mable service. . . . Asleep or awake, in rest or in motion, grave or gay, Agrippina is always beautiful; and it is better to be beautiful than to fetch and carry from the rising to the setting of the sun. . . . Schopenhauer has said that the reason domestic pets are so lovable and so helpful to us is because they enjoy, quietly and placidly, the present moment. . . . Life holds no future for them and consequently no care; if they are content, their contentment is absolute; and our jaded and wearied spirits find a natural relief in the sight of creatures whose little cups of happiness can so easily be filled to the brim. . . . Oh, you who strive to relieve your overwrought nerves, and cultivate power through repose, watch the exquisite languor of a drowsy cat, and despair of imitating such perfect and restful grace."
Recent Fiction.[1]
"David Balfour," Mr. Stevenson's new novel, is a sequel to "Kidnapped," but suffers less than do most sequels from comparison with their predecessors. The years that separate the two divisions of the romance have brought to the author a more compact and highly-wrought style, and do not seem to have impaired his powers of invention. Alan Breck appears from time to time in the course of the narrative, but David is the real hero, and the story at last finds a heroine in the altogether adorable Catriona. Those who have missed the ewigweibliche from Mr. Stevenson's books will have no cause for complaint this time, for "David Balfour" is a story of love as well as of adventure. The Scots vocabulary makes the book rather troublesome reading; and one gets a little weary of the grammatical mannerisms—the progressive presents and future perfects—of its speech. Mr. Stevenson's realism is a little too uncompromising in these respects. But the principal characters are certainly triumphs of delineation; David and Catriona, James More and the Lord Advocate, are firmly and consistently drawn. A prefatory summary of "Kidnapped" breaks the reader's plunge, and spares him the re-reading of the earlier romance—although he might do worse than that.
In writing "The Rebel Queen," Mr. Besant evidently had two objects in view: to exalt the Hebrew, and to maintain the thesis that a wife should obey, as well as love and honor, her husband. The first of these objects he has sought to accomplish by an appeal to the historic sense and to the streak of mysticism found in most minds. Where George Eliot failed Mr. Besant could hardly hope to succeed; and the Wandering Jew of his narrative, although a finely conceived and impressive figure, does not seem to be a typical embodiment of his race, and does not quite persuade us of the possession, by that race in general, of an undue share in the moral and intellectual energies of mankind. The persistence of the type is the really striking fact about the Hebrew, and Mr. Besant brings that out very clearly. As for the author's success in his second aim, we will not venture upon an opinion. He will doubtless hear from his feminine readers in outspoken and unequivocal protest upon that subject. The Cause of Woman finds many amazons in these latter days, and they will not miss so excellent an opportunity for a skirmish. Mr. Besant's story is, taken simply as a story, varied in interest and extremely entertaining. But it has been too easily written to have any lasting value.
"The Prince of India" has been heralded for some time by the newspapers, and the methods employed have been not unlike those made familiar to newspaper readers by the enterprise of theatrical advance-agents. Descriptions of the plot, anecdotes of the writer, and curiosity-provoking extracts from the text, have all taken their turn, and had their share in preparing the newspaper-reading mind for the advent of the great work. We have even been told that President Garfield, in sending the author to Constantinople as American minister, had for his real object the provision of leisure and opportunity for the preparation of a historical romance. That romance has now appeared, and its two thick volumes are at least a monument to the author's industry. The essence of the story may be briefly set forth. Our old friend, the Wandering Jew, who has done such veteran service to poets and novelists, is once more brought to light, and, in the character of a mediaeval Monte Cristo, is represented as seeking to organize a Parliament of Religions in fifteenth century Constantinople. First seeking the support of the Greek emperor for his project, but failing to secure it, he has recourse to the Turk, and urges the young Mohammed on to the conquest of the capital. This plot is, of course, except for the actual historical episode of the conquest, too unreal to be very impressive; at least, General Wallace is far from having the imaginative power necessary to make it impressive. The Wandering Jew comes to be very tiresome after a while, and the reader soon learns to skip his interminable harangues upon religious unity. His argument for a universal faith
- ↑ David Balfour. By Robert Louis Stevenson. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons.
The rebel Queen. By Walter Besant. New York: Harper & Brothers.
The prince of India; or, Why Constantinople Fell. By Lew. Wallace. Two volumes. New York: Harper & Brothers.
Not Angels Quite. By Nathan Haskell Dole. Boston: Lee & Shepard.
The Complaining Millions of Men. By Edward Fuller. New York: Harper & Brothers.
The Cliff Dwellers. By Henry B. Fuller. New York: Harper & Brothers.
The Tutor's Secret. By Victor Cherbuliez. New York: D. Appleton & Co.
The Faience Violin. By Champfleury. Translated by William Henry Bishop. New York: D. Appleton & Co.
The Private Life. Lord Beaupré. The Visits. By Henry James. New York: Harper & Brothers.
Nowadays, and Other Stories. By George A. Hibbard. New York: Harper & Brothers.
