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stories, and Harte's Western tales. Pure description without emotion or motive they are; and with a liberal allowance of pictures the most cultured of us sometimes read them, with all of a child's enjoyment. The finest productions from the camera will not portray dramatic action like the oil upon the canvass; and so it is with the mere descriptive story; a master must ply the brush or the story takes on the tone of mere newspaper hash.
Neck and neck with this class of stories, tales of adventure and misadventure, under the wire of incident comes the short romance and love story. "And their name is" more than "legion." Here we find a market for perpetual trade in the emotions. Ah! This drowsiness of love. Ah! This enchantment! The enchantment of hate. Fellow feelings that bind the sensitive souls of men to romance. Enough. Here is motive. The author has but to create his characters and the scene and action will follow as long as writers possess insight, imagination and the faculty of story-telling.
Although at this decade of the century the historical in the novel is an out-worn anachronism yet in the short story it holds an important place, a sacred seat as it were-though like King Lear this doesn't keep it from being fouly dealt with sometimes. In the historical story, incident alone is the secret charm of the narrative. History gives to it the enchantment of the babble of truth. Historical personages may lead the parade but their characters depend upon Action, who rides, covered by the cloak of probability.
Omitting for awhile the story which portrays customs, real life and character. A story in which incident of times stands in a frame of the author's making, as 'result;' or in which incident, character and enviroment are twined together into 'cause'and 'result' until they are inseparable—a good story—. Debarring these I say there remains the short story of purpose.
This is a creature born into the world to work its readers. There are some people yet in the world of literature who accept as valid the old superstition that 'problem novels' are readable. Well there are 'problem short stories'
and sensible persons will tell you that they possess at least one virtue that the 'problem novel' does not. They are short. The only people who get pleasure out of such a class of poorly masked "anarchy," "socialism," or "political economy," are giddy young people who know trouble only at second hand and to have some new kind of emotion must devour disagreeable literature to get it. In such a class of stories the incidents are always insignificant in their ability to entertain or interest the reader, or the pitiable tool of some overdrawn logic which its author has tried in vain to veil. For in many cases the trick is transparent, the veneering too thin and the opposite result is obtained.
As an antidote for the effect of the above named style of short story, I would prescribe a few stories or sketches of modern Scotch life. In these the action is slight, but is so blended with ideal character studies and homely virtues that the three seem one; and a sweet and romantic sentiment is established.
After the romantic story comes the realistic for entertainment, and in advance of it for good wholesome instruction. This style of story telling requires of its author, (a slight store of which the reader must also have) some insight into human nature, and the workings of the heart and mind; and though the imagination is little required a slight touch of it will do no harm to the writer. If the characters and incidents are well developed, the story if it attempts no moral tussle with social sins, may ever be dull without profundity or didactic without discernment and yet be what some day will be classic. You laugh! Pray why not classic? We moderns are clever enough and as long as we limit ourselves to cleverness no one need laugh nor yawn.
With the realistic story, however, there is one danger, (often passed unnoticed in the romantic story) the events as well as the characters are liable to be overdrawn or far-fetched. A hackneyed complaint no doubt, but is there ever more cause for it than now? The triumph of the short story is at, or nearing, its height. Triumphs that are as exhilarating and evanescent as a glass of champagne, but its sober moments