and inconstant motives," Mr. Steven- | cellences. As far as she is concerned, son has hardly attempted on his own the book is romance, and she only account, but his phrase applies well needs to be invested with the approto parts of the "Wrecker." "Kid-priate qualities. So long as she is helpnapped" is pure romance, and the less, yet bold, childishly innocent, yet "Master of Ballantrae 99 a noble exam- passionately loving, she is sufficiently ple of the dramatic novel. Compare depicted. David Balfour is the narraAlan Breck's fight in the round-house tor; we see events with his eyes, and of the brig Covenant with the duel of the brothers. In the first your whole attention is claimed for the action it we must be content to see Catriona with them too. The weak point is that the relations between David and the self; you want to see a "bonny lord advocate are eminently dramatic; fighter" at work. Well, here he is for and they practically fill up the first half you. Incidentally you learn what Da- of the book. Catriona is seldom on vid's feelings are when he kills a man the stage; for these scenes Miss Grant for the first time; but the fight is is better fitted, a capital dramatic figure. the thing. In the duel, actions are She is an immense advance upon merely the outward expression of pas- Alicia, who plays a very similar part sions; it is Henry Durie's words and in the "Black Arrow." But she ships looks that concern you, not the sword off David and Catriona to the Low play. The physical impression given Countries-drama ceases and the rois not less vivid -the candles gutter-mance begins. Now to pass from ing under the trees, a cramped space drama to romance is to pass from the of light in the vast blackness; but more complex to the simple, from the the interest is in men's minds, not in more developed to the less developed their swords. These two books it were form of art. It is a mistake too, in a superfluous to praise further; but dramatic novel, to make a principal "Catriona," which stands on the de-character the narrator, because we batable ground between romance and must get a merely partial view of the drama, has not so secure a footing. other personages. Mr. Stevenson has For once the author's cunning in con- to get over the difficulty the best way struction has failed him. All the earlier he can by making David intolerably chapters of the book are braced up judicial—the lad is eternally finding with expectation of the great trial; but excuses for the lord advocate. Macthe climax of the book is not the climax | kellar, who relates the story of the they lead up to. David's love affair" Master of Ballantrae," is a proper culminates charmingly after various revolutions; but the master interest of the opening, his enterprise to save James Stewart from the Campbells, is huddled away into inglorious confusion. I suspect Mr. Stevenson of a moral; he may have meant that David's matter-of-fact heroism was not the less heroic because he too was found no person to do so, because he has complete knowledge of the action, yet plays a subaltern part in its conduct. Thus out of the combination of two types in "Catriona," there results a certain incongruity. Yet I have not read a novel since that I liked so well. It remains to consider the three volumes of which Mr. Lloyd Osbourne is more than " a faithful failure." None part author; and these books present the less, it is true that the book the highly interesting problem: To snaps in sunder midway, much as the determine Mr. Osbourne's share in the "Wrecker" does; and the latter half work. For my own part, I give it up. forms a very decided anti-climax. It There is hardly a page in all three is different from the first half in kind; which Mr. Stevenson might not connot only that, but it is the weaker suc-ceivably have written; there are many ceeding the stronger. Ladies complain pages, many episodes, which one that Catriona is a doll, not a woman; would say Mr. Stevenson must have but this is to ask for incompatible ex-written, were it not for the fear of an appeal to those who know. Certain his personality disengages itself, he is passages, like the French scenes in the a past-master in slang (I pity the for"Wrecker," may, on external evi- eigner who attempts these books), with dence, be ascribed to him; and a a pronounced taste for shady charachighly competent critic has pointed out ters. The "Wrong Box" is, of course, in the Speaker that these passages not to be taken seriously; it is in the constitute the book's defect. Yet is it key of farce, very good farce too. not strange that Mr. Quiller Couch Complications follow one another with should not be able otherwise to distin- kaleidoscopic variety and swiftness, and guish the hands? For "Q" is not if there were a Mrs. John Wood in it, merely an admirable writer of fiction; it would be equal to the "Magistrate." he is the man among the younger But a pretty set of people we are ingroup of novelists who has followed vited to know; even Michael Finsbury, most implicitly Mr. Stevenson's advice the hero, is a smart lawyer, the terto imitate good models, and of all his ror of blackmailers, and a tower of imitations the cleverest is "Gabriel strength in breach of promise, but Foot, Highwayman," which might hardly to be mistaken for a gentleman. pass unchallenged beside "Markheim" The "Wrecker" is a work of a very itself. But though the fusion of parts different class. Not to be grateful for is so complete within the covers as to Pinkerton would be barbarous; and I defy an expert to separate them, there doubt if he is chiefly Mr. Stevenson's. is no danger of our confusing one of So long as he is a felt presence, I have these books with the genuine Steven- no quarrel with the book. But it is son. They do "something smack, a jumble, of delightful elements no something grow to." Nobody likes doubt, " a monster olio of attractions,' Lafitte to be laced with brandy, though like the Dromedary picnics; but still it were "warranted entire," like Pink- a jumble. Student life in Paris is erton's "Three Star," and that is why always interesting, but memory has got Mr. Osbourne has been a good deal the better of Mr. Stevenson, and we execrated. No book of Mr. Stevenson ever left a bad taste in my mouth; no book of the collaboration has ever failed to do so. The "Wrong Box" is funny enough, but it is gruesome jesting that turns on a putrefying corpse. The butchery on board the Flying Scud I have once re-read, and mean in future to skip; as for the "Ebbtide," no one ever pretended it was agreeable reading. The very first sentence gives have more of it than is necessary to develop Pinkerton and Dodd; and in a chapter about San Francisco the novel drops entirely, while Mr. Stevenson's reminiscences of the City of the Golden Gate furnish out a sublimated padding. For a man with so much of interest to tell and such a style to tell it in, the temptation must have been overwhelming; but it was a temptation to stray from his better ideals, against which the dramatic method of his own novels guarded him. Moreover, a study of speculators has its appropriate and superb adventure in the story of the wreck; but when we stray off to follow Mr. Norris Carthew, we lose touch with Pinkerton, and Pinkertou is the soul of the book. The "Ebbtide" is stronger work than its predecessors; had it borne any name but Mr. Stevenson's, it would have been hailed as a work of genius. As a piece of writing it shows in their extreme the merits and defects of this wonderful manner. Here are two in stances from the "Wrecker" and the "Ebbtide" respectively: The clouds hung low and black on the surrounding amphitheatre of mountains; rain had fallen earlier in the day, real tropic rain, a waterspout for violence. A French man-of-war was going out, homeward bound; she lay in the middle distance of the port, an ant-heap for activity. Surely this is a mannerism. But here is another sentence from the "Ebb tide: " It was now the fourth month completed, and still there was no change or sign of change. The moon, racing through a world of flying clouds of every size, shape, and density, some black as ink stains, some delicate as lawn, threw the marvel of her southern brightness over the same lovely and detested scene. Is not the effect of those epithets mag ical in beauty and suggestion? And is not "the fourth month " a trifle affected for April? Yet need I quote the page which describes the Farallone's entry into the lagoon? Whichever hand wove that intricate web of words was indeed a master in the craft. Even if we take it that just there Mr. Stevenson held the pen, Mr. Osbourne, though he may not equal such a passage yet indubitably possesses a manner not to be distinguished from that of the elder writer. But can he do this? Mackellar is the narrator: I groped my way down-stairs, and out at the door. From quite a far way off a sheen was visible, making points of bright tion. -so strange was the sight, so dire the fears it wakened. I looked right and left; the ground was so hard, it told no story. I stood and listened till my ears ached, but the night was hollow about me like an empty church; not even a ripple stirred upon the shore; it seemed you might have heard a pin drop in the county. Yet, as Mr. Quiller Couch has said in the criticism before referred to, Attwater is probably Mr. Stevenson's. Attwater is a fatalist, so, you remember, was Prince Florizel; the ending is a fresh chapter from some new Arabian Nights. But after that savage realism, what frame of mind are we in to meet Prince Florizel or any of his cousins? No doubt the authors wanted a contrast; the cockney with his vitriol in this fairyland of nature. But the opposition is too glaring, and him. The mind looks round for some as for Mr. Attwater, my gorge rises at relief, some decent human nature to rest on; and the best it gets is the drunken captain with his little Adar. He, at least, if he had died with the prayer for his children on his lips, would have died like a man; but he is spared to become a hysterical convert, holding his virtue on the absence of The temptation. would certainly have made Attwater intolerable, and the scene brutal beyond all bounds; but I should have preferred prompt fate for Captain Davis. other conclusion However, this is to be the last of the collaborations, we are told; and we shall, many of us, look forward with ness in the shrubbery; in so black a night no less expectation than curiosity to a it might have been remarked for miles; and I blamed myself bitterly for my incau- single-handed venture of Mr. Osbourne. How much more sharply when I But we cannot have him turning our reached the place! One of the candle- choicest vintage wine into a questionsticks was overthrown, and that taper able blend. The truth is, we have quenched. The other burned steadily by come to look to Mr. Stevenson to reitself, and made a broad space of light deem the tendencies of contemporary upon the frosted ground. All within that fiction; our debt to him cannot be circle seemed, by the force of contrast and measured by his influence on technical the overcharging blackness, brighter than skill. The highest praise due to him is dy bay. And there was the blood-stain in the midst; and a little way farther off Mr. owed to the spirit of his work. EveryHenry's sword, the pommel of which was where in it are present what he has of silver; but of the body, not a trace. My himself called "the radical qualities of He does heart thumped upon my ribs, the hair honor, humor, and pathos." stirred on my scalp, as I stood there staring not talk of a moral purpose, as is the at peace with himself and all the world; when, in other words, he has some spare cash in his pocket. Taking this as a happy augury, Dawson accosted him, and was received with characteristic heartiness. custom of most writers who sail near the bold Terence swaggering down the wind in matters of decency. No Bond Street, with his head thrown man is freer of prudery; yet the atmo- back, and his hat perched very much sphere of his characters, whether they on one side, as his habit is when he is do wrong or right, holds no infection. And though the South Seas send us these fruits of his restored health they never sent us more welcome merchandise — it is impossible, it would be ungracious, to forget that this man for years, during the long uphill labor of an art that to him at least did not come instinctively, strove with the ravages of disease; and yet never in all that time did he let despondency infect his writings with an unmanly note, nor uttered for himself or for humanity the voice of despair. STEPHEN GWYNN. From Temple Bar. I. "It's a year at least since I saw ye — and where have ye been hiding yourself all this time? And when will ye dine with me at the club? Name your own night, me dear fellow — any night ye like - would to-night suit ye? At eight sharp? There'll be half-a-dozen of us, and all of us friends, and what more could any man want?" Dawson excused himself, pleading a previous engagement, and after congratulating him on his recent good fortune, asked if it would be convenient for him to settle that little matter of the outstanding tenner. Terence's jaw fell, and his whole demeanor underwent a transformation as sudden and complete as a gorgeous firework when the combustibles are exhausted. SOME of you must surely know Terence O'Callaghan, and those of you that do will agree with me that we could better spare a better man, as the saying is, and join in hoping that his "Me dear fellow, me dear friend, shadow may never grow less. Good- why didn't ye ask me yesterday? Or natured in every sense of the word, even this morning? Then I could humorous, jovial, and hospitable, he have done it for ye; now it's imposrealizes the achievement in which so sible. I parted with the last sovereign many of his compatriots fail, of being no later than ten minutes ago at the as good a fellow as he seems. His top of this very street, and it's on generosity is proverbial; and if he is open to the imputation of occasional reluctance to meet the just demands of his creditors, he atones for it by an equal readiness to share his money, when he is in funds, with any friend who may be in need of it. It was only ing the crestfallen Dawson by the hand, the other day that I heard of a double- he swaggered on down the street. barrelled incident which comically Later in the afternoon Dawson saw illustrates both sides of his character in this respect. tick I'll have to go for the dinner this him on the steps of his club, the centre of a group whom he was entertaining with some extravagant sally or other, and obviously on the very best of terms with himself. A happy in A friend of mine, Dawson by name, having learnt that Terence had landed a clear £300 over an outsider, thought it would be a good opportunity to re-spiration struck him: he brushed coup a tenner which he had lent him five months before on the assurance that it should be repaid "within ten days at the very latest." He espied Terence's hand was deep in his hastily past, quickly turned, and shot the beaming Irishman with, "Can you lend me £10, Terence?" pocket on the instant, and pulling out a | black books the longest day ye live large roll of notes "Is it a tenner? With all the pleasure in life, me dear friend,” he said in a breath. "Five and five is ten," picking out two £5 notes and thrusting them into Dawson's hand; but are ye sure ten'll do ? Hadn't ye better make it twenty while ye're about it? There's plenty more where that came from, and shure ye're heartily welcome to the half of what I have." Dawson thanked him suitably, but said a tenner was all he wanted, and hurried off before it dawned on Terence how he had been tricked into paying his debt. Well, Terence and I are friends of many years' standing now, and he has often asked me to stay with him at his place in the old country, but one thing or another always prevented my availing myself of his hospitality until this time last year. The previous fifth of November, which is the anniversary of the day on which he first saw the light, I had entertained him at dinner; and over our postprandial cigar and whiskey and soda, he was so pressing in his invitation to me to come over and spend my Christmas at "The Castle" (pronounced "Cassel"), and so evidently sincere in his desire that I should do so, that I consented. "Then ye'll come on Christmas eve in time for dinner. Ye shall have the heartiest welcome in all Ireland, and ye'll stay over Christmas, and maybe till the New Year, which will be better still; and I'll give ye a reception that'll astonish ye, and the best cock shooting, though I say it who shouldn't, that ever yo've had in the whole of your life. There's one wood, which Dan writes me word he'd be scared to go into for fear of losing an eye with their bills. So give me your hand on that; and ye needn't bother to write or anything, for I'll be expecting ye and counting the hours till ye come. Only if ye're dead or dying, ye might send me a telegram, so that I may know ye can't come. But if ye play me false, me dearest friend, it's not me dear friend any longer ye'll be, but in me so that's a bargain now?" I assured him again that, bar sudden death, I should not fail to present myself punctually in time for dinner on Christmas eve; and thereupon we parted. II. THE following 24th December saw me on board the Milford and Waterford packet, bound for the latter port en route to the Castle (Cassel) my friend Terence's residence, which is situated in a wild part of the county of Tipperary. I am a bad sailor, and in the whole course of a wide and unfortuuate experience I never remember to have suffered so dreadfully from seasickness. Before we left Milford, a fellow-passenger, an Irish ecclesiastic of most affable and prepossessing manuers, prevailed on me to try an unfailing antidote. "The sea promises to be rough," he said, "but if you do as I advise you, I will guarantee that you'll be no more seasick than if it were as smooth as a mill-pond. Just eat a hearty meal, and drink with it as much Guinness's stout as ever you can hold. Then you will lie down and go asleep, and it's odds but what when you wake you'll be safe in Waterford Harbor." I followed his advice to the letter; but, though I do not doubt that it was given in good faith, it did not turn out happily for me. True, that very soon after the meal, which I consumed in strict accordance with my worthy mentor's directions, I succeeded in falling asleep, and on waking found that we were in smooth water. So far so good, except that I also found that I had a racking headache, which was a feature in the programme that I had not been led to expect. But worse remained behind; for while I was mentally debating which might be the graver evil, seasickness or an aggravated headache, I suddenly realized that I had an ample opportunity of comparing them both, side by side, so to speak, for the vessel began to pitch, and roll, and toss, and jump, and heave, and wrig |