes arrested development and decay in thought or in letters or in the self-projection of social life. The realism of the Philistines is manifested in the recognition of healthy life that we find in some of the new literature—in the heroic romance of Anthony Hope, in the charming tenderness and sweetness of Maartens’s Hollandais and in the fresh-witted islanders, full of arterial blood, of Hall Caine and the wizard who lies buried on the mountain top of his own beloved island—that second one to the left after you leave San Francisco. Even the modern stage, corrupted by French intensities and the commercial idea of filling the house, is showing signs of a reaction. Not more than nine-tenths of the standard attractions of the coming season are based on infractions of the seventh commandment or of that similar law which every chivalrous man knows, though it was never traced in fire on the Sinaitic stone. WILLIAM MCINTOSH. IN SLIPPERY PLACES. “Publish it not in the streets of Askelon lest the daughters of THE PHILISTINES rejoice.” The publishers of the _Chap Book_ of July 15th have kept their promise to furnish original matter in one way perhaps not contemplated when they made mention of that booklet in their catalogue. We can rest assured that Tacitus never wrote “emperasset” in the sentence quoted on page 174; we shall be slow to believe that the author of _The Children of the Ghetto_, in confusion of mind was referring empire and empirical to a common origin, mixing up the sons of Aeneas and Danaos after the fashion of Little Buttercup.