tales of adventure into the group of portrayals of character. By
bestowing upon it a human interest, he raised it in the literary scale.
There is no need now to exaggerate the merits of this feat or to suggest
that Poe himself was not capable of loftier efforts. Of course the 'Fall
of the House of Usher,' which is of imagination all compact, is more
valid evidence of his genius than the 'Murders in the Rue Morgue,' which
is the product rather of his invention, supremely ingenious as it is.
Even tho the detective-story as Poe produced it is elevated far above
the barren tale of mystery which preceded it and which has been revived
in our own day, it is not one of the loftiest of literary forms, and its
possibilities are severely limited. It suffers to-day from the fact that
in the half century and more since Poe set the pattern it has been
vulgarized, debased, degraded by a swarm of imitators who lacked his
certainty of touch, his instinctive tact, his intellectual
individuality. In their hands it has been bereft of its distinction and
despoiled of its atmosphere.

Even at its best, in the simple perfection of form that Poe bestowed on
it, there is no denying that it demanded from its creator no depth of
sentiment, no warmth of emotion, and no large understanding of human
desire. There are those who would dismiss it carelessly, as making an
appeal not far removed from that of the riddle and of the conundrum.
There are those again who would liken it rather to the adroit trick of a
clever conjurer. No doubt, it gratifies in us chiefly that delight in
difficulty conquered, which is a part of the primitive play-impulse
potent in us all, but tending to die out as we grow older, as we lessen
in energy, and as we feel more deeply the tragi-comedy of existence. But
inexpensive as it may seem to those of us who look to literature for
enlightenment, for solace in the hour of need, for stimulus to stiffen
the will in the never-ending struggle of life, the detective tale, as