fineness　and　scientific　thoroughness　is　personally　a　certain　Mrs。
  Hunter；　who　manages　through　the　weak…minded　and　selfish　Kitty
  Morrow　to　work　her　way　to　authority　in　the　household　of　Kitty's
  uncle；　where　she　displaces　Mary　Fairthorne；　and　makes　the　place
  odious　to　all　the　kith　and　kin　of　Kitty。　　Intellectually；　she　is
  a　clever　woman；　or　rather；　she　is　a　woman　of　great　cunning　that
  rises　at　times　to　sagacity；　but　she　is　limited　by　a　bad　heart　and
  an　absence　of　conscience。　　She　is　bold　up　to　a　point；　and　then
  she　is　timid；　she　will　go　to　lengths；　but　not　to　all　lengths；　and
  when　it　comes　to　poisoning　Fairthorne　to　keep　him　from　changing
  his　mind　about　the　bequest　he　has　made　her；　she　has　not　quite　the
  courage　of　her　convictions。　　She　hesitates　and　does　not　do　it；
  and　it　is　in　this　point　she　becomes　so　aesthetically　successful。
  The　guilt　of　the　uncommitted　crimes　is　more　important　than　the
  guilt　of　those　which　have　been　committed；　and　the　author　does　a
  good　thing　morally　as　well　as　artistically　in　leaving　Mrs。　Hunter
  still　something　of　a　problem　to　his　reader。　　In　most　things　she
  is　almost　too　plain　a　case；　she　is　sly；　and　vulgar；　and　depraved
  and　cruel；　she　is　all　that　a　murderess　should　be；　but；　in
  hesitating　at　murder；　she　becomes　and　remains　a　mystery；　and　the
  reader　does　not　get　rid　of　her　as　he　would　if　she　had　really　done
  the　deed。　　In　the　inferior　exigencies　she　strikes　fearlessly；　and
  when　the　man　who　has　divorced　her　looms　up　in　her　horizon　with
  doom　in　his　presence；　she　goes　and　makes　love　to　him。　　She　is　not
  the　less　successful　because　she　disgusts　him；　he　agrees　to　let
  her　alone　so　long　as　she　does　no　mischief；　she　has；　at　least；
  made　him　unwilling　to　feel　himself　her　persecutor；　and　that　is
  enough　for　her。
  Mrs。　Hunter　is　a　study　of　extreme　interest　in　degeneracy；　but　I
  am　not　sure　that　Kitty　Morrow　is　not　a　rarer　contribution　to
  knowledge。　　Of　course；　that　sort　of　selfish　girl　has　always　been
  known；　but　she　has　not　met　the　open　recognition　which　constitutes
  knowledge；　and　so　she　has　the　preciousness　of　a　find。　　She　is　at
  once　tiresome　and　vivacious；　she　is　cold…hearted　but　not
  cold…blooded；　and　when　she　lets　herself　go　in　an　outburst　of
  passion　for　the　celibate　young　ritualist；　Knellwood；　she　becomes
  fascinating。　　She　does　not　let　herself　go　without　having　assured
  herself　that　he　loves　her；　and　somehow　one　is　not　shocked　at　her
  making　love　to　him；　one　even　wishes　that　she　had　won　him。　　I　am
  not　sure　but　the　case　would　have　been　a　little　truer　if　she　had
  won　him；　but　as　it　is　I　am　richly　content　with　it。　　Perhaps　I　am
  the　more　content　because　in　the　case　of　Kitty　Morrow　I　find　a
  concession　to　reality　more　entire　than　the　case　of　Mrs。　Hunter。
  She　is　of　the　heredity　from　which　you　would　expect　her　depravity；
  but　Kitty　Morrow；　who　lets　herself　go　so　recklessly；　is；　for　all
  one　knows；　as　well　born　and　as　well　bred　as　those　other
  Philadelphians。　　In　my　admiration　of　her；　as　a　work　of　art；
  however；　I　must　not　fail　of　justice　to　the　higher　beauty　of　Mary
  Fairthorne's　character。　　She　is　really　a　good　girl；　and　saved
  from　the　unreality　which　always　threatens　goodness　in　fiction　by
  those　limitations　of　temper　which　I　have　already　hinted。
  V。
  It　is　far　from　the　ambient　of　any　of　these　imaginary　lives　to
  that　of　the　half…caste　heroine　of　〃A　Japanese　Nightingale〃　and
  the　young　American　whom　she　marries　in　one　of　those　marriages
  which　neither　the　Oriental　nor　the　Occidental　expects　to　last
  till　death　parts　them。　　It　is　far；　and　all　is　very　strange　under
  that　remote　sky；　but　what　is　true　to　humanity　anywhere　is　true
  everywhere；　and　the　story　of　Yuki　and　Bigelow；　as　the　Japanese
  author　tells　it　in　very　choice　English；　is　of　as　palpitant
  actuality　as　any　which　should　treat　of　lovers　next　door。　　If　I
  have　ever　read　any　record　of　young　married　love　that　was　so
  frank；　so　sweet；　so　pure；　I　do　not　remember　it。　　Yet；　Yuki；
  though　she　loves　Bigelow；　does　not　marry　him　because　she　loves
  him；　but　because　she　wishes　with　the　money　he　gives　her　to　help
  her　brother　through　college　in　America。　　When　this　brother　comes
  back　to　Japanhe　is　the　touch　of　melodrama　in　the　pretty
  idylhe　is　maddened　by　an　acquired　Occidental　sense　of　his
  sister's　disgrace　in　her　marriage；　and　falls　into　a　fever　and
  dies　out　of　the　story；　which　closes　with　the　lasting　happiness　of
  the　young　wife　and　husband。　　There　is　enough　incident；　but　of　the
  kind　that　is　characterized　and　does　not　characterize。　　The　charm；
  the　delight；　the　supreme　interest　is　in　the　personality　of　Yuki。
  Her　father　was　an　Englishman　who　had　married　her　mother　in　the
  same　sort　of　marriage　she　makes　herself；　but　he　is　true　to　his
  wife　till　he　dies；　and　possibly　something　of　the　English
  constancy　which　is　not　always　so　evident　as　in　his　case　qualifies
  the　daughter's　nature。　　Her　mother　was；　of　course；　constant；　and
  Yuki；　though　an　outcast　from　her　own　peoplethe　conventions　seen
  to　be　as　imperative　in　Tokyo　as　in　Philadelphiabecause　of　her
  half…caste　origin；　is　justly　Japanese　in　what　makes　her
  loveliest。　　There　is　a　quite　indescribable　freshness　in　the　art
  of　this　pretty　noveletteit　is　hardly　of　the　dimensions　of　a
  novelwhich　is　like　no　other　art　except　in　the　simplicity　which
  is　native　to　the　best　art　everywhere。　　Yuki　herself　is　of　a
  surpassing　lovableness。　　Nothing　but　the　irresistible　charm　of
  the　American　girl　could；　I　should　think　keep　the　young　men　who
  read　Mrs。　Watana's　book　from　going　out　and　marrying　Japanese
  girls。　　They　are　safe　from　this；　however；　for　the　reason
  suggested；　and　therefore　it　can　be　safely　commended　at　least　to
  young　men　intending　fiction；　as　such　a　lesson　in　the　art　of
  imitating　nature　as　has　not　come　under　my　hand　for　a　long　while。
  It　has　its　little　defects；　but　its　directness；　and　sincerity；　and
  its　felicity　through　the　sparing　touch　make　me　unwilling　to　note
  them。　　In　fact；　I　have　forgotten　them。
  VI。
  I　wish　that　I　could　at　all　times　praise　as　much　the　literature　of
  an　author　who　speaks　for　another　colored　race；　not　so　far　from　us
  as　the　Japanese；　but　of　as　much　claim　upon　our　conscience；　if　not
  our　interest。　　Mr。　Chesnutt；　it　seems　to　me；　has　lost　literary
  quality　in　acquiring　literary　quantity；　and　though　his　book；　〃The
  Marrow　of　Tradition；〃　is　of　the　same　strong　material　as　his
  earlier　books；　it　is　less　simple　throughout；　and　therefore　less
  excellent　in　manner。　　At　his　worst；　he　is　no　worse　than　the
  higher　average　of　the　ordinary　novelist；　but　he　ought　always　to
  be　very　much　better；　for　he　began　better；　and　he　is　of　that　race
  which　has；　first　of　all；　to　get　rid　of　the　cakewalk；　if　it　will
  not　suffer　from　a　smile　far　more　blighting　than　any　frown。　　He　is
  fighting　a　battle；　and　it　is　not　for　him　to　pick　up　the　cheap
  graces　and　poses　of　the　jouster。　　He　does；　indeed；　cast　them　all
  from　him　when　he　gets　down　to　his　work；　and　in　the　dramatic
  climaxes　and　closes　of　his　story　he　shortens　his　weapons　and
  deals　his　blows　so　absolutely　without　flourish　that　I　have
  nothing　but　admiration　for　him。　　〃The　Marrow　of　Tradition；〃　like
  everything　else　he　has　written；　has　to　do　with　the　relations　of
  the　blacks　and　whites；　and　in　that　republic　of　letters　where　all
  men　are　free　and　equal　he　stands　up　for　his　own　people　with　a
  courage　which　has　more　justice　than　mercy　in　it。　　The　book　is；　in
  fact；　bitter；　bitter。　　There　is　no　reason　in　history　why　it
  should　not　be　so；　if　wrong　is　to　be　repaid　with　hate；　and　yet　it
  would　be　better　if　it　was　not　so　bitter。　　I　am　not　saying　that　he
  is　so　inartistic　as　to　play　the　advocate；　whatever　his　minor
  foibles　may　be；　he　is　an　artist　whom　his　stepbrother　Americans
  may　well　be　proud　of；　but　while　he　recognizes　pretty　well　all　the
  facts　in　the　case；　he　is　too　clearly　of　a　judgment　that　is　made
  up。　　One　cannot　blame　him　for　that；　what　would　one　be　one's　self？
  If　the　tables　could　once　be　turned；　and　it　could　be　that　it　was
  the　black　race　which　violently　and　lastingly　triumphed　in　the
  bloody　revolution　at　Wilmington；　North　Carolina；　a　few　years　ago；
  what　would　not　we　excuse　to　the　white　man　who　made　the　atrocity
  the　argument　of　his　fiction？
  Mr。　Chesnutt　goes　far　back　of　the　historic　event　in　his　novel；
  and　shows　us　the　sources　of　the　cataclysm　which　swept　away　a
  legal　government　and　perpetuated　an　insurrection；　but　he　does　not
  paint　the　blacks　all　good；　or　the　whites　all　bad。　　He　paints　them
  as　slavery　made　them　on　both　sides；　and　if　in　the　very　end　he
  gives　the　moral　victory　to　the　blacksif　he　suffers　the　daughter
  of　the　black　wife　to　have　pity　on　her　father's　daughter　by　his
  white　wife；　and　while　her　own　child　lies　dead　from　a　shot　fired
  in　the　revolt；　gives　her　husband's　skill　to　save　the　life　of　her
  sister's　childit　cannot　be　said　that　either　his　aesthetics　or
  ethics　are　false。　　Those　who　would　question　either　must　allow；　at
  least；　that　the　negroes　have　had　the　greater　practice　in
  forgiveness；　and　that　there