What Hope for the Literary Periodical?

In some obscure corner of the offices of George Newnes, publishers of such thriving periodicals as Woman's Own and Tit‐Bits, the dust that settled four years ago on the files of the Strand must now be settling on the long rows of dark‐green volumes that preserve the pages of John o' London's Weekly. Within a twelvemonth—for the public memory is short—it will be as much a ghost as T.P.s, Cassell's, Everyman, and many other literary weeklies that have gone before it into oblivion.