NOVELS CALIBAN BLIND ALLEY THE STRANGERS’ WEDDING THE SECOND BLOOMING A BED OF ROSES THE CITY OF LIGHT ISRAEL, KALISCH ( American Title : Until the Day Break ) THE MAKING OF AN ENGLISHMAN ( American Title : The Little Beloved ) OLGA NAZIMOV ( Short Stories ) MISCELLANEOUS WOMAN AND TO-MORROW DRAMATIC ACTUALITIES ANATOLE FRANCE THE INTELLIGENCE OF WOMAN A NOVELIST ON NOVELS ( American Title : Literary Chapters ) EDDIES OF THE DAY WOMAN AND TO-MORROW DRAMATIC ACTUALITIES ANATOLE FRANCE THE INTELLI

There will be no East in the West, nor West in the East. There will be no list of statues, for nobody ever looks at statues. There is a statue of George Stephenson at Euston, and one of William Pitt in Hanover Square. That is very interesting, isn’t it? It is a terrible commentary upon fame that when you erect a statue to a man he becomes invisible. You pass a statue every day, but you never look at it, you pass it. Nobody cares for statues, except the birds, who make them a venue for love and w

Some of the old London theatres, it is true, are a little less repulsive because they are not quite so large. Thus, the Haymarket, the Royalty, and in a queer, insidious way old Sadler’s Wells. Sadler’s Wells has gone; there to-day upon the film cowboys race and rescue, and negroid heroines register their emotions, but not long ago it was one of the few pleasant places Good Old had bequeathed us, with its hemicycle of plush-backed stalls, its little boxes lined with an inch of lush and half an i

A new English people will make a new public-house; to-day, they have the public-house they deserve, and it is not such an evil place as some like to make out. Pellucid reader, have you ever visited The Green Man? The Red Lion? or The Bedford Head? Do you know the brew of The Warrington and The Horseshoe’s chop? I like their busy bars, so cunningly stratified into public bar, private bar, and saloon. They are a microcosm of English society, where everybody keeps himself to himself, where every cl

Therein lies the charm of the queer people, in whom London is rich, people who follow unexpected occupations, occupations that nobody would naturally think of following. One can understand how Mrs Smith comes to hear from one of her husband’s friends that they want an apprentice in the printing shop; she sends little Tommy to the printing shop, and he becomes a printer. But how does little Paolo become an ice-cream man? There are lots of ice-cream men, and so we must believe that some impulse di

SOHO MARKET From this sense of sin arose in the beginning the popularity of the Soho restaurants. I do not know when they began to be popular. Some, such as the Restaurant d’Italie, the Monico, the Villa Villa, are old stagers, but when I first came to town their customers were mostly men; if couples came they generally included a man who did not care to take his womenkind to such places, but did not mind taking other people’s womenkind. (Thus it worked out just the same in the end.) The growth

Since those days much time has passed, and now and then, here and there, I have come a little closer to those strange and secret depravities of which, according to the Continent, London holds the monopoly. The newspapers are helpful; for they have occasional fits of virtue and begin to expose something, thus, at last, giving it an advertisement; or the police intervene and shut up a restaurant, thus focusing all eyes upon its proprietor and making him so famous that when he opens another restaur

‘He gets up summer and winter ... out of a bed that he cannot afford time or money to keep too clean or warm, in a small room that probably has not a large enough window; into clothes stiff with work, and boots stiff with clay; makes something hot for himself, very likely brings some of it to his wife and children; goes out, attending to his digestion crudely and without comfort; works with his hands and feet from half-past six or seven in the morning till past five at night, except that twice h

Now stucco is an unfairly scorned material; it produces a pleasantly smooth surface, which weathers to creamy-olive, and, indeed, its only crime is that it conceals brick. Brick and tile are two of our most delightful materials; people do wrong to sneer at them just because poor cottages are so built. Red brick, when not too large, such as the delightful little Tudor brick, is smiling and domestic. The progress of building has, in this case, proved a retrogress for art. Nowadays, the big red bri

THE CAFÉ ROYAL This does not mean that the Café Royal is a literary café, or an artistic café. The literary, dramatic, and pictorial elements are certainly stronger there than in any other London resort, but at any time you may see there the strangest assembly: foreigners, a great many; smart people who are seeing life; and very dull, ordinary, fat men who stop on their way from business or shop to have a drink before dinner. At dinner time the room is not itself, for half of it sees its marble