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years of theatre-going and thirty years of dramatic criticism- quarante ans de théâtre et trente ans de feuilleton sur le corps." A critic of such prolonged and vast experience as M. Sarcey is without his mate in the history of dramatic art.

XII-THE NEWSPAPER PRESS.

To give an adequate account of the Parisian newspaper press would require much space, so many are the details of conception and organization which we should need to explain. For our present purpose it will suffice to consider the newspapers in their relation to literary Paris. In a word, we may say that the newspapers are the bankers of the literary men. The feuilleton and the chronique of the Parisian daily press enable the successful literary man in Paris to gain more notoriety, more public attention, and, on the whole, more money than his fellows in any other capital of the world.

The press has changed greatly within the past thirty years. The few dis

creet and doctrinaire papers of the second empire, impoverished by the censorship, both from the point of view of the publication of news and of the expression of opinion, have gradually been replaced by the numerous news sheets of la presse à informations, where the telegram, the reporter, and the interviewer hold the chief place. Nevertheless, the French reader does not take kindly to the bare laconism of the telegram, to the businesslike narrative of the Anglo-Saxon reporter, or to the interview presented without a certain literary elegance. There is an innate artistic sentiment in the Frenchman which twenty years of brutal democracy and materialism have scarcely impaired, and which no editor can afford to neglect. The traditions of the French press are literary; its most ancient and its most recent organs, Le Journal des Débats, Le Temps, Le Figaro, Le Gaulois, and L'Echo de Paris, are at the same time the most literary.

The features of the Parisian press which first strike the Anglo-Saxon observer are the importance attached to the feuilleton, the prominence of the topical essay called the chronique, and finally the signature of the articles, even those of the reporters and interviewers. Conscious personality attains prodigious developments

VOL. LXXXV.-No. 508.-50

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at once to create a demand for his work and increase its market value-all this greatly to the writer's advantage, and to the publisher's also, for the regular collaboration of well-known writers of marked personality and literary eminence is an element of attraction in a newspaper or periodical. M. Sarcey's dramatic criticism in the Sunday issue of Le Temps is one of the strongest and most popular features of the paper, and worth the 20,000 francs a year that the author is paid for it. The article headed "La Vie Littéraire," by M. Anatole France, is another feature of Le Temps. In the Journal des Débats the dramatic feuilleton of M. Jules Lemaître, without having the authority of M. Sarcey's ponderated com

ALBERT WOLF.

mon-sense prose, has the greater charm of brilliancy, fresh wit, and a marvellous abundance of ideas, with which the writer plays and juggles with incomparable virtuosité. Le Figaro until recently boasted the veteran chroniqueur M. Albert Wolf, the ugliest man in Paris, a German, native of Cologne, who was nevertheless for years a personification of Parisian wit and a power in the press. Le Figaro's other chroniqueurs are M. Émile Bergerat ("Caliban "), M. Paul Desjardins, who is also the apostle of neo-Christianity in the Journal des Débats, M. Jules Lemaître, M. Robert de Bonnières, M. Henri Fouquier, whose prose may be found in half a dozen other Parisian papers, M. Octave Mirbeau, and a dozen other brilliant writers who are climbing up the wall of the Garden of Fame with more or less success. In the other papers we should have to cite often the same names, and many others to boot, the list of Parisian journalists being equivalent almost to the list of Parisian literary men. For what French writer is not or has not been a journalist, an essayist of the press, a chroniqueur? Is not the list headed by Renan and Taine? And is not the influence of Renan pre

dominant in the Parisian newspapers, and are not the doctrines of Renanism those of the most eminent chroniqueurs? A man like M. Henri Fouquier, with his brilliant, superficial, and all-embracing inattentiveness, can scarcely be expected to choose a direction and work persistently with a moral purpose and for the public good. M. Francis Magnard, director of Le Figaro, will not choose a direction either, but remains obstinately Renanist and dilettante. Epicurean,

egotist, sceptic to the backbone, familiar with all the disillusionment and ferocious irony of Parisian journalistic and public life, M. Magnard has invented a derivative form of Renanism, called Je-m'en-fichisme, whose sterilizing, desperate, and yet apparently amusing doctrines he professes almost daily in the terse and mordant political bulletin of Le Figaro.

Finally, as regards the feuilleton, its presence, we may say, is necessary in a newspaper in order to secure the patronage of the women. That no French newspaper can dispense with this patronage is proved by the fact that none dispense with the feuilleton novel, while in many cases the feuilleton is the chief element of success. Le Petit Journal, for instance, which prints a million copies a day and circulates all over France, owes half its success to the two sensational and sentimental feuilletons which form one-fourth of its entire reading matter. The commencement of a new feuilleton by one of the favorite modern successors of Dumas, Ponson du Terrail, and Paul Féval will cause, from one week to another, an increase of from 30,000 to 100,000 copies in the circulation of this paper. As for the great Parisian journals, Le Figaro, L'Écho de Paris, Le Temps, Le Gil Blas, their circulation is not sensibly affected by the publication of a novel; but as they cannot dispense with the feuilleton, they make a point of securing the best literature of the day.

The review or magazine does not flourish in France. The only great French review is the famous Revue des Deux Mondes. The great family magazine, whether illustrated or not, has yet to be created. On the other hand, penny weekly publications with illustrations abound.

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ROUDLY arose Cnocfirinn's height, at that time clothed with trees,

A castle stood upon its crown-now lie its ruins low-
But that was in the olden time, twelve hundred years ago.

And there the cruel Lora reigned, the king of all that land;
No trace of justice in his heart, no mercy in his hand;
To noble high, or peasant low, denying ruth or right:
Black be his memory, Lora-na-ard, the tyrant of the height!

His wrath the worst on Cormac fell-on Cormac of the Glen;
His hate for him was twice of that he felt for other men-
His cousin Cormac, rightful heir, whose crown usurped he wore,
Who Glann-a-dord alone retained of all he held before.

breeze.

But naught for sway did Cormac long; a noble, shunning strife;
His greatest treasures, children twain and Amarach his wife-
Oscur, his son, a stripling tall, of proud and noble air,
And Niav-right well Fiongalla* called-the innocent and fair.

Long time had Lora set his eyes on daughter and on land;

To wrest the last, to wreck the first, a deadly scheme he planned;
For tempting from his lofty towers, in all its pride complete,
Was Glann-a-dord, its woods and fields-and Niav was young and sweet.

So when one morning Niav went forth, with handmaids in her train,
As was her wont, to taste the air that swept the dewy plain,
There sudden from behind a knoll rode gallowglasses base,
Who rudely seized the lady fair and bore her from the place.

The gallowglasses of the king their saffron jerkins showed,

And to the summit of the hill the vile marauders rode.
The royal rath they entered, and with victory elate,

With shouts their lovely prize they bore within the castle gate.

Her brother heard her piteous shrieks, and snatching spear and brand,
Sprang light of foot up rock and cliff to intercept the band;

But only gained the castle gates to find them closed to him,
And at a wicket, sheltered well, the warder old and grim.

"What do you here," the warder cried, "with spear and glaive displayed?
Our royal lord no comer brooks in hostile guise arrayed.

Begone, rash boy, or dread his wrath!" "Tis Lora's self I seek.
Where skulks this coward king of yours, oppressor of the weak?"

Oped at the words the castle gates, and poured the wretches forth,
The vile assassin kerns well armed, the hirelings from the North.
The first went down before the sword, two others followed fast;
But all too many they for one, who, wounded, fell at last.

They haled him soon where Lora sat, and grimly said the king,
"For this, at dawn, before your house, on gallows-tree you swing;
And for the treason that is bred in nest at Glann-a-dord,
Your father's lands are forfeited unto his sovereign lord!"

Ill news will travel fast; and hence, ere quite an hour had flown,
A mother's heart was throbbing quick, a mother's voice made moan;
A white-haired father bent in grief, all pride and state laid by,
His only son, his hope, his pride, next morn was doomed to die.

*Fair-Cheek.

[The name of the wicked prince in this legend is arbitrary, though the ancient Irish had an ard righ (high king, or emperor) thus called. Of the latter is told, with some variations, the tale of Midas. The story was caught probably from some monk in the days when Ireland stood pre-eminent in classical as well as theological learning, and it became filtered through the peasants' sieve. This Labhradh Loingseach-Lora Lonshach of the common tongue (Leary?)-was gifted with a pair of horse's, not ass's, ears. The barber relieved his mind of the awful secret not by whispering it to a hole in the ground, but into a split which he made in a willow. Of this the king's musician chanced to make a harp that treacherously, at a public festival, uttered the barber's words, “Da Chluais Chapail ar Labhradh Loingseach” -i. e., Lora Lonshach has horse's ears. As for Donn, called Firineach-the teller of truth-from the invariable fulfilment of his predictions, he may be set down as an Irish Thomas the Rhymer. His identity is not fixed. Sometimes he is called a local fairy king, and sometimes set down as a son of Milesius, the conqueror of Ireland, who has taken up his residence in a rocky hill, waiting until the country recovers its nationality.]

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Amid their grief the sunset fell, the hour was growing late,
When came a tattered beggar there, and rapped upon the gate.
"I am," said he, "the poorest man among the sons of men;
God save ye kindly! give me bed and supper at the Glen."

"Alas, poor man, a servant said, "seek not for shelter here;
Avoid a house upon whose roof there falls such grief and fear."
"Nay, nay," said Cormac; "spurn him not! Whatever be our woes,
No man in need, while yet I rule, from hence unsuccored goes."

They let the beggar in the gate, they set him at the board,
Where some one told him of the doom that hung on Glann-a-dord.
"Oh, sha gu dheine?" said he then. "But Oscur shall not die:
Not his, but Lora's race is run, I say, who cannot lie!"

* Is that so?

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