in　danger　of　being　unduly　affected　by　it。　　That　is　a　danger　which
  in　his　very　quality　of　lyrical　poet　he　is　most　liable　to；　for　he
  is　above　all　a　lyrical　poet；　and　such　drama　as　the　chorus　usually
  comments　is　the　drama　next　his　heart。　　The　pieces；　in　fact；　are
  so　many　idyls；　and　their　realism　is　an　effect　which　he　has　felt
  rather　than　reasoned　his　way　to。　　It　is　implicational　rather　than
  intentional。　　It　is　none　the　worse　but　all　the　better　on　that
  account；　and　I　cannot　say　that　the　psychologism　is　the　worse　for
  being　frankly；　however　uninsistently；　moralized。　　A　humor；
  delicate　and　genuine　as　the　poetry　of　the　stories；　plays　through
  them；　and　the　milde　macht　of　sympathy　with　everything　human
  transfers　to　the　pleasant　pages　the　foresters　and　fishermen　from
  their　native　woods　and　waters。　　Canada　seems　the　home　of
  primitive　character；　the　seventeenth　century　survives　there　among
  the　habitants；　with　their　steadfast　faith；　their　picturesque
  superstitions；　their　old　world　traditions　and　their　new　world
  customs。　　It　is　the　land　not　only　of　the　habitant；　but　of　his
  oversoul；　the　good　cure；　and　his　overlord　the　seigneur；　now　faded
  economically；　but　still　lingering　socially　in　the　scene　of　his
  large　possessions。　　Their　personality　imparts　a　charm　to　the　many
  books　about　them　which　at　present　there　seems　to　be　no　end　to　the
  making　of；　and　such　a　fine　touch　as　Dr。　Van　Dyke's　gives　us　a
  likeness　of　them；　which　if　it　is　idealized　is　idealized　by
  reservation；　not　by　attribution。
  III。
  Mr。　William　Allen　White's　method　is　the　reverse　of　Dr。　Van
  Dyke's。　　If　he　has　held　his　hand　anywhere　the　reader　does　not
  suspect　it；　for　it　seems；　with　its　relentless　power　of
  realization；　to　be　laid　upon　the　whole　political　life　of　Kansas；
  which　it　keeps　in　a　clutch　so　penetrating；　so　comprehensive；　that
  the　reader　does　not　quite　feel　his　own　vitals　free　from　it。　　Very
  likely；　it　does　not　grasp　the　whole　situation；　after　all；　it　is　a
  picture；　not　a　map；　that　Mr。　White　has　been　making；　and　the
  photograph　itself；　though　it　may　include；　does　not　represent
  everything。　　Some　years　ago　there　was　a　silly　attempt　to　reproach
  the　true　painters　of　manners　by　calling　them　photographic；　but　I
  doubt　if　even　then　Mr。　White　would　have　minded　any　such　censure
  of　his　conscientious　work；　and　I　am　sure　that　now　he　would　count
  it　honor。　　He　cannot　be　the　admirable　artist　he　is　without
  knowing　that　it　is　the　inwardness　as　well　as　the　outwardness　of
  men　that　he　photographs；　and　if　the　reader　does　not　know　it；　the
  worse　for　the　reader。　　He　is　not　the　sort　of　reader　who　will　rise
  from　this　book　humiliated　and　fortified；　as　any　reader　worthy　of
  it　will。
  The　author　has　put　his　best　foot　forward　in　the　opening　story；
  〃The　Man　on　Horseback；〃　which；　when　I　read　it　a　few　years　ago　in
  the　magazine　where　it　first　appeared；　seemed　to　me　so　perfect　in
  its　way　that　I　should　not　have　known　how　to　better　it。　　Of
  course；　this　is　a　good　deal　for　a　critic　to　say；　it　is　something
  like　abdicating　his　office；　but　I　repeat　it。　　It　takes　rather
  more　courage　for　a　man　to　be　honest　in　fiction　than　out　of　it；
  for　people　do　not　much　expect　it　of　him；　or　altogether　like　it　in
  him；　but　in　〃The　Man　on　Horseback〃　Mr。　White　is　at　every　moment
  honest。　　He　is　honest；　if　not　so　impressively　honest；　in　the
  other　stories；　〃A　Victory　for　the　People；〃　〃A　Triumph's
  Evidence；〃　〃The　Mercy　of　Death；〃　and　〃A　Most　Lamentable　Comedy；〃
  and　where　he　fails　of　perfect　justice　to　his　material；　I　think　it
  is　because　of　his　unconscious　political　bias；　rather　than
  anything　wilfuller。　　In　the　story　last　named　this　betrays　itself
  in　his　treatment　of　a　type　of　man　who　could　not　be　faithful　to
  any　sort　of　movement；　and　whose　unfaithfulness　does　not
  necessarily　censure　the　movement　Mr。　White　dislikes。　　Wonderfully
  good　as　the　portrait　of　Dan　Gregg　is；　it　wants　the　final　touch
  which　could　have　come　only　from　a　little　kindness。　　His　story
  might　have　been　called　〃The　Man　on　Foot；〃　by　the　sort　of
  antithesis　which　I　should　not　blame　Mr。　White　for　scorning；　and　I
  should　not　say　anything　of　it　worse　than　that　it　is　pitilessly
  hard；　which　the　story　of　〃The　Man　on　Horseback〃　is　not；　or　any　of
  the　other　stories。　　Sentimentality　of　any　kind　is　alien　to　the
  author's　nature；　but　not　tenderness；　especially　that　sparing　sort
  which　gives　his　life　to　the　man　who　is　down。
  Most　of　the　men　whom　Mr。　White　deals　with　are　down；　as　most　men
  in　the　struggle　of　life　are。　　Few　of　us　can　be　on　top　morally；
  almost　as　few　as　can　be　on　top　materially；　and　probably　nothing
  will　more　surprise　the　saints　at　the　judgment　day　than　to　find
  themselves　in　such　a　small　minority。　　But　probably　not　the　saints
  alone　will　be　saved；　and　it　is　some　such　hope　that　Mr。　White　has
  constantly　in　mind　when　making　his　constant　appeal　to　conscience。
  It　is；　of　course；　a　dramatic；　not　a　didactic　appeal。　　He　preaches
  so　little　and　is　so　effectively　reticent　that　I　could　almost　with
  he　had　left　out　the　preface　of　his　book；　good　as　it　is。　　Yes；
  just　because　it　is　so　good　I　could　wish　he　had　left　it　out。　　It
  is　a　perfect　justification　of　his　purpose　and　methods；　but　they
  are　their　own　justification　with　all　who　can　think　about　them；
  and　the　others　are　themselves　not　worth　thinking　about。　　The
  stories　are　so　bravely　faithful　to　human　nature　in　that　political
  aspect　which　is　but　one　phase　of　our　whole　average　life　that　they
  are　magnificently　above　all　need　of　excusing　or　defending。　　They
  form　a　substantial　body　of　political　fiction；　such　as　we　have　so
  long　sighed　for；　and　such　as　some　of　us　will　still　go　on　sighing
  for　quite　as　if　it　had　not　been　supplied。　　Some　others　will　be
  aware　that　it　has　been　supplied　in　a　form　as　artistically　fine　as
  the　material　itself　is　coarse　and　common；　if　indeed　any　sort　of
  humanity　is　coarse　and　common　except　to　those　who　themselves　are
  so。
  The　meaning　that　animates　the　stories　is　that　our　political
  opportunity　is　trammelled　only　so　far　as　we　have　trammelled　it　by
  our　greed　and　falsehood；　and　in　this　aspect　the　psychology　of　Mr。
  White　offers　the　strongest　contrast　to　that　of　the　latest　Russian
  master　in　fiction。　　Maxim　Gorky's　wholly　hopeless　study　of
  degeneracy　in　the　life　of　〃Foma　Gordyeeff〃　accuses　conditions
  which　we　can　only　imagine　with　difficulty。　　As　one　advances
  through　the　moral　waste　of　that　strange　book　one　slowly　perceives
  that　he　is　in　a　land　of　No　Use；　in　an　ambient　of　such　iron　fixity
  and　inexorable　bounds　that　perhaps　Foma's　willingness　to　rot
  through　vice　into　imbecility　is　as　wise　as　anything　else　there。
  It　is　a　book　that　saturates　the　soul　with　despair；　and　blights　it
  with　the　negation　which　seems　the　only　possible　truth　in　the
  circumstances；　so　that　one　questions　whether　the　Russian　in　which
  Turgenieff　and　Tolstoy；　and　even　Dostoyevsky；　could　animate　the
  volition　and　the　expectation　of　better　things　has　not　sunk　to
  depths　beyond　any　counsel　of　amelioration。　　To　come　up　out　of
  that　Bottomless　Pit　into　the　measureless　air　of　Mr。　White's
  Kansas　plains　is　like　waking　from　death　to　life。　　We　are　still
  among　dreadfully　fallible　human　beings；　but　we　are　no　longer
  among　the　damned；　with　the　worst　there　is　a　purgatorial
  possibility　of　Paradise。　　Even　the　perdition　of　Dan　Gregg　then
  seems　not　the　worst　that　could　befall　him；　he　might　again　have
  been　governor。
  IV。
  If　the　human　beings　in　Dr。　Weir　Mitchell's　very　interesting　novel
  of　〃Circumstance〃　do　not　seem　so　human　as　those　Russians　of　Gorky
  and　those　Kansans　of　Mr。　White；　it　is　because　people　in　society
  are　always　human　with　difficulty；　and　his　Philadelphians　are
  mostly　in　society。　　They　are　almost　reproachfully　exemplary；　in
  some　instances；　and　it　is　when　they　give　way　to　the　natural　man；
  and　especially　the　natural　woman；　that　they　are　consoling　and
  edifying。　　When　Mary　Fairthorne　begins　to　scold　her　cousin；　Kitty
  Morrow；　at　the　party　where　she　finds　Kitty　wearing　her　dead
  mother's　pearls；　and　even　takes　hold　of　her　in　a　way　that　makes
  the　reader　hope　she　is　going　to　shake　her；　she　is　delightful；　and
  when　Kitty　complains　that　Mary　has　〃pinched〃　her；　she　is
  adorable。　　One　is　really　in　love　with　her　for　the　moment；　and　in
  that　moment　of　nature　the　thick　air　of　good　society　seems　to　blow
  away　and　let　one　breathe　freely。　　The　bad　people　in　the　book　are
  better　than　the　good　people；　and　the　good　people　are　best　in
  their　worst　tempers。　　They　are　so　exclusively　well　born　and　well
  bred　that　the　fitness　of　the　medical　student；　Blount；　for　their
  society　can　be　ascertained　only　by　his　reference　to　a　New　England
  ancestry　of　the　high　antiquity　that　can　excuse　even　dubious　cuffs
  and　finger…nails　in　a　descendant　of　good　principles　and　generous
  instincts。
  The　psychological　problem　studied　in　the　book　with　such　artistic
  fineness　and　scientific　thoroughness　is　personally　a　certain　Mrs。
  Hunter；　who　manages　through　the　weak…minded　and　selfish　Kitty
  Morrow　to　work　h