Occasionally one of our leading statesmen mentions a book to illustrate a point in a speech. This is certain to cause inquiries to be made for the work. Unfortunately these instances are less frequent than in former years. If men like John Bright, Lord Beaconsfield, or Mr. Gladstone, in the heyday of their popularity, quoted from a particular publication, the result was to influence considerably the fortunes of the book. Many will remember the latter's masterly criticism of Robert Elsmere in this Review, which did so much towards the making of the success of this book. From the same statesman letters of criticism are frequently received by authors and publishers, proving the interest he still takes in current literature, as well as materially influencing the sale of the book in question.

Fashion and fads are answerable for the sale of much of the fiction of to-day, when so many political and social questions are freely ventilated in the novel. From the days of Richardson to those of Thackeray the novel was the vehicle through which polite society was discussed, the facts and lessons of history were reviewed or enforced, and social chit-chat of all kinds chronicled. Now we have novels in which are to be found discussions upon philosophy, religion, Home Rule, the eternal Woman' problem, and every other question that agitates the public mind. Be it society, moral or immoral, or the latest theories or discoveries in science, medicine, or surgery, each is manipulated with a freedom that would have made our forefathers blush for shame.

Though no rule can be laid down that will entirely regulate the sale of books, yet I have no hesitation in stating that a certain sale can always be relied on for a book that really has value in it. To obtain this let it be one into which the author has put his best thoughts from a realistic or ideal standpoint, let it be carefully written and rewritten, so that its merit may come up to the standard of literary culture. Then let it be well printed and attractively bound, and issued by a publisher who has a reputation to maintain. The publisher will see that the distributing agencies before mentioned work it well with the booksellers, and will advertise it judiciously, and if possible get it talked about. By these means if a large sale is not secured there will, at least, be one satisfactory alike to author, publisher, and bookseller.

The trade of bookselling is at the present time in a most unenviable condition, and is, I think, suffering more acutely from competition than any other. For years past discounts have been steadily increasing, and it is now a question if the bottom has not been reached. If this be the case, it is reasonable to suppose that the trade may yet he placed upon a more satisfactory basis, although, for the moment, the Publishers' Association and the Association of Booksellers do not appear to be working in harmony to this end. If a better understanding is arrived at between these two bodies, a

via media may be found which will place the trade in a more satisfactory (and remunerative) condition.

One word upon the future of bookselling. There are in our midst a large number of pessimists, who, because in many instances they do not adapt themselves to the altered conditions of the trade, or feel themselves capable of grappling with the present enormous output of books, think that the end of our modern bookseller is within measurable distance. But I maintain that the existence of the bookseller is a necessity, and it will always be so. By the spread of education the bookseller becomes part of the nation's educational machinery. Further, by his trade, in connection with that of the publisher, who by the issue and sale of books, more especially those dealing with technical and educational subjects, makes all professions and most trades possible, and as it has been in the past so in the future, the bookseller's shop should be a centre of influence and intelligence.

I am fully convinced that the bookseller who has a well-informed mind and one always capable of development, who takes an interest in his trade because he loves books, and who has business capabilities worthy of his trade, is bound to make more than a bare living. He will not now, probably, leave a fortune behind him, but he will have the satisfaction of being associated with the greatest minds of his age, as well as with that distinguishing characteristic of a nation's intelligence, its literature. Booksellers may console themselves by being classed with those who follow literature as a profession, and of whom Froude has said, 'It happens to be the only occupation in which wages are not given in proportion to the goodness of the work done.'

J. SHAYLOR

(of Simpkin, Marshall, & Co., Limited.)

A SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

CHESTERFIELD

IN the year 1656 Dorothy Osborne wrote the last of her love letters to Sir William Temple; the same year saw the publication by her uncle Francis Osborne of his once famous treatise, Advice to a Son. Though the writings of both are contemporaneous, though they were both members of the same family, it would be impossible to find two people more totally opposed, both in their views of life and in their modes of thought. Both alike possessed the art of vividly expressing their own personality in their writings, both alike are typical of their time, both give us a real insight into the feelings and interests of their day. Yet they are as wide as the poles asunder. Different in literary style, in politics, in temperament, and in their situation in life, as well as in their ages, they have given us two pictures of the society of the time, which, though both bearing the stamp of truth, resemble each other in hardly a single detail. Thanks to the energy of Mr. Parry, Dorothy Osborne is now well known, and it is unnecessary to call attention to the romantic charm of her letters and the unaffected grace of her style; once rescued from oblivion, she can never again be forgotten. Her story and her delightful self are drawn with a freshness and sureness of touch that will always awaken the sympathy of any reader in every age; they are so absolutely human. How astonished she would be if she could know that her letters, written for the eye of one alone, had been made into a book and published. How astonished and how alarmed, for we find her writing of Lady Newcastle :

'Have you seen a book of poems newly come out, made by my Lady Newcastle? For God's sake send it to me. They say 'tis ten times more extravagant than her dress. Sure the poor woman is a little distracted, she could never be so ridiculous else as to venture at writing books.' A sentiment which even that sour old misogynist Francis Osborne would have approved. They would have agreed in little else; and yet had not the difficult course of love at last run

smooth for her, she might have become as cynical as he was. For it was love that transformed her life and inspired her pen. 'I shall not blush to tell you,' she writes to her lover, that you have made the whole world besides so indifferent to me that, if I cannot be yours, they may dispose of me how they please. Henry Cromwell will be as acceptable to me as any one else.' Even Henry, that debauched, ungodly Cavalier, as Mrs. Hutchinson calls him. And it was hatred of love and women that particularly moved Francis Osborne. Dorothy never mentions him in her letters, but her words about one Bagshawe might very well apply to him. Is not his name Bagshawe that you say rails on love and women? because I heard one t'other day speaking of him and commending his wit, but withal said he was a perfect Atheist. If so, I can allow him to hate us.'

Francis Osborne himself would have been no less surprised at his niece's late-grown reputation, when his own name has been so completely forgotten. But he too has had his own share of fame. The Advice was published at Oxford in 1656; it was at once greedily bought up, and was especially admired by young scholars. In two years it passed through six editions. In 1658 certain godly ministers in the University, whom Mr. Osborne did not scruple to describe as high-nosed hypocrites, detected a flavour of Atheism in the book, and brought it under the notice of the Vice-Chancellor, Dr. Conant. He refused to burn it publicly, as they demanded (such was the stupid enthusiasm of those times'), but caused its sale to be prohibited. Its popularity was at once assured, and the sale spread rapidly. Sir William Petty told Pepys that the three most popular works of the day were Brown's Religio Medici, Butler's Hudibras, and Osborne's Advice. The last and twenty-second edition in a complete collection of his works was published in 1722, but from that time it steadily declined in favour. It was contemptuously noticed by Johnson, and this, with the exception of a reference by Sir W. Scott to Osborne's historical writings, is the last we hear of our author till the present day.

Soon after its publication a part of the Advice, from its misogynistic character, aroused great debate, and a violent controversy in print raged for some time. John Heydon, the astrologer, took up the cudgels on behalf of women, and published in 1658, under the pseudonym of Eugenius Theodidactus, his Advice to a Daughter. The astrologer does not mince his words in criticism. To him Francis Osborne is a diseased Maccabee,' a person whose mind, could it be looked into, would prove infinitely more monstrous than his body,' a monkey who has gnawed away his tail,' and seeks to persuade his son to do likewise; 'a clumsy, doting old wittal,' author of a profane, Atheistical old pamphlet.' He continually apostrophises

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Osborne in the intervals of his argument with such exclamations as the following: You crampt Compendium,' 'Sir Kirk Dragooner,' 'You Purlew of a Metempsychosis,' 'Spleen of a Blue-stockinged Justice,' Pigwiggin Myrmidon,' Fleabitten Canonick Weed,' 'Camel,' 'Lybian Proselyte,' Neast Gull of a young Apocrypha.' Osborne died that same year, without replying to this remarkable effusion, but his cause was taken up by one T. P., who rushed into print with a work called Advice to Balaam's Ass, or Momus catechised. It is described on the title page as an 'Answer to a certain scurrilous and abusive scribbler, one John Heydon, author of Advice to a Daughter,' and certainly T. P. did not neglect to pay back the astrologer in his own coin. He describes him as one who, by the interposition of his opacous and ridiculous conceptions, malapertly endeavours to eclipse the splendour of an eminent author.' After rating him soundly as a Master of Gotham College, a grand proficient in Bacchus' school, and meriting to be chief professor of Billingsgate,' he addresses him as 'thou embryo of a history, thou cadet of a pamphleteer, thou Geoffrey in swabberslops, thou little negro, mounted on the elephant of thine own folly,' and advises him in 'the next book you choke the Preis with (for all your works are very dry), prostrate yourself in an ingenious recantation at the feet of grave and learned Mr. Osborne.' He concludes, 'I fight this great gyant, whose thundering name would affright many, although nothing is able to terrify me, except non-permission to subscribe myself, Your ready servant, T. P.'

Such were the amenities of literary and educational controversy in the days of the Commonwealth.

The author of this notable work, the object of so much admiration and so much abuse, was born in 1593. He was the youngest of the five sons of Sir John Osborne, of Chicksands Priory. To the neglect of his education, as he tells us, he was kept at home till his sixteenth year, and then met with the usual fate of a younger son in those days he was sent to London to seek his fortune. Hanging about the Court, he attracted the attention of the Earl of Pembroke, who made him a steward in his household, and finally master of his horse. Later he obtained a post in the office of the Lord Treasurer's Remembrancer, which seems to have been a sort of family perquisite. About 1650 he removed to live at Oxford, partly to superintend the education of his son, to whom the Advice is addressed, and for whom he procured a Fellowship at All Souls', and partly, no doubt, because then, as now, Oxford was a pleasant place of residence. Here, through the influence of his brother-in-law, Colonel William Draper, a strong Parliamentarian, he obtained some employment under the Commonwealth.

These are the bare outlines of his life, but they tell us little that