Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 166: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

<p TeamED cra Te oa “AUN a Leia eRe LAS eer i ne @AURICE HEWLETT’S gift of visualizing and presenting the atmosphere of the period he selects for his stories has never been used to such effect as he has used it in his new book, “Mrs. Lancelot,’ published by the Century Company. Moreover, his phrase mak- ing, or, to put it more bluntly, his word catching, now and then forces from the reader a reluctant tribute to his skill. His characters, also, three men and a woman, are masterpieces, really vital early Victorians. They are drawn to the life, life with a gloss and burnish over it—almost a varnish. The wonder of a quite impossible tale of impossible, but perfectly logical, as- sumptions is that Mr. Hewle never loses the reader’s sympathy for the frail and lovely Georgiana. But though he cunningly emphasizes the graces of the lackadaisical heroine, the conviction is constantly forced upon the reader that Georgiana was a fool, much beloved, and much admired, but, none the less, a fool; otherwise she would never have permitted so many assumptions to be made about her. Neither would she so supinely have married Charles Lancelot, nor, after having been associated for many years with the greatest man in English public life, the Duke of Devizes, would she have eloped with a_hot- headed young poet. It is after one is deep in the last chap- ters that he becomes aware of a sense of disappointment which increases steadily until the final page is reached. The author has conceived a certain dénouement, admirable enough in itself, but one which is the last his characters, if left to themselves, would develop. . at the present time. So his wonderful characterization is ruthlessly abandoned, and the people we have grown to know become suddenly capricious and disappointing. He & It is only Mr. James Lane Allen’s sense of proportion and sense of humor that save him from eighteenth-century sentimentality in his new book, “The Heroine in Bronze,’ published by the Macmillan Company. The book is beau- tifully written, of course; clear, pel- lucid, and—cloyingly sweet, like honey. The scene is laid in New York, and The story is told in the first person, detailing the experi- ences of a young novelist who, leaving his home in Kentucky, has come to the city bringing his hopes and ideals, not to mention his manuscripts. The hero- ine is high-born, a daughter of wealth and position; her splendid home, in the heart of New York, is surrounded by spacious gardens—a fact which must give the real-estate operator many sleep- less nights. She is a creature of transcendent beauty and rare qualities of mind and heart, though, to tell the truth, we would be secretly convinced that she was a young woman given to driving a hard bargain, if we had not Mr. Allen’s assurance to the contrary. The character yiven her by the author is, however, necessary to the exigencies of the tale in order that it may be drawn out to the required length. The plot, as plots go nowadays, is not worth consideration. It is simply the story of the misunderstandings of two young people deeply in love with each other, who finally make the explanations CONMUC VOOL|K