Those who contemplate attending the Annual Conference of the Library Association at Portsmouth would be well advised to secure their accommodation immediately if they have not done so already. The demands upon hotel space have been very much greater than even sanguine members anticipated, and already we hear of people being refused rooms because they are no longer available. Portsmouth, of course, is the naval centre of the Empire, and that common‐place piece of knowledge is magnetic, nevertheless. There are other attractions in Portsmouth. Its situation, practically adjacent to the Isle of Wight, with all its charms, on one side, and its nearness to the New Forest and the belt of Hampshire towns on the west, and on the east with such places as Chichester, Selsey, Bognor, Worthing, and Brighton make it, from the location point of view, of special interest. There is the further call of the literary associations of Portsmouth. Every book on the Navy has something about it, as those of us who read W. H. G. Kingston, Captain Marryatt and many another sea‐author can testify. Perhaps the most important author who came out of Portsmouth was not a sea‐writer but the son of a naval outfitter—George Meredith. Pernaps to a post‐War generation he seems old‐fashioned, involved, unnecessarily intricate, precious, and possesses other faults. This is a superficial point of view, and certainly in his poems he rises to heights and reaches depths that are denied to most writers of to‐day. In any case, The Ordeal of Richard Feverel and Beauchamp's Career, to say nothing of The Egoist, are among the great novels of the English language.
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