subjects. Those included here will, I hope, prove a pleasant contrast.

ROBERT ROSS




HOW THEY STRUCK A CONTEMPORARY


There is such a thing as robbing a story of its reality by trying to make
it too true, and _The Black Arrow_ is so inartistic as not to contain a
single anachronism to boast of, while the transformation of Dr. Jekyll
reads dangerously like an experiment out of the _Lancet_. As for Mr.
Rider Haggard, who really has, or had once, the makings of a perfectly
magnificent liar, he is now so afraid of being suspected of genius that
when he does tell us anything marvellous, he feels bound to invent a
personal reminiscence, and to put it into a footnote as a kind of
cowardly corroboration. Nor are our other novelists much better. Mr.
Henry James writes fiction as if it were a painful duty, and wastes upon
mean motives and imperceptible 'points of view' his neat literary style,
his felicitous phrases, his swift and caustic satire. Mr. Hall Caine, it
is true, aims at the grandiose, but then he writes at the top of his
voice. He is so loud that one cannot bear what he says. Mr. James Payn
is an adept in the art of concealing what is not worth finding. He hunts
down the obvious with the enthusiasm of a short-sighted detective. As
one turns over the pages, the suspense of the author becomes almost
unbearable. The horses of Mr. William Black's phaeton do not soar
towards the sun. They merely frighten the sky at evening into violent
chromolithographic effects. On seeing them approach, the peasants take