Although possible less piquant than Mae Murray's views on Companionate Marriage, Bruce Barton's opinions of native geniuses are equally fruitful as material for dinner conversation. With one fell swoop he couples Miss Loos with Mr. Galsworthy; if the second is a genius and Mr. Barton infers that he is, then so is the first.

Debates concerning the worth of contemporary litterateurs will never cease to be interesting. One likes to believe that one's own generation has produced an author worthy of a permanent niche in the hall of literary fame. On the other hand one is also assailed with frequent doubts, remembering the brevity of life as compared with the length of art.

It is extremely likely that neither the creator of the Forsytes nor the originator of Lorelei Lee will qualify as a genius, although, of course, Mr. Barton, as everyone else, is entitled to a belief that they will. Analysis of the word "genius" would determine to a large degree the number and character of those persons qualified to merit it. The writers now living whom the majority would grant the title may be counted on the fingers of one hand. One man alone would probably be a unanimous choice, and that one is Thomas Hardy, an Olympian who lingers on, cloistered in the secrecy of an English garden. Beside him how does Miss Loos, how does even Mr. Galsworthy, in spite of his splendid achievements, stand?

Each man, however, has the option of choosing his own Titans. It is in the selection of the universal and immortal Titans that the difficulty arises.