peare is a glorified form of Shakespearian collection, bringing text and illustration together—a scrapbook de luxe. One begins by laying in loose pictures here and there in a volume until the binding breaks with the strain. Then the book is taken to pieces, the pages interleaved with illustrations, and the whole collection rebound. It is a worthy ambition to stimulate in young people to be possessed of an entire set of single-play volumes, each one the basis of a picture collection.
Connecting equally well with work in literature or history is the general subject of the evolution of bookmaking. Alexander’s series of six lunettes in the Congressional Library illustrate this theme with remarkable success. Mounted in a single frame this row of photographs (or colored reproductions) is in high favor in schools. There are other pictures, too, of correlated interest showing the book customs of those far-away times before the printing-press. Old pictures of St. Augustine in his cell poring over his books, or of St. Jerome translating the Bible, give an idea of the library accessories in the time of the painters, Botticelli, Ghirlandajo, Bellini, or whoever it happened to be. A very pretty subject by Cabanel, called The Florentine Poet, is a garden scene of Renaissance Florence where a wandering story-teller relates to a group of young listeners a tale of love and adventure. Alma Tadema’s Reading from Homer carries a similar subject into still more ancient times.
The domain of classic mythology is contiguous both to literature and to history. It is a fairyland of
