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IN all this rush for bargains in first editions, and the feverish anxiety on the part of many collectors, pseudo and genuine, there is a natural desire to look ahead, and to discover the big writers of to‐morrow, because it is their books of to‐day that will be the rare and valuable items of to‐morrow. But there's the conundrum It is easy enough, if we are rich enough, to buy, shall we say, Arnold Bennett's Old Wives Tale for £50 or more, because we are constantly learning how few copies there are about, and because it is really a good first edition to have. The same may be said of the rare things of Shaw, Barrie, Wells, Galsworthy and others. To select an unknown writer, and to say to oneself: his first book is going to be a notable and closely sought for book to‐morrow, is, indeed, a difficult task which few of us can encompass. Yet it is done. There are those happy ones who said it about Shaw in his early days, of Tomlinson in his, and they now possess real worth in two ways. I do not ever want to forget the literary value of these, and other writers: there is, indeed, value there; but there is the other way—the economic value. Some wiseacres, in their shrewd vision and intelligent and intellectual anticipation, hug themselves in bibliographic glee in that these two ways are theirs. Fads and fashions, conventions and popularisms, come up and pass these good people by. They blazed their own trail, and, in their quiet and contented way, they proceeded to their own contented end, and now they may justifiably revel in their own fore‐sightedness. Blessed are they among the growing army of book collectors.

The study aims to assess the relationship between cultural capital, human capital, psychological capital, social capital and perceived employability of management graduates.

The data was analysed through variance based partial least square (PLS) structural equation modelling on 505 management students by an online questionnaire. The predictive relevance of perceived employability was investigated with PLS predict approach. Further, importance-performance map analysis (IPMA) was applied to assess important and performing dimensions of perceived employability.

The results indicate that social capital was found to be the strongest predictor of graduates' perceived employability. The proposed conceptual model was found to have a moderate to high predictive relevance. IPMA results suggested that investment in psychological capital leads to higher return in perceived employability of management graduates.

Data was collected using purposive sampling and confined to university students only.

Findings of the study provide empirical inferences in support of human capital, social capital and social cognitive theory. Practical implications offer important inputs to policy makers, higher educational institutes, career counsellors and universities.

This study provides novel inputs by a comprehensive model of graduate capital to determine and predict perceived employability of graduates in emerging economy like India.

THIS is a subject which is supposed to be next to my heart. I am not sure it is quite so close. It may have been so at one time, but if ever I had a predilection for stories of travel it was soured long ago by literary editors. They have favoured me with so many travel books for reviewing that now the innocent face of another is enough to make me “reach back”; and a reviewer of books ought never to do that, on instinct.

THERE are, believe it or not, more public libraries in New York than there are poolrooms. To point this statement a little, it must be said that the libraries only just have the edge. It has always been implied, particularly by evangelical politicians and librarians alike, that libraries were or would be an improvement on gin‐shops, poolrooms or public houses. “Build a library” they proclaim, “and the indolent workers will leave the dens of iniquity”. There is, of course, not a jot of evidence that public libraries have had any effect on the sobriety or inebriety of the British, the Americans or the Swedes (three communities which have most felt the extended activities of librarianship). The licensing laws of this country and the (?) pro bona publica magistrates have effectively reduced public intake if not private surfeit. Our public houses are not reeling from the blows of dynamic librarianship, but from those of television.

AN Englishman sees at once, with the New England landscapes about him, that he could easily make his home there—in the exhilaration of the moment he clean forgets the quota and the fact that he isn't wanted, and Al Capone, prohibition, and the slump. New England is as far from Hollywood as Old England is. Its hills are of granite and the harsher rocks. Its woods, with trees reminiscent of home, yet certainly foreign, are still savage, and the Indian place‐names remind you that the frame‐houses are recent invaders. See it under snow and the sun, when the temperature is dropping to zero though the sky is blue, and you begin to understand why so much New England poetry and thought is as delicate and austere as a flower on stoney ground. These people, for generations, have had to keep resolutely watchful and on their guard, knowing they could survive only if they could get corn enough to husband. They have some residue from the memories of their forefathers of the stockaded settlement, when the Indians were lurking in the dark swamps without. Their hope has been bleak enough in their fight against granite and snow, and the seas of the North. Enduring through long and relentless winters, when nature was arctic, they made more of any sign of spring in the heart, or in the fields, than we should. Mysticism, a sense of relationship with a purpose behind the harsh and unforgiving show of things, is natural and consolatory to lonely folk who, as Thoreau somewhere remarks, have to get through hard times, like bears, by sucking their own paws. There is nothing else. With all against them, they kept watch at the stockade, waiting for morning. What is heard in the silence of the mind, while enduring in loneliness, can be expressed only in austere images. Says Emerson: “What generous beliefs console. The brave whom Fate denies the goal! If others reach it, is content; To Heaven's high will his will is bent.” Emerson was not ironic; those words occur in a tribute to his dead brother.

FROM Cape St. Vincent our steamer stood across for Casablanca, on the Atlantic seaboard of Morocco. She was small and short of cargo, therefore so sensitive to the weather that it would be wrong to say she made pleasure‐cruising all the time of sea traffic; she could not attempt to soften the harsher facts of commerce and life afloat. But she was enjoyable; she was seaworthy, candid, and a character, and her British seamen were the same as ever.

I was not in the library seeking help on the subject of Art, but the long row of books about pictures stopped me; and, not in the hope that I might learn to paint, I dipped into the volumes, and wondered. Would an artist who attended earnestly to the experts on the mortal parts of truth and beauty ever go near an easel? I think he might be in danger of paralysis through doubt. Perhaps he would turn to criticism. Of course the man who can do it, and knows he can, the fellow whose child‐like innocence is favoured now and then with what has been called the instant apprehension of totality (let nobody, please, ask what that means), that man, presumably, attends to the experts only on wet and blank days when he needs cheering up.