least；　that　the　negroes　have　had　the　greater　practice　in
  forgiveness；　and　that　there　are　many　probabilities　to　favor　his
  interpretation　of　the　fact。　　No　one　who　reads　the　book　can　deny
  that　the　case　is　presented　with　great　power；　or　fail　to　recognize
  in　the　writer　a　portent　of　the　sort　of　negro　equality　against
  which　no　series　of　hangings　and　burnings　will　finally　avail。
  VII。
  In　Mr。　Chesnutt's　novel　the　psychologism　is　of　that　universal
  implication　which　will　distinguish　itself　to　the　observer　from
  the　psychologism　of　that　more　personal　sortthe　words　are　not　as
  apt　as　I　should　likeevident　in　some　of　the　interesting　books
  under　notice　here。　　I　have　tried　to　say　that　it　is　none　the　less
  a　work　of　art　for　that　reason；　and　I　can　praise　the　art　of
  another　novel；　in　which　the　same　sort　of　psychologism　prevails；
  though　I　must　confess　it　a　fiction　of　the　rankest
  tendenciousness。　　〃Lay　Down　Your　Arms〃　is　the　name　of　the　English
  version　of　the　Baroness　von　Suttner's　story；　〃Die　Waffen　Nieder；〃
  which　has　become　a　watchword　with　the　peacemakers　on　the
  continent　of　Europe。　　Its　success　there　has　been　very　great；　and
  I　wish　its　success　on　the　continent　of　America　could　be　so　great
  that　it　might　replace　in　the　hands　of　our　millions　the　baleful
  books　which　have　lately　been　glorifying　bloodshed　in　the　private
  and　public　wars　of　the　past；　if　not　present。　　The　wars　which　〃Lay
  Down　Your　Arms〃　deals　with　are　not　quite　immediate；　and　yet　they
  are　not　so　far　off　historically；　either。　　They　are　the
  Franco…Austrian　war　of　1859；　the　Austro…Prussian　war　of　1866；　and
  the　Franco…German　war　of　1870；　and　the　heroine　whose　personal
  relation　makes　them　live　so　cruelly　again　is　a　young　Austrian
  lady　of　high　birth。　　She　is　the　daughter　and　the　sister　of
  soldiers；　and　when　the　handsome　young　officer；　of　equal　rank　with
  her　own；　whom　she　first　marries；　makes　love　to　her　just　before
  the　outbreak　of　the　war　first　named；　she　is　as　much　in　love　with
  his　soldiership　as　with　himself。　　But　when　the　call　to　arms
  comes；　it　strikes　to　her　heart　such　a　sense　of　war　as　she　has
  never　known　before。　　He　is　killed　in　one　of　the　battles　of　Italy；
  and　after　a　time　she　marries　another　soldier；　not　such　a　beau
  sabreur　as　the　first；　but　a　mature　and　thoughtful　man；　who　fights
  through　that　second　war　from　a　sense　of　duty　rather　than　from
  love　of　fighting；　and　comes　out　of　it　with　such　abhorrence　that
  he　quits　the　army　and　goes　with　his　family　to　live　in　Paris。
  There　the　third　war　overtakes　him；　and　in　the　siege；　this
  Austrian；　who　has　fought　the　Prussians　to　the　death；　is　arrested
  by　the　communards　as　a　Prussian　spy　and　shot。
  The　bare　outline　of　the　story　gives；　of　course；　no　just　notion　of
  the　intense　passion　of　grief　which　fills　it。　　Neither　does　it
  convey　a　due　impression　of　the　character　in　the　different　persons
  which；　amidst　the　heartbreak；　is　ascertained　with　some　such　truth
  and　impartiality　as　pervade　the　effects　of　〃War　and　Peace。〃　　I　do
  not　rank　it　with　that　work；　but　in　its　sincerity　and　veracity　it
  easily　ranks　above　any　other　novel　treating　of　war　which　I　know；
  and　it　ought　to　do　for　the　German　peoples　what　the　novels　of
  Erckmann…Chatrian　did　for　the　French；　in　at　least　one　generation。
  Will　it　do　anything　for　the　Anglo…Saxon　peoples？　　Probably　not
  till　we　have　pacified　the　Philippines　and　South　Africa。　　We
  Americans　are　still　apparently　in　love　with　fighting；　though　the
  English　are　apparently　not　so　much　so；　and　as　it　is　always　well
  to　face　the　facts；　I　will　transfer　to　my　page　some　facts　of
  fighting　from　this　graphic　book；　which　the　read　may　apply　to　the
  actualities　in　the　Philippines；　with　a　little　imagination。　　They
  are　taken　from　a　letter　written　to　the　heroine　by　her　second
  husband　after　one　of　the　Austrian　defeats。　　〃The　people　poured
  boiling　water　and　oil　on　the　Prussians　from　the　windows　of　the
  houses　at　。。。。　　The　village　is　oursno；　it　is　the　enemy's；
  now　ours　againand　yet　once　more　the　enemy's；　but　it　is　no
  longer　a　village；　but　a　smoking　mass　of　ruins　of　houses。。。。One
  family　has　remained　behind。。。an　old　married　couple　and　their
  daughter；　the　latter　in　childbed。　　The　husband　is　serving　in　our
  regiment。。。。　　Poor　devil！　he　got　there　just　in　time　to　see　the
  mother　and　child　die；　a　shell　had　exploded　under　their　bed。。。。　　I
  saw　a　breastwork　there　which　was　formed　of　corpses。　　The
  defenders　had　heaped　all　the　slain　who　were　lying　near；　in　order；
  from　that　rampart；　to　fire　over　at　their　assailants。　　I　shall
  surely　never　forget　that　wall　in　my　life。　　A　man　who　formed　one
  of　its　bricks　was　still　alive；　and　was　waving　his　arm。。。。　　What
  is　happening　there？　　The　execution　party　is　drawn　out。　　Has　a　spy
  been　caught？　　Seventeen　this　time。　　There　they　come；　in　four
  ranks；　each　one　of　four　men；　surrounded　by　a　square　of　soldiers。
  The　condemned　men　step　out；　with　their　heads　down。　　Behind　comes
  a　cart　with　a　corpse　in　it；　and　bound　to　the　corpse　the　dead
  man's　son；　a　boy　of　twelve；　also　condemned。。。。　　Steep；　rocky
  heights；　Jaegers；　nimble　as　cats；　climbing　up　them。。。。　　Some　of
  them；　who　are　hit　by　the　enemy's　shot；　suddenly　stretch　out　both
  their　arms；　let　their　muskets　fall；　and；　with　their　heads　falling
  backwards；　drop　off　the　height；　step　by　step；　from　one　rocky
  point　to　another；　smashing　their　limbs　to　pieces。　　I　saw　a
  horseman　at　some　distance；　obliquely　behind　me；　at　whose　side　a
  shell　burst。　　His　horse　swerved　aside　and　came　against　the　tail
  of　mind；　then　shot　past　me。　　The　man　sat　still　in　the　saddle；　but
  a　fragment　of　the　shell　had　ripped　his　belly　open　and　torn　out
  all　the　intestines。　　The　upper　part　of　his　body　was　held　to　the
  lower　only　by　the　spine。　　From　the　ribs　to　the　thighs　nothing　but
  one　great；　bleeding　cavity。　　A　short　distance　farther　he　fell　to
  the　ground；　one　foot　still　clinging　in　the　stirrup；　and　the
  galloping　horse　dragging　him　on　over　the　stony　soil。。。。　　Another
  street　fight　in　the　little　town　of　Saar。。。。　　In　the　middle　of　the
  square　stands　a　high　pillar　of　the　Virgin。　　The　mother　of　God
  holds　her　child　in　one　arm；　and　stretches　the　other　out　in
  blessing。。。。　　Here　the　fight　was　prolonged；　man　to　man。　　They
  were　hacking　at　me；　I　laying　about　me　on　all　sides。。。。　　A
  Prussian　dragoon；　strong　as　Goliath；　tore　one　of　our　officers　（a
  pretty；　dandified　lieutenanthow　many　girls　are；　perhaps；　mad
  after　him？）　out　of　his　saddle　and　split　his　skull　at　the　feet　of
  the　Virgin's　pillar。　　The　gentle　saint　looked　on　unmoved。
  Another　of　the　enemy's　dragoonsa　Goliath；　tooseized；　just
  before　me　almost；　my　right…hand　man；　and　bent　him　backwards　in
  his　saddle　so　powerfully　that　he　broke　his　backI　myself　heard
  it　crack。　　To　this　the　Madonna　gave　her　blessing　also。〃
  VIII。
  It　can　be　said　that　these　incidents　of　battle　are　imagined；　like
  the　facts　of　Vereschagin's　pictures；　but　like　these　they　are
  imagined　rather　below　than　above　the　real　horror　of　war；　and
  represent　them　inadequately。　　The　incidents　of　another　book；　the
  last　on　my　list；　are　of　the　warfare　which　goes　on　in　times　of
  peace；　and　which　will　go　on　as　long　as　there　are　human　passions；
  and　mankind　are　divided　into　men　and　women；　and　saints　and
  sinners。　　Of　all　the　books　on　my　list；　〃Let　Not　Man　Put　Asunder〃
  is；　narrowing　the　word　to　the　recognition　of　the　author's
  intellectual　alertness　and　vividness；　the　cleverest。　　The　story
  is　of　people　who　constantly　talk　so　wonderfully　well　beyond　the
  wont　even　of　society　people　that　the　utmost　skill　of　the　author；
  who　cannot　subdue　their　brilliancy；　is　needed　to　make　us　feel
  their　reality。　　But　he　does　make　us　feel　this　in　most　cases；　the
  important　cases；　and　in　the　other　cases　his　power　of　interesting
  us　is　so　great　that　we　do　not　stop　to　examine　the　grounds　of　our
  sensation；　or　to　question　the　validity　of　our　emotions。　　　The
  action；　which　is　positively　of　to…day；　or　yesterday　at　the
  furthest；　passes　in　Boston　and　England；　among　people　of　such
  great　fortune　and　high　rank　and　transcendent　fashion　that　the
  proudest　reader　cannot　complain　of　their　social　quality。　　As　to
  their　moral　quality；　one　might　have　thought　the　less　said　the
  better；　if　the　author　had　not　said　so　much　that　is　pertinent　and
  impressive。　　It　is　from　first　to　last　a　book　with　a　conscience　in
  it；　and　its　highest　appeal　is　to　the　conscience。　　It　is　so　very
  nearly　a　great　book；　so　very　nearly　a　true　book；　that　it　is　with
  a　kind　of　grief　one　recognizes　its　limitations；　a　kind　of
  surprise　at　its　shortcomings；　which；　nevertheless；　are　not
  shortcomings　that　impair　its　supreme　effect。　　This；　I　take　it；　is
  the　intimation　of　a　mystical　authority　in　marriage　against　which
  divorce　sins　in　vain；　which　no　recreancy　can　subvert；　and　by
  virtue　of　which　it　claims　eternally　its　own　the　lovers　united　in
  it；　though　they　seem　to　become　haters；　it　cannot　release　them　to
  happiness　in　a　new　union　through　any　human　law。
  If　the　author　had　done　dramatically　（and　his　doing　is　mainly
  dramatic）