American Agents for the ACADEMY: Brentano's, 31, Unionsquare, New York. The Ideal Circulating Library. By a Reader. It is a curious fact that at the present time, when the doors of the twentieth century are soon to swing back to let the hurrying world rush through, we have no circulating library in London that is conducted upon "up to date " lines of modern commercial enterprise. We have, it is true, several long-established firms that let out books for a consideration, and these are admirably managed; but we, the reading public, have now reached a stage in our development at which the old-fashioned methods cannot supply our enlightened demands. Let me sketch a few of the characteristics of my ideal library, in the fond hope that the Twentieth Century will see it converted into a reality. In the first place, the organiser must be a man who has fathomed the grand secret of success in trade. This is so simple that it may be told in three words-"Study your customer." Feel his pulse, anticipate his desires, supply his wants in the manner most easy and agreeable to himself. Pamper him, in short, and be sure that he will repay you. It will be news to many people that it was not always the custom for shops to send home their customers' purchases free of charge. A few enterprising tradesmen began the fashion, and the rest were soon compelled to follow suit. Provision merchants not only sent home goods, but called for orders daily, and found themselves well rewarded for their trouble. Only the big libraries held out, and still hold out. Once a week (in some cases twice) they contract to exchange books at their customers' houses and at their customers' expense. Fancy the blank astonishment of the British matron if Mr. Peter Robinson or Mr. Whiteley were to inform her that he would be happy to send home her purchases on a Friday-his regular day-but that he would be obliged to make an extra charge for porterage. It may be objected that the cases are not on all fours, since the books are only hired, while the other goods are bought outright; but let the objector hire a bath, a lamp, or some crockery at any of our large stores, and the goods will not only be conveyed to him, but fetched away again free of charge. It is really a pathetic sight on a rainy, windy day to see middle-aged ladies struggling along New Oxford-street with a strapful of books, an umbrella, and a long skirt. The first big library that starts a motor van for each district that it serves, supplemented if necessary by tricycle carriers, and exchanges books daily at its customers' houses will win the public gratitude. At the present time there are, it should be mentioned, a few small libraries in connexion with stationers' shops whose proprietors send home customers' books, but the stock at these establishments consists, as a rule, almost entirely of novels, with a sprinkling of popular biographies and travels, and is of little use to the reader who desires to range over a wider field of literature. The "back-stock" of the ideal circulating library should rival that of the London Library, while modern publications should be provided on the most liberal scale. proprietor should clear his mind of red-tape, and discard The all obnoxious little charity-school rules. At most of the existing libraries the rules seem to be framed with a view to saving trouble to the employés instead of to the customers. Take one or two striking examples. It is, I believe, the rule at every big library that clients may not change books more than once a day. Of course, in a general way, they would not want to. But consider the hard case of a man who only subscribes for one book, and who, having taken it home, finds that he has already read it, or that he does not want to read it. Is he to be left for the whole of a possibly wet day and sleepless night without any fresh sustenance for his mind, or-to put it on the lowest grounds-any effectual antidote for his sordid worries? Another irksome rule ordains that no country reader may "break a set"; that is, if he wants to read a three-volume novel he may not have one volume at a time-he must take all or none. Now, when a Londoner goes into the country for his holiday, he becomes a country customer for the time being, and subject to country rules. If, just before starting, he has read the first two volumes of a novel, and desires to take the third with him, he is obliged to saddle himself with the two volumes already read. This rule is less irksome now than formerly, because the three-volume novel is practically dead; but there are plenty of old books. by such writers as Mr. Gissing and Mr. Henry James which are still alive, but which can only be obtained at the libraries in three-volume editions. Again, a customer desiring an early opportunity of reading a book which is in considerable demand may put his name down for it at the libraries, but only on condition that he leaves a volume in pawn. Now, this is mere pandering to the big subscribers. The rich man whose subscription entitles him to ten or twelve volumes at a time, can always afford to leave one or two in pawn, and thus carries off all the new publications. The poor man, who only subscribes for one or two volumes, has never one to spare, and consequently seldom obtains a book until it is from four to six months old, which is like getting Saturday's loaf on Monday morning. The system of putting down names of applicants to be dealt with in turn would be perfectly fair if it were not accompanied by a demand for a hostage. But without that condition, say the authorities, the system would involve too much trouble. Trouble to whom? To the employés. The convenience of customers should be taken into account. The proprietors of most of our important libraries ignore the immense floating population of London, which wants to hire books by the night, the week, or the month. As a rule, subscriptions cannot be taken out for less than three months, the small profits and quick returns so dear to the heart of all practical tradesmen being entirely disdained. The virtuous librarian of my dreams would arrange a separate department for clients who desired to subscribe for a shorter period than three months. No doubt the working of such a department would give a good deal of "trouble," but in any other lines of business the fear of trouble does not prevent tradesmen from letting out their goods by the night. It would be rather hard upon the hospitably-inclined if they were unable to hire plate, palms, and rout-seats for a period of less than three months! A few years ago the libraries combined to boycott the three-volume novel published at a guinea-and-a-half. They insisted that all novels should be published in one volume at 6s. or 3s. 6d. There was a tacit agreement that the libraries would take so many more copies at these reduced prices that the trade would suffer no loss, while the reading public would benefit enormously. The actual result of the bargain has been that authors, booksellers, and the patrons of circulating libraries are all worse off than they were six years ago. The ideal library of the future, having raked in all the custom, would be able to compel the publishers to follow the good example set by foreign firms, and issue books in paper covers at half-a This crown, or thereabouts. As soon as these covers became soiled or torn, a limited number of copies of each work that was thought worthy of the honour could be cheaply bound (by the libraries) in plain, strong covers. seems to be the method practised at Rolandi's, and other foreign circulating libraries. Twice or four times a year there should be a sale of surplus unbound copies at a uniform price of one shilling. The volumes should be conveniently arranged, for the inspection of customers, on long trestles. Every big draper recognises the advantage of letting people (more especially women) turn over goods upon the counter. Purchases through the post consist of necessaries only, but purchases in a shop, at bargain time, consist of opportunities seized and temptations yielded to. Another leaf which the libraries should take out of the book of the big drapers is the tea-room. This should be well supplied with comfortable chairs and illustrated papers, and on each of the little tables should lie a monthly list of new books and a pencil, so that customers could read and mark while drinking their tea. Descriptive Art. In the January number of the National Review Miss J. H. Findlater writes interestingly on "The Art of Narration." Her main point is, that descriptive writing has made more marked advance of late years than almost any other form of literature. "The change is from prolixity to brevity; from colourless detail to vivid outline; from long words to short ones." Miss Findlater's examples of the old and new styles of description are happily chosen. She aptly contrasts an old and a new writer in the following passages: Here, of course, the advantage is with the later writer, but we shall have a word to say on the value of such comparisons. Meanwhile, we are glad to see that Miss Findlater is alive to the young vices as well as the maturing virtues of the new school. She deprecates the method which relies too much on "words which express themselves." Such words are rarely classical, and they produce a sense of violence. They are expensive, in the old sense, and the best proof that they are in the long run ineffective is that they tire the reader. In The Red Badge of Courage Miss Findlater finds finds many examples of this assertive writing: "His canteen banged rhythmically, and his haversack bobbed softly. . . . The purple darkness was filled with men who jabbered. The ground was cluttered with men. . . A spatter of musketry. ... His knees wobbled," &c. Another doubtful method is the staccato. As Miss Findlater says: "Nothing is easier. The method is simple. It presents no difficulties. It is distinct. It appeals to many. It is new." The growing use of simile in description is, perhaps, too incautiously approved by Miss Findlater. We agree that a few similes may easily double the force of a descriptive passage; but Miss Findlater does not seem to recognise that here also many come to grief. A simile must be absolutely right to be acceptable: it must be accurate, and it must enlighten the reader swiftly and graciously. We have noticed a strong tendency to drag in similes where none are needed, and to aim at clever juxtaposition of remote and unfamiliar things. We discussed this subject last October in connexion with Mr. Capes's fine novel, Our Lady of Darkness. Mr. Capes is of the new school of narration, and his enterprise is beyond praise; but we found him saying of a girl who was skimming cream: "The tips of her fingers budded through the white, like nibs of rhubarb through melting snow." Very likely they did, but it was scarcely wise or helpful to say so. Mr. Capes also wrote: "The girl stood solid on end, like a pocket of hops," which is simile run wild. Not that simile may never be pushed into new regions; but there is a discretion. Mr. Kipling is justified of this: "The weather was glorious-a blazing sun, and a light swell to which the cruisers rolled lazily, as hounds roll on the grass at a check." Of the following simileladen passage from Tess of the D'Urbervilles Miss Findlater thinks: "Description can no further go." There had not been such a winter for years. It came on in stealthy and measured glides, like the moves of a chessplayer. One morning the few lonely trees and the thorns of the hedgerow appeared as if they had put off a vegetable for an animal integument. Every twig was covered with a white nap, as of fur grown from the rind during the night, giving it four times its usual dimensions; the whole bush or the tree forming a staring sketch in white lines on the mournful grey of the sky and horizon. Cobwebs revealed their presence on sheds and walls where none had ever been observed till brought out into visibility by the crystallising atmosphere-hanging like loops of white worsted from salient points of the outhouses, posts, and gates. This is good description. But is it better than the following passage, which has no similes, in Eothen? Kinglake is describing the desert march of a caravan: You look to the Sun, for he is your task-master, and by him you know the measure of the work that you have done, and the measure of the work that remains for you to do.. No words are spoken, but your Arabs moan, your camels sigh, your skin glows, your shoulders ache, and for sights you see the pattern, and the web of the silk that veils your eyes, and the glare of the outer light. Time labours on-your skin glows, and your shoulders ache, your Arabs moan, your camels sigh, and you see the same pattern in the silk, and the same glare of light beyond, but conquering time marches on, and by and by the descending Sun has compassed the Heaven, and now softly touches your right arm, and throws your lank shadow over the sand, right along on the way for Persia; then again you look upon his face, for his power is all veiled in his beauty, and the redness of flames has become the redness of roses-the fair, wavy cloud that fled in the morning now comes to his sight once more comes blushing, yet still comes on-comes burning with blushes, yet hastens, and clings to his side. What we miss most in Miss Findlater's paper is a sense of the comparative unimportance of descriptive writing. She concludes her paper by expressing the belief that the younger men of the new school of writing may yet produce classics. True, but Miss Findlater has been talking about little beyond style, as applied to descriptions of scenery; and it is certain that this is not a basis of immortality. The masterpieces of fiction take their rank by virtue of qualities which are hardly hinted at in Miss Findlater's paper. In fact, to discuss the art of description apart from creation and insight is a rather dangerous proceeding. Mr. Crane's book, for instance, has substance and insight, and these are more important to it than its diction. Novels are not judged by their backgrounds. They live by their interpretations of human character, and that is why Scott's interpolated descriptions do not matter, and are even liked for their placidity. As candidates for the classical shelves, our young writers need something before style; even thought, penetration, and abundance. The Amateur Critic. [To this page we invite our readers to contribute criticism, favourable or otherwise, of books new and old, or remarks on striking or curious passages which they may meet with in their reading. No communication, we would point out, must exceed 300 words.] On the Abuse of Dialect. A WRITER in the ACADEMY has justly given high praise to On Trial as a work of art, prophesying that in years to come, when the popular fourth-rate novels of the moment are forgotten, the work of "Zack" and of Walter Raymond will be remembered. But to the West Country-man there is a wide difference between these two writers. The author of Two Men o' Mendip must be "Zummerzet" born and bred, and it would seem to be an absolute impossibility for him to make a mistake in the dialect. He can probably think in it with as much ease as in modern English. The village folk in his tender idylls and sombre tragedies are therefore convincing, not only by reason of their strongly-drawn characteristics and individuality, but also because their speech is true to nature. The charm of their quaint sayings goes straight home to the hearts of all dwellers in the West, and although it may be contended that this does not add to the literary or artistic value of the stories, I cannot but think that the writing of fiction in a dialect which never existed, save in the imagination of the author, must in some measure detract from their value. It is in this respect that "Zack," with so many others, offends. The others do not matter. It is not necessary to read their novels. But it is a real loss when the power and beauty of a work are made as nought by the unskilful handling of the dialect. Life is Life contains fewer errors than On Trial, though the reader will be brought up sharply now and again by some Midland or North-country expression never heard in the West. As a rule the swing of the dialect is true, and that is the chief thing. But in On Trial it is all wrong. The groundwork certainly is Devon, and there is a hint of Somerset which is also admissible in an Exmoor story. But why will "Zack scatter over her pages such words as "happen," "main,' "liefer," and "alles"? The last is particularly aggravating, and its continual occurrence is enough in itself to destroy the Devonshire atmosphere of the book. It should be either "alwes" or "alwa-a-ys," with the accent on the second syllable. The negatives, too, betray the unpractised ear. "Her'll no profit may be Scotch, but it is not Devonshire. These are a few isolated examples, and may seem of small account, but to a West Country reader the murdering of his beloved dialect is as irritating as the murdering of the Queen's English must be to one who has a keen delight in style. "Zack" is not dependent on any one form of expression. She is an artist, and should work in a medium she understands. She can write pure English, even if she cannot master the Devonshire dialect, and will, perhaps, one day give us an unspoiled work of art. Blackmore and Walter Raymond are unrivalled in their use of the West Country speech, and for an example of the restrained suggestion of dialect Hardy's Wessex folk are unapproachable. The author never tortures the language with strange spelling, making it difficult for the uninitiated to understand; and yet by little turns of speech he suggests the intonation and the rhythm which, after all, are the chief features of dialect. I bought it. In 1895 I had borrowed this book from Mudie's, and I see now the little heath, with its brambles and sandpits, and its little overflowing ponds that made skies in the grass, where I read the burning, sensuous thoughts and flashing atheisms of the author of Salammbo. Hugo, the Goncourts, Chateaubriand, were with me, and it seemed that only Frenchmen could write. A couple of horses, out to graze, moved off slowly as I read, and seemed always gravely keeping their distance. Over yonder hedge stretched the miles of Essex marsh; beyond these the Maplin Sands, and then the blue, dangerous sea, with the light-ships. Seldom is the topography of reading logical or appropriate. Therein lies its charm. I first read Jane Austen in the window-seat of a Cornish farmhouse on a wild day. Cape Cornwall loomed out of the wrack, and retired; and, far away over the Atlantic, rain-storms moved slowly, like squadrons on a plain. I wonder whether my preference of Ann Elliot over all Jane Austen's heroines was assured in that hour? Such experiences are the marriages of the mind, and they never fade. Never do I think of Carlyle but I am walking up and down a York playground. Down there, over the lawn, a football match is writhing. But I walk up and down with my book-my head in the clouds-and the Minster bells, chiming the quarter, set golden accents on the words of the Sage: "Came it never over thee like the gleam of preternatural eternal Oceans, like the voice of old Eternities, far-sounding through thy heart of hearts?" W. Inkhorn Terms. No doubt Stevenson's work is responsible for a good deal of the made writing of the present day, as the contributor of the article in the ACADEMY for this week seems to suggest. But the practice of fine writing is of tolerable antiquity, and one can guess how such work will be valued in the future when one looks back, for instance, on the work of the Euphuists which followed John Lyly's famous book three hundred years ago. One cannot help deploring that there should be such a lack of thought in the work of Stevenson's imitators, for he never descended to mere verbiage. The following passage in Thomas Wilson's System of Rhetoric, published in 1553, might be quoted and practised, I think, with some effect at the present time: Among other lessons, this should first be learned that we never affect any strange inkhorn terms, but to speak as is commonly received; neither seeking to be over fine, nor yet living over careless; using our speech as most men do, and ordering our wits as the fewest have done. Some seek so far for outlandish English, that they forget altogether their mother's language. And I dare swear this, if some of their mothers were alive they were not able to tell what they say, and yet these fine English clerks will say that they speak in their mother tongue if a man should charge them with counterfeiting the king's English. JAMES POSTLETHWAITE. Superfine English, THE article on "Made Writing" in the ACADEMY for this week reminds one of a comment on R. L. Stevenson's work which appeared in one of the daily newspapers at the time of his death. The writer claimed that Stevenson had even influenced the journalist, who now found time to put some finish into his work. It was a good influence-for there is some truth in the contention-but it is to be feared that it also had some doubtful effects. Stevenson, who loved to write about his work, has been the cause of sending a whole host of young men down a remarkably steep place, somewhat with the same result as did John Lyly three hundred years ago with his Euphues. The man who has something to say is in no danger of making such a descent, but the mere stylist seems to follow Lewis Carrol's advice to "Take care of the sound and the sense will take care of itself" with a result such as you instance. A. BARTON, Correspondence. "Bulks Largely." SIR,-As my use of the words "bulks largely" in 1 hat Reminds Me has been twice mentioned in your columns, I beg leave to say-though I am not enamoured of the phrase, and though I know that anyone who writes in a newspaper is expected to lie down under any reproach of bad English-that I find the use of "bulk as a verb accepted without question in Murray's Dictionary. It is there attributed to writers who wrote in 1672, 1725, 1832, 1859 respectively; and among these is Carlyle, who wrote "bulked much larger." If the objection is to the adverb "largely " I fail to see that the use of it is more offensive than that of the adjective; and, if that matters, the adverb may seem to some more grammatical.—I am, &c., EDWARD RUSSELL. The Daily Post, Victoria-street, Liverpool: SIR,-While in no sense objecting to the general tenour of your critic's strictures on my book, How Soldiers Fight, I would like to correct a false impression he appears to suggest as to the reason why it saw the light to wit, my desire to catch the pennies of people who gloat over the present South African horror. As one who, maugre enthusiasm for blugginess,"" has sacrificed material gain to his aversion from our unhappy policy in the Cape, I think I have the right to ask you to allow me to deny this. an How Soldiers Fight, slight as the volume is, and whatever its shortcomings may be, represents not less than thirteen years' study of the history of warfare and its science. The writing of it was commenced in the year 1897; several of the articles (including that containing the phrases which your critic quotes) appeared in a popular magazine in the spring of 1898; and the whole book as it now stands was in the hands of the publisher at least three months before hostilities were declared between this country and the Boer Republics.-I am, &c., F. NORREYS CONNELL. Jan. 7, 1900. The S. S. McClure Co. SIR,-In your issue of January 6 it is stated that Mr. Walter H. Page, formerly of the Atlantic Monthly, together with other gentlemen whom you mention, is to become a member of the S. S. McClure Company. Permit me to say that these statements are entirely erroneous and quite misleading. There has been no change in the membership of the S. S. McClure Company, and no change is contemplated. Neither is the firm's name to be changed, in any way, as you state. Your paragraph, doubtless, refers to the operation of another concern.-I am, &c., ROBERT MCCLURE. 10, Norfolk-street, Strand, W.C. Our Weekly Prize Competitions. Result of No. 16 (New Series). LAST week we offered a prize for the best application of an anagram Thou Muse, who rulest verse and trope, [I. H. T., British Museum.] If Art prove cruel, and appear too proud, [F. E. W., London.] Ah! had I time, my teeming brain [M. A. W., Watford.] [H. M. S., Manchester.] The heart of earth is glad because of spring, My fame will flame aloft when pales To steal the least of your stale tales [R. B. J., West Kensington.] That enlist the mind, while treasures they unfold. [SCOTIA.] The ablest poet he whose fluent style On tables broad can show the stable strength Of bleats of thorn-caught ewe-lambs unaware. Mastering his pride, sets out King James, To breathe St. Germain's sheltering air. Replies received also from: J. D. A., Ealing; J. E. Y., Kilburn; W. S., Buxton; G. M. P., Birmingham; T. E. O.. Brighton; E. B., Liverpool; J. B. W., Hove; S. B., Malvern; G. E M., London; Rev. R. McC., Whitby; M. G. B., London; J. P. B. B, Liverpool; E. B., Liverpool; A. F., Sutton; K. P., Bangor; J. C. F., Elmdon; L. W., London; T. C., Buxted; D. M. S. S., London; K. de M., London; B. P., London; E. F. S, Bristol; A. S., Edinburgh; K. K., Belfast; H. G. H, Whitby; E. G. B., Liverpool; F. L., London; H. B. R., Bradford; M. F. L., Stafford; P. A. K., Dalkeith A. B. C., London H. H. C., Lee; J. A. B., Birmingham; H. C H., Manchester; J. L. H., West Norwood; Miss G., Reigate; T. M., Oundle; Miss C., London. : Prize Competition No. 17 (New Series). This week we return to more serious work. In a recent issue of the ACADEMY, a contributor to our "Amateur Critic " page, referring to a new edition of Earle's Microcosmography in the "Temple Classics" series, wrote: "It is to be hoped that this admirable gallery of seventeenth century character studies will have an extended popularity. Now is the time for some modern Theophrastus to arise and give us a new series of characters of our age. I venture to submit the following titles for some of the word-portraits of modern literary characters: The Good Authors'-Agent,' 'The Virtuous Publisher,' A Roaring Journalist,' 'The Downright Lady Novelist,' 'A Very Laureate,'A Mere Dull Contributor,' and 'A Grub-street Phantastique.' We offer a guinea for the best character-sketch of the kind indicated. It should not be imitative of Earle's archaic style, on the contrary it should be modern in subject and tone. Freedom of choice is given in the selection of a "character." We have no objection to competitors using the subjects suggested by our contributor. The length of a character-sketch must not exceed 200 words. RULES. Answers, addressed "Literary Competition, The ACADEMY, 43 Chancery-lane, W.C.," must reach us not later than the first post of Tuesday, January 16. Each answer must be accompanied by the coupon to be found in the first column of p. 40 or it cannot enter into competition. Competitors sending more than one attempt at solution must accompany each attempt with a separate coupon; otherwise the first only will be considered. We wish to impress on competitors that the task of examining replies is much facilitated when one side only of the paper is written upon. It is also important that names and addresses should always be given : we cannot consider anonymous answers. OUR SPECIAL PRIZE COMPETITIONS. Forty-four years have passed since this biography was first published as part of a collection of essays. It has long been out of print, and is now re-issued in a handsome volume, revised throughout, with the concluding chapter much enlarged. It is a good and sympathetic piece of work, none the worse for a certain old-fashioned air that hovers about its leisurely pages. As in his Life of Milton, Prof. Masson suggests the atmosphere of the time, and the conditions of the period in which Chatterton lived out his brief, unhappy life. (Hodder & Stoughton.) IN TUSE WITH THE INFINITE. By R. W. TRINE. This is one of those helpful, sympathetic little books about the conduct of life and the reality of the unseen world that are a particular characteristic of America. Their parent is Emerson; they champion no creed; they seek to unravel the "golden thread that runs through every religion in the world," and they are widely read. The volume is printed from the twenty-first American edition. Mr. Trine writes in clear, straightforward language, and his book makes for happiness and contentment. (Bell. 3s. 6d.) AN ETHICAL SUNDAY-SCHOOL. BY WALTER L. SHELDON. This sketch of an ethical Sunday school will be studied by social workers interested in the young. The Sunday school in question is at St. Louis, and the feature of the teaching is that boys and girls are first grounded in the rules of morality. "It has not been our purpose in any way definitely to antagonise religious beliefs. But instead of beginning our teaching with talks about God,' this latter feature comes in. at the end of the course, about the time when the young people are passing on into young manhood and young womanhood." The foundation of the teaching is a catechism, or "responsive exercise." The subjects illustrated in this sketch-it is confessedly no more-include the Bible, Habits, Home, the State, Religious Beliefs, &c. A suggestive little book, full of a new spirit. (Sonnenschein. 3s.) This book takes its place in the excellent series of "Handbooks of English Literature" which includes Dr. Garnett's The Age of Dryden and Mr. John Dennis's The Age of Pope. Mr. Seccombe's qualifications for treating of eighteenth century literature are well established, and he brings to his task feeling as well as knowledge. Thus ho deprecates the cold-shouldering which the eighteenth century has received from a long line of able critics who "have denounced the age unsparingly as dull and unprincipled, ugly and brutal." As to dulness, Mr. Seccombe thinks the allegation is arrived at "by the same process that many Englishmen pronounce German literature stupid, and by which George III. doubtless decided that much of Shakespeare was 'sad stuff.'" The period covered by Mr. Seccombe is 1748-1798; the book is written on the orderly plan of its predecessors, and concludes with a useful chronological table. (Bell & Sors. 3s. 6d.) A DIVIDEND TO LABOUR. BY NICHOLAS PAINE GILMAN. Profit-sharing systems, called in the United States Employers' Welfare Societies, are among the most significant of modern developments in commerce. Mr. Gilman's book is, as far as we know, the first survey of such systems in Germany, France, Holland and Belgium, Great Britain, and America. The book is an intelligent account of the rise of humane and "moralised" relations between employers and workers, and its interest for both these classes at the present day is great. The particulars given about many English firms are both minute and readable. (Gay & Bird. 7s. net.) The Catholic Directory, 190) NEW EDITIONS. A Soldier, True Stories of South Africa ..(Bell) . (Gill & Son) (Dent) each net 6 16 |