Yuki, though an outcast from her own people--the conventions seen
to be as imperative in Tokyo as in Philadelphia--because of her
half-caste origin, is justly Japanese in what makes her
loveliest. There is a quite indescribable freshness in the art
of this pretty novelette--it is hardly of the dimensions of a
novel--which is like no other art except in the simplicity which
is native to the best art everywhere. Yuki herself is of a
surpassing lovableness. Nothing but the irresistible charm of
the American girl could, I should think keep the young men who
read Mrs. Watana's book from going out and marrying Japanese
girls. They are safe from this, however, for the reason
suggested, and therefore it can be safely commended at least to
young men intending fiction, as such a lesson in the art of
imitating nature as has not come under my hand for a long while.
It has its little defects, but its directness, and sincerity, and
its felicity through the sparing touch make me unwilling to note
them. In fact, I have forgotten them.


VI.

I wish that I could at all times praise as much the literature of
an author who speaks for another colored race, not so far from us
as the Japanese, but of as much claim upon our conscience, if not
our interest. Mr. Chesnutt, it seems to me, has lost literary
quality in acquiring literary quantity, and though his book, "The
Marrow of Tradition," is of the same strong material as his
earlier books, it is less simple throughout, and therefore less
excellent in manner. At his worst, he is no worse than the
higher average of the ordinary novelist, but he ought always to