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The third Annual Meeting of the Library Association to be held in Manchester should prove to be as profitable as the former meetings there. The manifold interests of the great cotton city, its activities, commercial and intellectual, its intense artistic life—so curiously at variance with its apparently materialistic atmosphere—its many libraries, some of them with real traditions; these things should go to make the 1921 meeting memorable.

Shepard, Leslie A., ed. Encyclopedia of Occultism and Parapsychology; A Compendium of Information on the Occult Sciences, Magic, Demonology, Superstitions, Spiritism, Mysticism, Metaphysics, Psychical Science, and Parapsychology. 2d ed. 3 vols. Detroit: Gale, 1985. $245. 1,617p. ISBN 0–8103–0196–2. OCLC 10457831. As its title indicates, the Encyclopedia treats a wide range of topics. A reader can find in its three volumes information on witchcraft, spiritualism, the development of the field of parapsychology at Duke University, unidentified flying objects, and the Reverend Jim Jones. Like the first edition, this is based on two older, single‐volume works, the Encyclopedia of Occultism by Lewis Spence and the Encyclopaedia of Psychic Science by Nandor Fodor. Over three thousand entries from these books appear, largely intact, in the present work. A few minor editorial changes are made for clarity, and many minor inaccuracies are corrected. Moreover, additional sections, paragraphs, sentences, dates, or addresses are added where the editor feels there is a need for updating. The entries of Fodor and Spence are supplemented by over thirteen hundred new entries written by the editor. These articles largely reflect fields, events, persons, organizations, and periodicals of the period since the publication of the earlier volumes.

THE absurd notion that people whose daily horizon is bounded by booklined walls are devoid of human sentiments, and that the thrills they experience in the course of exciting research work differ in kind from those felt by the intrepid airman or explorer, can scarcely be substantiated. In nine cases out of ten highly adventurous people who scale the blue air or plunge through leagues of bush in search of white tapirs or giant sloths receive their first inspiration from books, and after many years of research in many subjects I confess I cannot discern much psychological difference between breaking a lance in imagination in the company of Montalvo's Amadis and going after tiger. The result is the same—that sudden joyous uprising of the heart and tingling of the nerves which red‐blooded people in all ages have so persistently sought.

SINCE British letters overflowed the barriers of insularity with the dawn of the seventeenth century they have maintained a notable variety and individuality, the wonder and envy of other communities, which, whatever their pretensions to a cosmopolitan view, have certainly nothing so spacious or comprehensive to display on their national bookshelves. We have more than “one,” indeed many, to show “to whom all scenes of Europe homage owe,” we have, perhaps, distributed larger patches of Brittanic red on the world's map in the literary sense than in the political. “Wider still and wider,” grow the bounds of our empire of books. It is the same as regards the much greater atlases of mind and imagination, almost every known isle and province of which has found its pioneers of the British pen.

EDINBURGH'S prestige as a literary centre steadily declined after the death of Scott, and for a succeeding generation was lost in undistinguished shallows. Even Peveril became enmeshed in the nets of London, and Stevenson, his might and native impulse notwithstanding, could not escape them any more than Hugh Walpole and Rebecca West in our generation. Edinburgh has, indeed, come to be more of a nursery for authors, editors and publishers than the nucleus of literary activity she was formerly but there are not wanting signs that she may presently reassume a measure of her vanished importance in the world of letters. A new and active generation is arising which is alive to the possibilities of cultivating its own vineyard, and to the occlusions and heartbreaking disappointments which so frequently accompany migration southward, and probably only adequate leadership is required to bring about a renascence of literary production of a much higher level than that now apparent.

FICTION has never been “original.” It is not in its nature to be so. But as that fact became apparent at least some two hundred years ago it seems a trifle unnecessary to dwell upon it. The dreadful thing is that, like the other arts, fiction now finds itself at the edge of the world of invention, staring into an abyss of nothingness, a Ginungagap of emptiness. It can conceive no new situations or conditions, mental or spiritual, its inventive powers are bankrupt, its fashions and expressions of dialogue are fast becoming matter for public jape, food for the flighty interludes of the wisecracker and the Smart Aleck. Its general aspect has become fantastic because of an obliquity to the life‐plane, a tilt almost as extreme as that exhibited by recent painting or music. Its folk are often monstrous and as unrelated to the actualities of existence as the shapes of nightmare. In short, it is the workshop of a guild or trade caste. And just because man is what he is, castes are the worst enemies of Art, and when, by accident or misfortune, they succeed to its functions and become its “bureaucrats,” Art is in mortal peril.

Communications regarding this column should be addressed to Mrs. Cheney, Peabody Library School, Nashville, Term. 37203. Mrs. Cheney does not sell the books listed here. They are available through normal trade sources. Mrs. Cheney, being a member of the editorial board of Pierian Press, will not review Pierian Press reference books in this column. Descriptions of Pierian Press reference books will be included elsewhere in this publication.

A brief description of the parts of a modern book: The usual order, &c., of the various parts of an average modern book may be enumerated as follows:—

ONCE the shyest and most elusive of mortals—member of no trade union or craft—a lonely figure in drawing‐rooms and in the quietness of the London Library—the Reviewer (like some defaulting country parson) finds himself suddenly dragged into court and starred for attention. The public is looking on! The press are there, sniffing out a scandal! “This wretched man,” the prosecution begins. Alas (it soon appears), he's a bad lot: he belongs to the Monstrous Regiment of Reviewers.

A GRATIFYING sign of the times is the apparent activity among the several branch library associations, an activity that is very necessary in view of likely library developments of the near future. In addition to the usual sectional meetings, a feature in recent years has been the joint Summer meetings provided by the North Central, North Western and the North Midland Library Associations. These meetings have been held at Derby, Buxton, and Chester, and this year's, we understand, is now being organised to take place at Harrogate, probably this month.