seltzer presently reconciles him to his lot, and restores the
equilibrium of the universe. He loves the people at a distance, can
talk prettily about the sturdy son of the soil, who is the core and
marrow of the nation, etc.; but he avoids contact with him, and, if
chance brings them into contact, he loves him with his handkerchief
to his nose.

I may be pardoned for having identified Alexander Kielland with
this type with which I am very familiar; and he convinced me,
presently, that I had done him injustice. In his next book, the
admirable novel _Garman and Worse_, he showed that his democratic
proclivities were something more than a mood. He showed that he
took himself seriously, and he compelled the public to take him
seriously. The tendency which had only flashed forth here and there
in the "novelettes" now revealed its whole countenance. The
author's theme was the life of the prosperous bourgeoisie in the
western coast-towns; he drew their types with a hand that gave
evidence of intimate knowledge. He had himself sprung from one of
these rich ship-owning, patrician families, had been given every
opportunity to study life both at home and abroad, and had
accumulated a fund of knowledge of the world, which he had allowed
quietly to grow before making literary drafts upon it. The same
Gallic perspicacity of style which had charmed in his first book
was here in a heightened degree; and there was, besides, the same
underlying sympathy with progress and what is called the ideas of
the age. What mastery of description, what rich and vigorous colors
Kielland had at his disposal was demonstrated in such scenes as the
funeral of Consul Garman and the burning of the ship. There was,
moreover, a delightful autobiographical note in the book,
particularly in boyish experiences of Gabriel Garman. Such things