Satisfied with itself in this regard, it praises Hall Caine! O gods of Olympus! There is also the venerable _Blackwood_, of whose mild chimney-corner prattle it were cruel to take serious observation. And there is _Temple Bar_, _The Argosy_, _London Society_, _Belgravia_, and hosts of mild imitations of these; yet taken altogether the magazines published in London do not give in their entirety half as much satisfaction or well-written information to the reader as the American _Century_ magazine, or _Harper's_. This fact helps to emphasize the general "behindhand" tendency of literary things in Great Britain, as compared to those same things in America. Even the children's magazines in the "States" are interesting, and full of concise, simple, pleasantly-worded knowledge, but here, if you want pure, undiluted literary drivel, buy a child's magazine. However, it must be remembered that Americans generally, young and old, like to acquire information; perhaps they feel they do not yet know everything. The English, on the contrary, have a rooted aversion to being instructed, inasmuch as every true-born Britisher considers himself about equal to the Deity in omniscience. Most of us, I suppose, have heard of Charles Dickens and his immortal novels, the most wholesome, humane, sympathetic, and heart-invigorating books that ever, by happy fortune, were given to the public. And I daresay we remember in "Little Dorrit" the lively young man connected with the "Circumlocution Office," who very strenuously objected to the existence of people who "wanted to know, you know." Now I am one of those people. I want to know, you know, why we should have about us all these little marshy literary mud-pools which make up the British magazine Slough of Despond. I want those curiously-minded beings who read (and buy) the magazines, and follow all the dreadful "serials" therein, to "stand forth and deliver." I want to know, you know, how they manage to do it? Whether they feel good after it? Whether they ever read anything else? And what opinions they have formed on literature by this means? Whether they accept the verse in _Temple Bar_, for example, as actual poetry? Or the short stories and articles as samples of good terse English style? Whether they find their brains developing under the fine humour of _Belgravia_? Whether their intellectual faculties are roused by a study of _The Strand Magazine_ (which began well, but is now as monotonous as the rest) or _The English Illustrated_? I want to know, you know. Who laugheth at _The Idler_? Who rejoiceth in _Macmillan's_? And who on God's good earth can stand _The Novel Review_? What happy saints peruse _The Leisure Hour_?--what angels sit down to con the pages of _Cassell's Family Magazine_? Who bothereth himself with _The Bookman_? Who conceiveth it agreeable to read _Longman's_ or _The Gentleman's Magazine_? There must be people who do these things; and, certainly, by a wild