The first and second chapters of the "fifth part" are no ordinary writing; they give promise of high achievements in the future. He must write on, against the grain, and with that feel- ing of exhaustion which is sure to result in carelessness and unveracity. There are passages in'. The Dreamer's life lies between two women, both of whom -nre presented in a manner which reflects credit upon their author. Thus, in the first volume we have the romance of Philip and Agnes; a grave, prim, clever little story, fairly interesting, but scarcely exciting.
His denouement is con- trolled not only by his promisees, but by the tyranny of custom ; under penalty of neglect, he may not depart from certain esta- blished usages. She does not struggle, and shriek, and gesticulate, and make verbal curries ; she does not try to manage the passion, but allows it to manage her,—to express itself through the simplest medium of words that she can furnish. The book is finished, but it is not the author's book, for he is not in it. It cannot be said that Miss Wylde resorts to padding to fill up her pages ; she adopts the less usual and less objectionable plan of writing three novelettes, one after the other, and using the same characters throughout. We refer to the choice of a subject. It is popularly supposed that a writer may choose what topic and characters he will; very likely be supposes so himself; but this is an absolute mistake. If Miss Wylde's own presentation of herself is to be received, the chances of her developing into an able novelist are not bril- liant ; but if, on the other hand, she be a young lady of more wit than knowledge, we should not be surprised if she one day produced some really good and valuable work. They and the Dreamer do a great deal of harm to one another, not so much from deliberate intention on any of their parts, as by the inscrutable devices of Fate, who seems to be a deity of no small account in Miss Wylde's theology. It is in the second volume that Miss Wylde shows how much she is capable of. But the internal evidence rather tends to contradict this view. There may be very little of it, but it is something to be grateful for, and not to forget. There are passages in'. Miss Wylde should remember that the masculine characters of women novelists are apt to be shaky creatures, at best. We do not care to have them tell us what books they have studied, what theories -of life they have formed and abandoned, what foreign languages they are imperfect in, what immoralities they are implacable against ; we want to be told those secrets about themselves, and about the world as it affects them, which we can learn from alone else besides them. She is probably well aware that the Hamlets of the world are capable of talking the profoundest wisdom, which the utterances of the men of action can neyer rival ; it is just because they talk so well that they do not act, for they see the hopelessness of acting up to the perfection of their conceptions. Butwhether our favourable anticipations are likely to be ful- filled or not, depends, in great measure, upon what sort of a person Miss Wylde is. It comes to the weary traveller through fictitious deserts like the gurgling of water-brooks. When we add that the second volume is decidedly interesting, we shall have said enough to indicate that A Dreamer is far better worth reading than is the average modern novel. The first and second chapters of the "fifth part" are no ordinary writing; they give promise of high achievements in the future. It is true that the author does not elsewhere attain to this pitch of excellence, scarcely approaches it; true, also, that even here too much is said ; though the phraseology is simple, it is redundant But, nevertheless, here is the unmistakable, contagious touch of -genuine feeling, worth volumes of ingenuity and folios of clever- ness. There is often one point, however, in the novelist's favour, which the critic and not seldom, perhaps, the novelist himself may be prone to forget. Now, the only reason that he did not talk sense, was that Miss Wylde was unable to furnish him with any sense to talk. The author is herself aware. We do not want imitations of men's knowingness; we want unsophisticated feminine intuitions,. It may be said, therefore, that novelists, intrinsically considered, are neither ea good nor so bad as they look ; their successes are less due to their absolute powers, and their failures are not so much their fault, as superficially seems to be the case. Miss Wylde has doubtless expended much thought and labour over this central figure, and occasionally she achieves a happy touch ; but the analysis of the character is, as a whole, ineffective and confusing.
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