Mrs. Radcliffe's imitators did her reputation much harm. They adopted her paraphernalia without her talent ruinous castles with secret passages and gloomy vaults, mysterious sights and sounds suggesting horror, hints of hideous crimes, disguises, endless intrigues, fierce robbers, eerie moonlight, howling winds, and all the rest. But they lacked her descriptive powers. It has been said with truth that there are many passages in her novels which are prose versions of the landscapes of Salvator Rosa.

After The Italian Mrs. Radcliffe wrote no more for publication. Nothing was heard of her by the public, and

it was rumored that by brooding over the horrors of her own invention her reason had become deranged and she was confined in a madhouse. But the simple truth seems to have been that she shrank from publicity. She was for many years an invalid, and she died on February 7, 1823.

The novels played a great part in the development of the romantic novel. To trace their pervasive and indirect influence with anything like completeness is impossible, so widely diffused was it. But apart from obvious and direct derivations and from contemporaries like 'Monk' Lewis and Maturin, we can detect the anticipation of and preparation for a host of historical romances, from those of Dumas to those of Stanley Weyman. Jane Eyre is a serious and more skillfully constructed version, with less exuberant imagination in incident and much more subtle characterization, of The Sicilian Romance, as Northanger Abbey is to some extent a delicious parody of it.

THE Czechoslovak army was lying on the great Trans-Siberian Railroad, in its trains and armored cars. There, near Lake Baikal, the force was resting and preparing itself for the impending journey to its liberated country. In the dense forests along the railroad lived the Siberian Buriats, a yellow Mongol race, who welcomed the

Czechoslovak soldiers everywhere, as they always came singing, with their bands playing, with smiles on their faces.

Corporal Pepek was a quiet, welldisciplined soldier, but among the Buriat people he too became gay and hilarious. He was particularly exhilarated one day when an old Buriat

brought out on the village square his bear Mishko.

'Mishko is young yet,' said the old Buriat in broken Russian. 'One day we went hunting in the Altai forests. There were plenty of wolves, jackals, and lynxes. But we did not get far when an immense she-bear dashed ferociously out of a thicket and directly toward us. Her snarling filled us with such consternation that I was afraid she would attack and kill me, so I shot her. Presently something moved in the undergrowth to the left of me and two vivacious little cubs appeared. We took them along. One died, but Mishko, behold! he is still with us. He became used to us. He has forgotten all about his mother.'

The soldiers, especially Corporal Pepek, listened with great interest. Mishko was an amiable bear, clumsy and extremely desirous of being liked and patted, like a pup. Pepek fell in love with the bear. Whenever he could manage, he went to the settlement to visit him. He tried to dance and fight with him, taught him to jump hurdles, climb trees, to the amusement of all.

Later, when the detachment to which the Corporal belonged had to move on, Pepek bought the bear from the old Buriat. At Mysovaya the detachment rejoined the regiment and Mishko was promoted from a mere detachment bear to a regimental bear. He advanced faster than Pepek himself. But a little difference in rank had no bearing on the relationship of Pepek and Mishko; they were inseparable.

The Corporal and the bear often performed before the entire regiment. Holding each other, they danced to the tune of the accordion; they fought, rolled on the ground, and chased one another. The soldiers shared everything with Mishko. They tied a white and red ribbon around his bulky neck

to show that he was a member of the Czechoslovak army. At meal time he would place himself in line for his ration. He became accustomed t firing and to the smell of powder; after} a while he even took the thunder of the heavy guns and the rattle of the machine-guns as a matter of course. Mishko became a regular soldier. He would growl wrathfully whenever he found someone who did not wear the white and red ribbon in the vicinity of our cars. And he behaved as it befitted a disciplined soldier when some Czechoslovak officer came by him.

One night the train started rolling with the regiment toward the west. There were rumors in the soldiers' cars that there were some clashes between our men and the revolutionists who were attacking the railroad, destroying the tracks and station buildings, and looting and killing.

The night was very peaceful. The train rolled through the deep and silent forests in which the moonlight rarely, penetrated the dense treetops. Corporal Pepek and other soldiers slept on the benches and on the floor of the car. It was a warm, pleasant night, and they depended upon the guards who stood their vigil on the locomotive.

But Mishko could not sleep in his corner. His bear's soul probably anticipated the moments that were to come. He was a soldier, inured to danger; but to-night his restlessness was unusual.

Pepek awoke. He saw Mishko by his side, licking his hand. He patted the bear and spoke to him: 'What is the matter, Mishko? Why aren't you asleep, young fellow? I hope you are not afraid of some evil that is about to befall us. You are listening? Perhaps you are smelling danger, old man, eh? Perhaps death? Now don't be a child all your life! Why be afraid? Maybe you had a bad dream. Now look here

that night before the battle at Zborovo I dreamed that I met my old man, who said to me: "Son, enough of this war! Let's go home!" And the next day I captured him, my own father, and he joined the Czechoslovak army. So you see, Mishko, there is nothing - What is this?'

All of a sudden the train shuddered, bumped, and stopped. A few long, distressful blasts of whistle; then a few rifle shots.

Pepek leaped from the bench.

'Hey, on your feet, everybody! It looks as though we're attacked. Get your rifles and ammunition! Then down on the track and take cover!'

The next instant wild shooting resounded in the forest. The narrow bridge, over which our train was supposed to pass, was destroyed. Our people in the locomotive had observed it just in time to enable the engineer to stop the train. There was a multitude of figures moving among the streaks of moonlight that poured in through the branches.

"The scoundrels! They have wrecked the bridge!'

A battle ensued. The Czechoslovaks opened up with their machine-guns. The ancient forest groaned painfully with the echoes of the thunder. The battle lasted two hours.

Pepek and his men lay upon the track and fired into the woods. He

could not concern himself with anything else.

The battle subsided and the attackers retreated into the forest. The Czechoslovaks pursued them for a while, so they would not dare to interfere again with their progress.

The dawn was breaking. Pepek leaped to his feet, to join the rest in pursuit; but he suddenly paused. He dropped down on his knees and burst out crying. Before him lay Mishko, pierced by a score of bullets. During the heat of the battle he had served as a shield; his hide had caught the bullets aimed at Pepek.

Pepek could not pursue the enemy. He placed his head upon Mishko's body and wept.

'You have saved me, comrade. And I-I have not even thought of you. Not even thought of you! We people go on killing one another you beasts shield us! Mishko, I shall tell about you at home to my mother, to the crowd on the street, to the men in the tavern. You were a great fellow, Mishko!'

Pepek and his men buried the bear beside the track, adorning the grave with the flowers of the Siberian forest. They stuck a bayonet in the mound; and a white and red ribbon tied to it bore this inscription:

'Here lies the bear Mishko, a good comrade of the Czechoslovak army.'

FORAIN AN IMMORTAL

the

THE election of Forain, the famous artoonist, to the French Academy has caused widespread satisfaction in Paris ind elsewhere. M. J. Pistor, the sprightly writer of L'Opinion, speaks sympathetically of the event in the February 16 number of that weekly:

"The Académie des Beaux-Arts has preferred Forain to M. Friant. For once we record our congratulations. The result was never doubtful. Nevertheless, there were no fewer than ten academicians who would have welcomed the success of M. Friant, since they voted for him on the first ballot. It was not until the third ballot that the Institute came to a decision, and not unanimously even then. Does this surprise you?

"To be sure, the green coat will confer no supplementary fame upon Forain; and people are asking, why did he consent to accept it? This is because people forget how sincerely and profoundly he is devoted to tradition. For him it will be a joy to belong to such a venerable institution as the Académie des Beaux-Arts. You may be sure that he does not consider his new dignity in any manner a consecration; he will regard it as a pleasure of a purely literary character.

'Forain is not alone the admirable draughtsman known to all the world and notably to the readers of L'Opinion, who will recall that it published a cartoon of his every week during the war; he is also a delicate and delightful painter whose first canvases recalled Manet and also Stevens, rather more than Degas, before he began to specialize, as one might say, in subjects from the theatre and the police court.

'Finally good judges say "espe

cially" - he is an incomparable etcher, whose plates depicting the crowds at Lourdes and other religious scenes express an emotion devoid of irony, a sentiment of sorrow and sympathy that touches us profoundly.

'We know too that Forain is a man of esprit. At least as many mots and histoires charmantes have been attributed to him as in their days to Chamfort, Rivarol, and Talleyrand, or to-day to Tristan Bernard, Alfred Capus, and the actor Guitry. It is not easy to record such trifles. They were not invented to be written down, and the inimitable accent of the faubourgs cannot be reproduced, nor the mocking eye that flashed a cruel glance to accompany the pleasantries that the delicate, mobile mouth gave voice to so captivatingly.

"To-day, at seventy years and past, the great artist has preserved every bit of his verve. Physically he has changed but little. He has just finished a series of etchings of war subjects that are among the most admirable that he has ever done.

'Forain may enter the Institute without fear.'

EXCAVATING DAVID'S TOMB

NEWS that the Palestine Government has authorized excavation of the site of ancient Zion and what is generally regarded as the tomb of David, is received with mingled feelings in clerical circles in Rome.

The exact site of the tomb is in dispute. Signor C. A. Nallino published a book in 1919, Sull' Infondata Leggenda della Tomba di David, in which he discusses the whole subject and reaches the conclusion that the real tomb is not situated at the tradi