not feel to be sympathetic or stimulating; and on the other hand, it
would show us how much this author or that has been sustained by the
signal good fortune which put into his hands once at least the one
subject best suited to his method and his temperament. In time, it
would train the critical reader in the habit of distinguishing between
theme and treatment; and it would encourage him to face the task of
weighing the merits of each of these separately.

Altho we cannot insist that the novelists of the twentieth century shall
undergo this ordeal, we may amuse ourselves by guessing at the result if
the test had been applied to the novelists of the centuries that have
gone before. There is no difficulty in picking out a plot familiar to
all of us now and universal in its appeal--a plot which any story-teller
of any age might have chosen to develop in his own fashion. And perhaps
no story is better fitted for this experiment than the heart-rending
tale which Shakspere took from the Italian and transfigured by his
genius into the immortal tragedy of 'Romeo and Juliet.' Quarrels between
rival families have been frequent enough, and young couples there have
always been who loved wilfully in spite of a heritage of hate. There is
a never-fading enchantment in the story of their struggles, whatever the
country where they lived and died, and whatever their station in
society.

How would this tale have been told in the eighteenth century by the
author of 'Robinson Crusoe'? by the author of 'Clarissa Harlowe'? by the
author of 'Tom Jones'? by the author of 'Tristram Shandy'? How would it
have fared in the nineteenth century if Dickens had been attracted to
it, or Thackeray? How would it be presented now in the twentieth century
if it should be chosen again by Mr. Howells or by Mr. James? We need not
ask what Mark Twain would do with it, because he has shown us in the