tion in the Novel." We print a portion of Mrs. Catherwood's remarks, regretting that we have not space for them all.
"Whoever attempts a novel is supposed to have a story to tell; and the manner of his telling it is almost as important as the story itself. It is always—whatever variations the theme may take—the story of a man and a woman; often a sad, often an absurd story; but one which is as fresh with every generation as new grass with the spring. The dear little maid whom you now call the light of your house will soon reach her version of it. She tells you in confidence, and with a stammer on the long word, that she has a prejudice against boys,—and you know what that prejudice in the course of a few years will do with the incipient men who are hanging May-baskets or doing sums for her.
"It seems to me the best form for this story is the dramatic form. We want intensified life. 'It is the quality of the moment that imports,' says Emerson. Of what interest are our glacial periods, our slow transitions that change us we know not why? Everyone can look back on many differing persons he has been in his time. And everyone is conscious of undeveloped identities hampered yet within him. The sweetest and sincerest natures have repressions and concealments. It is the result of these things which makes the story of life. You may put a microscope over a man and follow his trail day by day; but unless he reaches some stress of loving, suffering, doing, you soon lose interest in him. I delight in Jane Austen for the quality of her work. In the same way I enjoy the work of Mr. Howells. It is their dramatic grasp on the commonplace which makes these realists great.
"The most dramatic treatment cannot wholly present the beauty of one human soul, and the sternest analysis cannot reach all its convolutions of evil. Shakespeare knew his human soul. When we are very young we complain that he pictures us unfairly; but when we are older, we know. He took the great moments, that counted; and presented his men and women intensely alive.
"I have heard there are authors who do not rewrite and condense, who set down at the first stroke the word they want to use; the word which creates. But I never absolutely laid hands on one. The growth of a story is usually slow, like the growth of most plants. It is labor and delight, pain and pleasure, despair and hope. You cannot escape a pang. You must absolutely live it through; and then try it by the test of ridicule of common standards, by the guage of human nature. I heard a judge say when he was a college student he kicked all the bark off a log in the campus, and wore out the backs of a new pair of trousers, trying to write a poem; and he made up his mind he was no poet. If the spirit of art had really been in him he would have recognized these agonies. It is not easy to speak the word—except when it is easy; when you have those moments of clear seeing and that condensing grasp of your material which sometimes pay for days of worthless labor."
The remaining papers of the session were as follows: "The Short Story," by Miss Alice French; "The New Motive in Fiction," by Mrs. Anna B. McMahan; "Local Color in Fiction," by Mr. Hamlin Garland; and "Ebb-Tide in Realism," by Mr. Joseph Kirkland. The Friday session of the Congress seemed to arouse a more general public interest than any of the others, and was distinguished from them by the fact that all the papers presented upon this occasion were read by their authors.
Our account has thus far dealt almost exclusively with the special subject of the Congress of Authors. When we consider the fact that this Congress has been the first of the sort to be held by writers in the English language, and the other fact that there existed in this country no definite association of literary workers to take charge of the arrangements, there is reason to congratulate the committees in charge upon the outcome of their enterprise. To the non-resident Committee of Coöperation, and particularly to its secretary, Professor George E. Woodberry, who labored long and strenuously for the success of the work, a special and hearty word of recognition is due. It is true that there have been many disappointments—that some who should have taken part in the work declined the invitation to do so, and that others who had promised their help and their presence failed to come forward at the final moment,—but, with allowance for all these mishaps, it must be admitted that the Congress achieved a distinct success, that its sessions were dignified and thought-provoking, that it attracted the serious attention of a considerable and influential public, and that it has paved the way for a better organization of authorship, and a better understanding of literature both in its commercial and its artistic aspects. The proceedings of the Congress of Authors will have many echoes in the periodical literature of the coming weeks; and, if they shall be subsequently published, as is hoped, in permanent form, their effect will be felt far beyond the moment, and is likely to make itself apparent both in predicable and in unpredicable ways.
Of the four remaining Congresses of the week we have not, upon the present occasion, space to speak in detail. We must be content with saying that they brought to Chicago exceptionally large gatherings of the four classes of specialists to whom appeal was made, including many European scholars of the first rank; that their programmes covered a very wide range of original research; and that, in spite of the tropical temperature of the week, and the counter attractions of the World's Fair, they were attended by audiences commensurate with the interest and importance of what the proceedings had to offer.
