CRITICAL COMMENT
THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON AND SUSANNA
By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS
No one knows when story telling began. It is as old as the human race. It goes beyond history into the unknown darkness of the past. Some of the stories we still read originated far back in primitive life. Such stories, that have been told for many years, and are common to the race, we call “Folk-Lore” stories.
Every Folk-Lore story probably began in the simplest form. Something happened,—and someone tried to tell about the event. If the story was interesting enough to repeat, it gradually became exaggerated. Thus the germ of The Adventures of Simon and Susanna is the common-enough story of a successful elopement in which the cleverness of the young people,—of the girl in particular,—eluded the pursuing father. Their means of making their escape must have been quite ordinary, but when the story was told again and again,—if this really is a Folk-Lore story, the cleverness was exaggerated and gradually turned into magic.
In reading this story we come into close touch with the origin of all story telling. We see one man, a common, ignorant man, telling a story to an interested listener, and undoubtedly “putting in a few extra touches” to make the story more wonderful. The primitive stories must always have been presented orally, and at first to few listeners. Then came the days of story tellers for the crowd, and finally the written story.
The author of The Adventures of Simon and Susanna, Joel Chandler Harris, retold many folk-lore stories. He was born in Georgia in 1848, and died there in 1908. He devoted all his mature life to journalism and literature. His many books about Uncle Remus presented that person so clearly that the good-natured negro story teller has almost ceased to be merely a book-character, and has become a living reality.
Every story that Mr. Harris wrote has plot interest, but it also has pith and wisdom.
THE CROW-CHILD
By MARY MAPES DODGE
The ordinary “Fairy Story” is a developed form of the “Folk-Lore” story. Instead of having the roughness, and naïve simplicity characteristic of primitive ways of story telling it has polish, and definite literary or moral purpose. It is not a mere wonder story told in the first person by some definite individual, and made by the exaggeration of an actual event. It is a written rather than a spoken story, based, in the remote past, on some actual event, but now told in the third person, and directed strongly to an artistic, literary purpose,—frequently to a moral purpose. In every way the best type of “Fairy Story” is a distinct advance towards developed story telling.
The Crow Child is not an actual “Fairy Story,” but it illustrates remarkably well the way in which “Fairy Stories” developed. Every event in The Crow Child is strictly true, but much of the story appears to be based on magic. A true story of this sort, told in primitive times, and retold again and again, with new emphasis placed on the elements of wonder, would have developed into a pure story of wonder,—a “Fairy Story.”
The author of this original, and modern, “Fairy Story,” Mary Mapes Dodge, was born in New York in 1838. For many years she was the efficient editor of St. Nicholas, a young people’s magazine of the highest type. In addition to her editorial work she wrote many books for young people, the most famous being Hans Brinker, or the Silver Skates. She died in 1905.
THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL
By LAFCADIO HEARN
Very often the earliest stories are not crude accounts of ordinary events, exaggerated enough to be worthy of note. They are poetic narratives founded on matters of deep significance in the life of a people. All primitive people are poetic, because they see the world through the eyes of emotion rather than of scientific understanding. They also have an instinctive recognition of fundamental nobility. Therefore we have such stories as the legends of Hiawatha, in which an ideal man is presented, bringing benefit to his kind. Any story that is handed down from generation to generation, and that presents as facts matters that have no other verification, is legendary. The highest type of legendary story is one that presents high ideals.
The Chinese, whose literature is exceedingly ancient, have always been an idealistic people. It is not surprising that they should create such an appealing legendary tale as The Soul of the Great Bell. Although the elements are quite simple the story has been turned from being a simple account of tragic self-sacrifice, and has become an explanation of the music of the bell, as well as an example of filial devotion. The preservation of such stories shows natural appreciation of short story values.
The present rendering of The Soul of the Great Bell undoubtedly far surpasses the Chinese version. The story has been appropriately introduced, amplified and given added poetic and dramatic effect by careful choice of words, descriptive passages, suspense, onomatopœia, and climax.
Lafcadio Hearn was born in 1850, of Irish and Greek parentage, in Leucadia, of the Greek Ionian Islands. At 19 he came to America and engaged in newspaper work, living at various times in New Orleans and in New York. From 1891 until his death in 1904 he made his home in Japan, where he became a Buddhist and a naturalized Japanese citizen under the name of Yakumo Koizumi. He learned to know the oriental peoples as few others have known them. His literary work is marked by poetic treatment, and an atmosphere of the Orient. He wrote Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan, Out of the East, Some Chinese Ghosts, and many other books on oriental subjects.
Ta-chung sz’. Temple of the Bell. A building in Pekin, holding the bell that is the subject of the story. The bell was made in the reign of Yong-lo, about 1406 A. D. It weighs over 120,000 pounds, and is the largest bell known to be in actual use.
Kwang-chan-fu. The Broad City. Canton.
THE TEN TRAILS
By ERNEST THOMPSON SETON
The fable and the proverb are much alike in that both are highly condensed, and both are told to instruct. The short, direct, applied narratives known as “Fables” are among the oldest ancestors of the short story. Even in the most ancient times there were fables, those of Æsop having been told perhaps as early as the sixth century, B.C. Many familiar fables have animals for their characters, their known characteristics needing no comment. Thus the fox and the wolf appear frequently, their mere names suggesting traits of character. The fable, as a type of wisdom literature, is always short, simple, and emphatic. It always emphasizes marked human characteristics, and usually ends with a “moral” that adds to the emphasis. The influence of the fable helped to make the story short, condensed, vivid, pointed, and based on character.
The Ten Trails is a modern imitation of older fables. Its directness, simplicity, clear story, and appended moral are characteristic of the type.
Ernest Thompson Seton, born in England in 1860, has written many stories in which he presents animal life with appealing sympathy. He has devoted himself particularly to cultivating a love for outdoors life, and for animate nature. Wild Animals I Have Known, The Biography of a Grizzly, and similar books, are full of original interest.
WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO
By COUNT LEO TOLSTOI
An allegory is a story that has an underlying meaning or moral. It is in some ways an expanded fable, with the meaning understood rather than presented. The chief difference between the “Fable” and the “Allegory” lies in length and complexity of treatment, and in the way of presenting the underlying meaning. The “Fable” is short and usually appends the moral. The “Allegory” is usually long, and tells the story in such a way that the reader is sure to grasp the meaning without further comment. The purpose, as in the “Fable,” is double,—to tell a story, and to teach a truth. All literatures have numerous allegories, Spenser’s Faerie Queene, Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, and Tennyson’s Idylls of the King being notable examples in English literature.
Where Love Is, There God Is Also is an allegorical story of a pleasing type that is often found in our present-day literature. The story has such evident good humor, appreciation of the needs of humble life, and such an unselfish spirit of sympathy that it appeals to any reader. Its strong realism, effective plan, and clear, emphatic presentation make the story one of the best of its kind.
Count Leo Tolstoi, born at Yasnaya Polyana, in Russia, in 1828, and dying at Astapovo in 1910, is one of the greatest and most interesting figures in all modern literature. The story of his career, with its surprising changes from the life of a nobleman to that of a peasant, from a life given over to pleasure to a life devoted to the moral uplift of a whole people, is even more astonishing than any of the stories he told in his many works of fiction. Student, soldier, traveler, lover of social life, philosopher, reformer, and self-sacrificing idealist, he developed a personality unique in the extreme, and became a world-wide influence for good. His best known novels are War and Peace, and Anna Karenina. In them, as in all that he wrote, the notable qualities are realism, dramatic force, original thought, and courageous expression of beliefs.
Grivenki. A grivenka is 10 copecks, or about five cents.
WOOD-LADIES
By PERCEVAL GIBBON
There is a strange fascination about the supernatural, for men of all races instinctively believe that they are surrounded by a world of good and evil that lies just beyond their touch. Some have thought the woods and mountains peopled with unseen divinities; others have believed in strange gnomes and dwarfs who are thought to live in the depths of the earth; some have believed in pale ghosts, specters that move by night, haunting the scenes of unattoned crime. One of the most pleasing beliefs is that in fairies, or “Little Folk,”—unseen, beautiful, and usually beneficent beings who live in woodland places and are endowed with all powers of magic.
Stories of the unseen world that may lie about us have appeared in all ages. Sometimes such stories have been beautiful and fanciful, and sometimes filled with the spirit of fear. In the latter part of the eighteenth century and the first of the nineteenth it became quite the fashion to tell stories of ghosts and strange terrors. Ernst Hoffmann and Ludwig Tieck in Germany set an example that was followed by Washington Irving, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Edgar Allan Poe in this country, as well as by many other writers since their time.
There is another and more healthful attitude of mind. Instead of the horror of Gothic romance it presents the fancy of Celtic thought. In stories of this gentler type one does not feel that the unseen world is wholly to be feared.
Such a story is Wood-Ladies, in which the spirit of Celtic fancy has found full play. In this story everything is woodsy, delicate, half-seen, as though one were treading the very edges of fairyland without knowing it. Mother-love fills the whole story and gives it a noble beauty. And yet, in a certain sense, the child, conscious of another world, is wiser than the mother. A story of this sort, dealing with the supernatural, rests the mind like sweet music.
Perceval Gibbon was born in Carmarthenshire in South Wales, in 1870. He has spent much time in the merchant service on British, French, and American vessels. He has done unusual work as war correspondent. Among his literary works are Souls in Bondage, The Adventures of Miss Gregory, The Second Class Passenger, and a collection of Poems. His work is marked by originality, and a clever mastery of technique.
ON THE FEVER SHIP
By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
Love is so essential a part of life that it must also be a part of literature; therefore romantic love has been a leading literary theme for centuries. Some of the world’s greatest stories of love flash into our minds when we repeat the names of Juliet, Rosalind, Portia, Elaine, and Evangeline. Such stories suggest depth of emotion, charm, womanly worth, pure and innocent love, or a love that lasts beyond the years. In the days of chivalry the knight bore his lady’s token, and fought in her honor. to-day men love just as deeply, and fight for land and hearth and sweetheart just as truly as men did in the long ago.
On the Fever Ship is the story of a modern knight,—a soldier who went into his country’s war, bearing in his heart the memory of one he loved. When he is wounded, and lies fever-stricken on the deck of a transport, he does not think at all of himself but only of the one who is far away. That is the story, an abiding love in absence, with dreams at last made true.
The author makes the story notably strong and tender. Without formal introduction he presents the realistic picture of the fever ship,—the inexplicable monotony, the dream-world, the child-likeness of the wounded man’s life. Old scenes and faces come before the wounded soldier in tantalizing dreams. Little by little the author draws us closer into sympathy with the central figure. He makes us share in the man’s intensity of feeling. We feel the force of the strong episode of the somewhat unfeeling nurse, and become indignant in the man’s behalf. Finally, lifted by the power of the story, we rise with it into full comprehension of the depth of the hero’s love. Then, quickly and with artistic effect, the story comes to an end. Simply, surely, strongly, with real sentiment instead of sentimentality, it has made us realize the all-powerful force of love.
The story is written with much sympathy and evident tenderness of spirit, and is so touched with real pathos, that it comes to us as a transcription of some real story the author had found in his work as war correspondent.
Richard Harding Davis was one of the most romantic figures in recent literary life. As war correspondent he saw fighting in the Spanish-American War, the Boer War, the Japanese-Russian War, and the Great War. He traveled in all parts of Europe, in Central and in South America, and in the little-visited districts of the Congo in Africa. He saw the magnificent coronation ceremonies of the King of Spain, the King of England, and the Czar of Russia. He attended gorgeous state occasions in various lands. He also lived the hard field and camp life of a soldier and an explorer.
He wrote a number of extraordinarily good short stories, several stirring novels,—among which are The King’s Jackal, Ransom’s Folly, The White Mice, and The Princess Aline,—several plays, and a number of works of travel and war correspondence.
Richard Harding Davis was born in Philadelphia in 1864, and died in New York in 1916.
San Juan. A fortified hill position in Cuba, near Santiago de Cuba, captured in the Spanish-American War by the United States soldiers July 1, 1898.
Maitre d’hotel. Chief attendant—head-waiter.
Embankment. The Thames Embankment, a noted part of London.
Chasseur. Footman.
Numero cinq, sur la terrace, un couvert. Number five, on the terrace, one place.
Baiquiri. A landing place in Cuba near Santiago de Cuba. The United States soldiers landed here, June 21-23, 1898.
Tampa. A seaport in Florida.
A SOURCE OF IRRITATION
By STACY AUMONIER
An interesting type of story shows an ordinary person in an extraordinary situation. In Robinson Crusoe, for example, an ordinary Englishman is left alone on an uninhabited island; in Stockton’s The Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine two good old New England women with little worldly experience are wrecked on a mysterious island in the Pacific; in Howard Pyle’s The Ruby of Kishmore a peace-loving Philadelphia Quaker is suddenly involved in a series of bloody encounters in the West Indies. Such stories always arouse interest or develop humor by the astonishing contrast between setting and characters, and they always emphasize character by showing how it acts in unusual circumstances. Thus Robinson Crusoe at once attracts our interest and awakens admiration for the hero.
A Source of Irritation is especially clever in every way. There could be no greater contrast than that between old Sam Gates’ usual hum-drum, eventless life, and the sudden transfer to an aeroplane, a foreign land, the trenches, battle, and the search for a spy. Very rarely, too, is a character presented so emphatically as this 69-year-old gardener, with his irritable moods, his insistence on the habits of a life-time, his stolidity, and his real manliness. Equally rare is a story told so effectively, with just the proper combination of realism and romance, with quick touches of comedy and of tragedy, with a closeness to life that is indisputable, and a romance that is unusual. In its every part the story is a masterpiece of construction.
Stacy Aumonier is an Englishman of Huguenot descent.
Swede. A Swedish turnip.
Shag. A fine-cut tobacco.
“Mare vudish.” Merkwürdig, remarkable.
A fearful noise. The English made an attack on the German aeroplane.
Uglaublich. Incredible.
A foreign country. Evidently Flanders.
Boche. German.
G.H.Q. General Head Quarters.
Norfolk. One of the eastern counties of England, bordering on the North Sea.
MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER
By RUDYARD KIPLING
One of the pleasures of life is to travel and see the world. If we are unable to travel far in reality we may at least see much of strange lands through short stories of distant places and ways of life different from the ordinary.
Moti Guj—Mutineer is a story of life in India, of elephants and mahouts and strange events. It has all the atmosphere of India, given by half-humorous realistic touches that transport us from the land of everyday. It is a story of animal life, told with an intimate knowledge that shows close familiarity with “elephanthood.” Beyond that, it has what every story must have,—close relation to human character as we see it in any land at any time. Even the elephant is made to act and to think as if he were a human being. The humorous style, and the quickness with which the story is told, as well as the vivid pictures it gives, are typical of its author’s work.
Rudyard Kipling was born in Bombay, India, in 1865. After education in England he became a sub-editor of a paper published in Lahore, India, where he lived for some years, becoming intimate with all the life of the land. He has lived at various times in India, the United States, South Africa, and England. He has written a great number of astonishingly clever stories, poems, and novels, all in quick, vigorous style, with freedom from restraint, with rough realism, and with genuine humor and pathos. Among his most notable books are: Plain Tales from the Hills, The Jungle Book, Captains Courageous, The Day’s Work, and Puck of Pook’s Hill.
Arrack. A fermented drink.
Coir-swab. A mop made from cocoanut fiber.
GULLIVER THE GREAT
By WALTER A. DYER
There is a wonderfully close sympathy between man and the animal world,—a sympathy that is especially strong in the case of either the horse or the dog, animals that are the close associates of man. Ancient literature,—The Bible and The Odyssey,—tell of the faithfulness of the dog, man’s friend and protector. In recent times writers have turned to the whole world of nature for subjects,—the stag, the grizzly bear, the wolf, and other animals, but stories of dogs still awaken interest and sympathy, and will continue to do so as long as the faithfulness of dogs endures,—which is forever.
Gulliver the Great is told in an interestingly suggestive manner, every part of the story being rich with hints on which our imaginations build. The pleasant calm of the setting adds much to the effect. The man’s character is emphasized from the start, making the story he tells have full meaning. The story is dramatic, but its power rests far more on sympathy than on events. The art of the story is in the clever way in which the almost human soul of the dog is revealed, acting upon the soul of the man.
Walter A. Dyer was born in Massachusetts in 1878. Since his graduation from Amherst College in 1900 he has been engaged in editorial and other literary work. His natural fondness for dogs has led to such books as Pierrot: Dog of Belgium, and Gulliver the Great.
Early Victorian comforts. The comforts characteristic of the first part of the reign of Queen Victoria of England, before city life and commercial life were highly developed.
Mr. Pickwick. The humorous hero of Charles Dickens’ famous novel, Pickwick Papers.
James G. Blaine. An American statesman, 1830-1893. He held many high offices, and was once candidate for the Presidency.
Simplicissimus. A humorous and satirical German periodical.
Brunos. From the Latin “brunus”—brown. A name frequently given to dogs.
Moros. The Malay inhabitants of certain islands of the Philippines.
Great Dane. A type of dog noted for great size and graceful build.
Vohl’s Vulcan. A famous dog.
Wurtemburg breed. A well-known breed of dogs.
Mauna Loa. A noted Hawaiian volcano nearly 14,000 feet in height.
Bulls of Bashan. The Bible makes frequent mention of the bulls of Bashan, a section of Palestine east of the valley of the Jordan.
SONNY’S SCHOOLIN’
By RUTH McENERY STUART
Laughter is a legitimate part of life, especially when it clarifies the mind. The short story has seized upon all the elements of humor and made them its own, especially the anecdote. Some writers have used whimsical humor to give relief from sombre tales, or have told stories lightly and fancifully humorous, like several in this book. Others have written with broader effects. Every one of the many types of humorous story is good.—the unusual situation, the surprising climax, the fantastic character, the utter absurdity,—but every type must follow the dictates of good taste. Humor need never be coarse, or vulgar, or in any way aimed at personal satire. It may criticize, but it must do so with friendly good will.
Sonny’s Schoolin’ is a series of connected anecdotes, told in monologue. The humor of the anecdotes lies in their absurdity—in the presence of Sonny every one is so helpless! Any modern teacher would deal with Sonny in a way that he would understand. The humor of the narration lies partly in the events, partly in the speaker’s naïve, unconscious exposition of self, and partly in the amusing dialect. Two qualities illuminate the story: one, the gradual presentation of Sonny’s really lovable nature, seen to better advantage by the father-and-mother-love behind it; the other, the gradual criticism of the older system of education, and the suggestion of a type well adapted to quick, active, original minds like Sonny’s.
Ruth McEnery Stuart, a native of Louisiana, contributed to our best periodicals, and wrote many amusing, and wholly sympathetic, stories of southern life, such as Holly and Pizen, Napoleon Jackson, Sonny, and Sonny’s Father. She died in 1917.
HER FIRST HORSE SHOW
By DAVID GRAY
Every side of life contributes short story material,—the deeds of people in strange surroundings, unusual acts of heroism in war or in peace, the lives of the poor, and the lives of the rich. Since men’s characters are independent of either wealth or poverty, the story of society life, when written effectively, may awaken as deep feelings of sympathy or brotherhood as the story of humble life. Any story is worthy if it broadens the understanding of life and presents its material in artistic form.
On the surface Her First Horse Show is a story of society life, of rich people who delight in the fashionable horse show, and in dining at the Waldorf. Fundamentally, it is a story of human understanding, cleverness, and daring, in which the charm of a girl, and the thoroughbred qualities of a horse, play leading parts. Quick, suggestive conversation makes the story vividly interesting, and clear arrangement leads effectively to the climax.
David Gray was born in Buffalo, New York, in 1870. He has done editorial work on various papers, and has written a large number of interesting “horse stories” collected in such books as Gallops I, Gallops II, and Mr. Carteret and Others. In 1899 Mr. Gray entered the legal profession.
Doubting Thomas. A reference to the Bible story of St. Thomas, who at first doubted the resurrection of Jesus. See John: 20: 25.
“Hands.” Much of the skill in riding high-spirited horses depends upon the use of the hands in holding the reins.
MY HUSBAND’S BOOK
By JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE
Sometimes the short story is used as an effective means of satire of a type resembling that employed by Addison in The Spectator Papers. Satire can be given in so few words, and in the very speech and actions of the persons satirized, that it is well adapted as material for the short story. It should be the aim of all satirical short stones of the milder sort to follow Addison’s rule, and point out little follies rather than great wickednesses, and to aim at a thousand people rather than at one.
My Husband’s Book is an admirable example of ideal satire of the lighter type. The husband is typical—of whom?—of every one who puts off until tomorrow what he should do to-day. The wife is presented whimsically as altogether adoring, but as somewhat persistently and mischievously suspicious. At no time does the husband become aware of his real defect of character, nor the wife lose all her loving faith. Kindly satire like this is playful in nature, the sort to be expected from the author of Peter Pan. We laugh good-naturedly at the husband—and see ourselves in him!
Sir James Matthew Barrie was born in Kirriemuir, Scotland, in 1860. His delightfully romantic Auld Licht Idylls, A Window in Thrums, and especially The Little Minister, made him known to all the English-speaking world. His remarkably original and fanciful plays, Quality Street, Peter Pan, What Every Woman Knows, and numerous other dramatic works have added to his already great reputation. He is one of the leading English writers of the present time.
WAR
By JACK LONDON
The short story often rises beyond the light and the commonplace to act as a stern critic of world conditions. With vivid, realistic touches it points at reality. By focussing every light upon a single human figure who compellingly commands sympathy it arouses in us a sense of kinship with all who suffer. Short stories of this type have teaching force that is all powerful.
War is such a story. Although little more than a vivid sketch it presents the brutality of war in all its horror,—not by picturing the slaughter of thousands, but by showing a boy,—shrinking, eager to perform his full duty, loving life, fearing death, stopping to gather apples in a boyish way,—a boy whose instinctive and noble hesitation to kill rebounds on himself, as if in irony, and causes his own death. In a certain sense, the boy with his kindly manhood and generous motives represents the American spirit. The opposite type of spirit, the love of war for war’s sake, brutality for the sake of brutality, is shown in the boy’s enemies,—harsh foreigners who hang men to trees, who shoot at the boy as at a target, and laugh at his death. The story individualizes war, and thereby gives emphasis to its horror. Such a story demands on the part of the author a heartfelt interest in his theme, an intense love of life, and the ability to write in realistic style.
Jack London was deeply interested in the world of men. Far from being a recluse, he lived an active life with his fellows. He left his college class in order to go with other adventurers into the Klondike; he went to Japan, and seal hunting in the Behring Sea as a sailor before the mast; he tramped about the country; he traveled as a war correspondent, and went on an adventurous voyage into the South Seas in a 55-foot yacht. He wrote a great number of books, all of which show a quick understanding of the needs of humanity. Some of his works are thoughtful studies of social conditions. His best known books are: The Call of the Wild, The Sea Wolf, and The Mutiny of the Elsinore. He was born in San Francisco in 1876, and died in 1916.
THE BATTLE OF THE MONSTERS
By MORGAN ROBERTSON
In this day when science plays so great a part in life it is only natural that many stories should be based on scientific knowledge. Since such stories must almost always more or less distort scientific truth in order to make the facts have story-interest they are usually called “pseudo-scientific,” that is, falsely scientific.
Edgar Allan Poe, who did so much for the short story, was one of the first to write pseudo-scientific stories, his Descent into the Maelström, and A Tale of the Ragged Mountains being good examples of his peculiar power.
The Battle of the Monsters is a wonderfully clever pseudo-scientific story. In it we enter the minute world of the microscope, every character being infinitesimally small.
The story tells how a microbe of Asiatic cholera enters the veins of John Anderson at the same moment when he is bitten by a rabid dog. The “white, corrugated wall” is the dog’s tooth; the army of dog-faced creatures is composed of the microbes of rabies, or hydrophobia. The vibrant roar heard from time to time, is the beat of the man’s heart. In the veins the cholera microbe finds the red corpuscles and other cells and microbes that exist in the blood, and also the white corpuscles that, according to Metschnikoff, act as destroyers of the microbes of disease. We go with the cholera microbe through the series of blood vessels into the heart and thence back into the arteries and veins, all the time seeing the struggle between the beneficent white corpuscles and the deadly microbes of rabies. We see the desperate efforts to keep the microbes of rabies from entering the cells and finding their way to the brain. As the microbes of rabies reproduce they begin to win the battle. The cholera microbe, himself fighting the hosts of rabies, is about to be overcome, when the physician’s injection of antitoxin brings a new army to fight the dog-faced creatures. Now that the danger of rabies has been overcome attention is paid to the hero of the story, who declares himself to be the microbe of Asiatic cholera. At once the police guardians of the blood, the white corpuscles, close on him and destroy him. Thus John Anderson escapes all danger from rabies and from cholera, to both of which he had been exposed. The battle, if microscopic, had been real, had been on a grand scale, and had been of tremendous importance.
The pseudo-scientific story could have no better illustration. Every detail is clear, vivid with action, and tense with interest. There is no turning aside to give scientific information—nothing that is dry-as-dust. The microbes and corpuscles, without losing their essential characteristics, speak and act in ways that we can understand. That is why the story is so successful. It is a human story, based upon human interest. Familiar language, familiar ways of thought, events that we can understand, convey to us information on a learned scientific subject—the work of the white blood corpuscles.
Morgan Robertson, 1861-1915, was born in Oswego, N. Y. From 1877 to 1886 he lived the life of a sailor at sea. Gifted with natural literary ability he turned to writing, and wrote a number of distinctly original stories, most of them about the sea, such as Spun Yarn, Masters of Men, Shipmates, and Down to the Sea.
Metschnikoff’s theory. The great Russian physiologist, Iliya Metschnikoff, 1845-1916, taught that the white blood corpuscles act as destroyers of disease microbes.
The wounds of Milton’s warring angels. In Milton’s Paradise Lost the angels, wounded in the war in heaven, at once recovered.
Darwin. Charles Darwin, 1809-1882. The great English naturalist, founder of the “Darwinian Theory” of evolution from lower forms.
Pasteur. Louis Pasteur, 1822-1895. The great French microscopist, and student of hydrophobia. He was the first to inoculate for hydrophobia.
Koch. Robert Koch, 1843-1910. A great German physician who discovered the bacilli of tuberculosis and of cholera.
A DILEMMA
By S. WEIR MITCHELL
A popular type of story leaves the reader, at the conclusion, to choose one of two endings, either of which is open to objections. Such a story sets the reader’s mind at work, leads him to review every part of the story, and leaves a peculiarly lasting impression of construction and emphasis. In stories of this sort there is careful exclusion of everything that does not tend to lead to, or to increase, the difficulty.
A Dilemma makes complete preparation for the final puzzle by giving all the necessary facts, and all the motives for possible action, or non-action. When the reader reviews all that has been said, and sees how cleverly the story is constructed, he finds that the difficulty of solution appears even greater than at first.
Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, 1829-1914, was born in Philadelphia, and there spent most of his life. As a physician he wrote many medical books, and became one of the most distinguished neurologists in the world. His unusual ability led to his becoming member of many learned scientific societies in this country and in Europe. In spite of his active medical work he found time for much writing of a purely literary nature. Such books as Hugh Wynne, The Adventures of François, and Dr. North and His Friends, are distinctly original American contributions, and made their author unusually popular.
Empress-Queen Maria Theresa. Maria Theresa, 1717-1780. Archduchess of Austria, Queen of Hungary, and wife of Emperor Francis I of Austria. One of the most interesting and notable women in history.
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
By A. CONAN DOYLE
Edgar Allan Poe was the first author to succeed in the “detective story.” His Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Mystery of Marie Roget, and The Purloined Letter are among the first stories of their type. Since Poe’s time there have been all sorts of detective stories,—good, bad, and indifferent,—from cheap penny-dreadfuls to elaborate novels. Poe’s method has been followed in nearly every one, whether written in this country, or abroad, as by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in England, Émile Gaboriau in France, or Anton Chekhov in Russia.
Of all the thousands who have tried their hands in writing detective stories Sir Arthur Conan Doyle has won the most pleasing success. His Sherlock Holmes is a world-known character.
The Red-Headed League is an admirable example of the author’s method. The story is told by the hero’s friend, Dr. Watson, allowing opportunity for close appearance of reality, and for unstinted praise. The problem is introduced at first hand, apparently with every detail. To a certain degree we are allowed to enter the series of deductive reasonings pursued by Sherlock Holmes. We are given a brilliant series of events, and then the final solution. Occasional hints at other work performed by Sherlock Holmes tend to awaken further interest. There is such closeness to life, realistic character drawing, good humor, and natural conversation, that the story,—like all the four books of the Sherlock Holmes series,—is most attractive.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was born in Edinburgh in 1859. Both his father and grandfather achieved fame as artists. Sir Arthur began life as a physician and surgeon, but soon found his real work in letters. He has written a number of our best historical novels, The White Company, Micah Clarke, The Refugees, Sir Nigel, etc., and four books of stories about Sherlock Holmes, as well as much other work both in prose and in verse.
Omne ignotum pro magnifico. Whatever is unknown is thought to be magnificent.
Sarasate. A famous Spanish violinist, 1844—.
Partie carrée. A party of four.
“L’homme c’est rien—l’œuvre c’est tout.“ The man is nothing—the work is everything.
Gustave Flaubert. 1821-1880. One of the greatest French novelists.
George Sand. The pseudonym of the Baroness Dudevant, 1804-1876, a great French novelist and playwright.
ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK
By OWEN JOHNSON
In One Hundred in the Dark Owen Johnson makes one of the characters say that the peculiar fascination of the detective story lies more in the statement of the problem than in the solution. “The solution doesn’t count. It is usually banal; it should be prohibited. What interests us is, can we guess it?”
One Hundred in the Dark illustrates that type of detective story that presents a problem but gives no solution. Giving all the information that one could be expected to have, it presents a problem with several different solutions possible. At the end of the story the problem is left unsolved—the reader is “in the dark,” but, because his mind has been awakened, he is fascinated. The author has gone further than usual, for he gives the story as if told in a club at the conclusion of a conversation in which several persons have taken part. The story is followed by further conversation that suggests a second problem—what did the members of the club think of the person who told the story? The result is that the author has cleverly established a definite setting, has aroused interest in the type of story to be told, and has emphasized the problem by giving it a new interest in the light of the question: What part did the members of the club think Peters played in the story that he himself told?
Owen Johnson was born in New York in 1878. He turned his college life at Yale into literary account in his interesting novel, Stover at Yale. He is the author of numerous short stories and plays.
Bon mots. Bright sayings.
De Maupassant. Guy de Maupassant, 1850-1893. A celebrated French novelist and poet. In Fort comme la Mort (Strong as Death) he tells of the life of fashionable society.
The Faust theme. A reference to the great tragedy of Faust by the German poet, Goethe, 1749-1832. Faust personifies humanity with all its longings.
The Three Musketeers, etc. The Three Musketeers, by Alexander Dumas, père, 1803-1870; Trilby, by George du Maurier, 1834-1896, and Soldiers Three, by Rudyard Kipling, 1865-, all tell stories of the close comradeship of three men.
Vie de Bohème. Scènes de la vie de Bohème by Henri Murger. The opera La Bohème is based upon this book.
Bluebeard and The Moonstone. In the stories of Bluebeard, and The Moonstone, a famous mystery story by Wilkie Collins, 1824-1889, curiosity plays a leading part.
Watteaulike. A reference to the conventional pictures of shepherdesses by Jean Antoine Watteau, a celebrated French painter, 1684-1721.
Fines herbes. Vegetable greens.
En maître. As master.
A RETRIEVED REFORMATION
By O. HENRY
The story of self-sacrifice has appealed to people in all times, whether it appears in history,—as in the partly legendary story of Arnold von Winkelried, who gathered the Austrian spears against his breast in order that his comrades might make a way through the ranks of the enemy,—or in fiction, as in Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. Such a story is particularly fascinating, when, as in the story of Sidney Carton, it combines the idea of self-sacrifice with that of fundamental change in character.
In A Retrieved Reformation O. Henry has told, in a convincingly brilliant way, how a man—always really good at heart,—even when set in evil ways—was led through love to develop his better self. The greatness of Jimmy Valentine’s soul is made clear by his instant willingness to sacrifice every hope he had,—to lay everything on the altar of love and manliness.
The quick, realistic, kindly-humorous characterizations, the clear, logical arrangement of opposing forces, the dramatic situation at the climax, and the instant solution,—for which every step has inevitably prepared,—point alike to a master hand in story telling.
William Sidney Porter, 1867-1910,—better known by the name, “O. Henry,” which he chose humorously because it is so easy to write “O,” and because he happened to see “Henry” as a last name in a newspaper account,—achieved as much popularity as any short story writer could desire. He was born in North Carolina, and brought up in Texas, where he gained the little schooling that fell to his lot. He became a sort of rolling stone, working on various periodicals, living in South America, working in Texas as a drug clerk, engaging fully in literary work in New Orleans, and finally coming to New York City where he sold stories as fast as he could write them—and his powers of production were most astonishing. He was only 42 when he died, but, in spite of his wandering life, he had made himself, with almost careless ease, the master of the short story. He wrote quite untrammeled by convention or custom, using slang, coining words, writing in any way he pleased, but always, in reality, following the best principles of story telling, making his plots clear, convincing, and full of the unexpected humors of life. With it all he wrote with a spirit of gentleness and often touched real pathos. His favorite method was to surprise the reader by bringing him to a most unexpected climax.
BROTHER LEO
By PHYLLIS BOTTOME
The world is so full of selfishness, and resulting misery, that every one more or less often thinks how different life would be if every individual were to be ideal. Somewhere, somehow, we think, must be a Utopia where everything is as it should be.
Brother Leo is not a fantastic dream of some unreal place. It is a simply beautiful story of a monk who had known no other life than that in his monastic retreat on an island near Venice. There, in a sort of heaven on earth, in a life of extreme simplicity, the young man, untouched by the world, developed all that should characterize us in our daily lives. For one day he goes out into the city, comes into touch with its veneer and dishonesty, and goes back joyfully, without the slightest regret, into his calm retreat.
The story, or character sketch, has no startling event. The young monk moves in the soft light of kindliness, a beautiful, dream-like figure presented to us with sufficient realism to give verisimilitude. How much better to show this modern, idealistic figure in modern surroundings than to picture some one in the distant past, or in the still more distant future!
Phyllis Bottome was born in England. Her father was an American clergyman and her mother an English woman. She has spent most of her life in England, although she has lived in America, France and Italy. She has written many short stories, some of which have been collected in a volume called The Derelict.
Torcello. An island six miles northeast of Venice.
Saint Francis. Francis of Assisi, 1182-1226. The founder of the monastic order of Franciscans.
Poverelli. Poor people.
Rembrandt. 1607-1669. A great Dutch painter. Some of his pictures,—especially The Night Watch,—show wonderful light effects.
Poverino. Poor little fellow.
The sin of Esau. See the Bible story in Genesis 25: 27-34. Esau sold his birthright in order to satisfy his hunger.
St. Francis’ birds. St. Francis loved all animate and inanimate nature, and once preached to the birds as if they could understand him.
Per Bacco, Signore. By Bacchus, Sir!
Signore Dio. Lord God.
Veramente. Truly.
Il Signore Dio. The Lord God.
Piazzetta. An open square near the landing place in Venice.
The ducal palace. The palace of the Doges of Venice, built in the fifteenth century.
Chi lo sa? Who knows?
The column of the Lion of St. Mark’s. A column in the Piazzetta bearing a winged lion, the emblem of St. Mark.
Saint Mark’s. One of the most famous and beautiful church buildings in the world, originally founded in 830. Its attractive Byzantine architecture and its wonderful mosaics have always given delight.
The Piazza. The chief business and pleasure center of Venice.
The new Campanile. A new tower that takes the place of the fallen Campanile begun in the ninth century.
Frari. A great Venetian church built for the Franciscan Friars, 1250-1350.
Titian. 1477-1576. The most famous of all Venetian painters. One of the greatest artists the world has known.
Bellinis. Pictures by Giovanni Bellini, 1427(?)-1516, a great Venetian painter, and the instructor of Titian.
Andiamo. Let us go.
Palazzo Giovanelli. A Venetian palace containing a small but beautiful collection of paintings.
Giorgiones. Pictures by Giorgione, 1477-1511, a pupil of Bellini, much noted for color effects.
Florian’s. A famous Venetian café, some 200 years old.
Speriamo. We hope.
A FIGHT WITH DEATH
By IAN MACLAREN
Heroism is as great in daily life as in battle. We live beside heroic figures perhaps not recognizing their greatness. Plain, simple surroundings, daily scenes, everyday people, the accustomed language of daily life, may all take on noble proportions.
A Fight with Death is a local color story, for it gives the dialect, the way of life, the character, of certain people in a remote part of Scotland. It is a story of noble type, presenting a character ideal—a country doctor fighting for the life of a humble patient.
The world will always appreciate any story that finds the ideal in the actual; it will appreciate it all the sooner if it is written, as in this case, with plenty of action, vivid character drawing, natural, everyday language, and touches of pathos and of humor, all so combined that the story rises to climax, and wakens sympathy.
A Fight with Death is the third of a series of five simple, exquisitely pathetic stories of Scotch life, entitled A Doctor of the Old School, printed in the collection of stories called Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush, by Ian Maclaren,—the pseudonym of Rev. John Watson. The author was born in Manningtree, Essex, in 1850. He gained a large part of his education in Edinburgh University, and has spent many years in intimate touch with Scotch life. In addition to Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush Dr. Watson has written a number of books, the most notable being Days of Auld Lang Syne, The Upper Room, and The Mind of the Master.
Drumsheugh’s grieve. Drumsheugh is tenant of a large farm. The “grieve” is his farm manager.
Greet. Cry.
A certain mighty power. Death.
Sough. Breathe.
Thraun. Perverse.
Shilpit. Weak.
Feckless. Spiritless.
Pushioned. Poisoned.
Kirny aitmeal. Oatmeal with full kernels.
Buirdly. Strong.
Fecht. Fight.
Haflin. A stripling,—half-grown.
Dour chiel. Stubborn fellow.
Caller. Fresh.
Oxters. Armpits.
Grampians. Mountains in central Scotland.
Byre. Cow-barn.
Thole. Endure,—permit.
Fraikin’. Disgraceful action.
Glen Urtach. A valley in the highlands.
Jess. The doctor’s old horse.
Goon and bans. Gown and bands,—clerical robes.
THE DÀN-NAN-RÒN
By FIONA MACLEOD
Are there strange, mystical forces in the world that affect us in spite of ourselves? Or do our own actions rebound upon us and make life “heaven or hell” as the case may be? These questions that we ask when we read Macbeth come to us when we read Fiona Macleod’s Dàn-Nan-Ròn.
The Dàn-Nan-Ròn is not wholly a story of mysticism built on the idea that the weird flute-“song o’ the seals” could so thrill one who, perhaps, drew his ancestry from the seals, that he would go out into the wild waters to live or die with his ancestral folk. The story suggests all that. It hints at strange descent, magic melodies, wraiths of the dead, and weird powers beyond man. This, no doubt, combined with unusual setting, frequent use of the little-understood Gaelic, weirdly musical verse, and romantic action, gives the story an unusual atmosphere of gloom and shadow. At heart, in plain fact, the story is psychological. A man on whose soul hangs the memory of a crime, maddened by grief at the death of a fervently loved wife, tormented in his evil hour by a deadly human foe who subtly, with compelling music, plays upon his superstitions, plunges, in the violence of his madness, into the sea. From that point of view the man’s own soul scourged him to his death.
The whole combination of weird atmosphere, tragedy, grief, conscience, and superstition, is brought together in an artistic form that leads to a grimly startling catastrophe—the final mad fight with the seals. This is no common story of sensational event. It is a great human tragedy of grief and conscience, played to the weird music of the north as if by a Gaelic minstrel endowed with mystic powers.
There is something mystic indeed in Fiona Macleod. William Sharp, 1856-1905, the Scottish poet, editor, novelist, biographer, and critic, lived a successful life as man of letters. He did more, for, beginning in 1894, he used the name, “Fiona Macleod,” not as a pseudonym but as that of the actual author of the most unusual, brilliant, and altogether original series of poems and stories ever written. Not until Mr. Sharp’s death was it found that Fiona Macleod and William Sharp were one and the same person. The whole story is apparently one of dual personality. All this adds to the strange fascination of Fiona Macleod’s stories and poems.
Eilanmore. An island west of Scotland.
The Outer Isles. The Hebrides, or Western Isles, west of Scotland.
The Lews and North Uist. Islands of the Hebrides.
Arran. An island west of Ireland.
Inner Hebrides. Islands of the Hebrides group, not far from the coast of Scotland.
Runes. Mystical songs.
From the Obb of Harris to the Head of Mingulay. From one end of the Hebrides to the other.
Orain spioradail. Spiritual song.
Barra. A southern island of the Hebrides.
Galloway. The extreme southwestern coast of Scotland.
The Minch. The strait between the Hebrides and Scotland.
Caisean-feusag. Moustache.
Mo cailinn. My girl.
Kye. Cattle.
Berneray of Uist. A small island north of North Uist in the Hebrides.
The Sound of Harris. The sound between North Uist and Harris in the Hebrides.
Anna-ban. Fair Anna.
Anne-à-ghraidh. Anna, my dear.
Gheasan. A charm, magic spell.
Geas. Charm.
Sinnsear. Ancestors.
Anna-nic-Gilleasbuig. Anna, daughter of the line of Gilleasbuig.
Ru’ Tormaid. A place in the Hebrides.
Corbies. Ravens.
Bàta-beag. Small boat.
Corrie. A hollow in the side of a hill.
Ann-mochree. Ann, my tantalizer.
The black stone of Icolmkill. A famous stone at Icolmkill in the Hebrides.
Oisin the son of Fionn. A character named in Gaelic legends.
Skye. A large island close to the western shore of Scotland.
The Clyde. The great estuary of the river Clyde, in the southwestern part of Scotland, one of the most important shipping centers of Great Britain.
Byre. A cow house.
Loch Boisdale. An inlet of South Uist in the Hebrides.
Loch Maddy. A small inlet in the Hebrides.
Pictish Towre. An ancient stone construction.
Ban Breac. The Spotted Hill.
Maigstir. Master.
Skua. A large sea bird something like a gull.
Liath. A small fish.
Smooring. The fireplace.
Rosad. A charm.
Sgadan. Herrings.
Fey. Doomed.
Ceann-Cinnidh. Head of the Clan.