ht
in making it as unpleasant as possible for their fictitious people. There
is R--b--rt 'lsm--r', for example. External trouble is piled on to the
internal. The characters are in a perpetual soak. There is not a dry rag
on any of them, from the beginning of the book to the end. They are sent
out in all weathers, and are drenched every day. Often their wet clothes
are frozen on them; they are exposed to cutting winds and sleet in their
faces, bedrabbled in damp grass, stood against slippery fences, with hail
and frost lowering their vitality, and expected under these circumstances
to make love and be good Christians. Drenched and wind-blown for years,
that is what they are. It may be that this treatment has excited the
sympathy of the world, but is it legitimate? Has a novelist the right to
subject his creations to tortures that he would not dare to inflict upon
his friends? It is no excuse to say that this is normal English weather;
it is not the office of fiction to intensify and rub in the unavoidable
evils of life. The modern spirit of consideration for fictitious
characters that prevails with regard to dress ought to extend in a
reasonable degree to their weather. This is not a strained corollary to
the demand for an appropriately costumed novel.

THE BROAD A

It cannot for a moment be supposed that the Drawer would discourage
self-culture and refinement of manner and of speech. But it would not
hesitate to give a note of warning if it believed that the present
devotion to literature and the pursuits of the mind were likely, by the
highest authorities, to be considered bad form. In an intellectually
inclined city (not in the northeast) a club of ladies has been formed for
the cultivation of the broad 'a' in speech. Sporadic efforts have
hitherto been made for the proper treatment of this letter of the
alphabet with individual success, especially with those who have been in
England, or have known English men and women of the broad-gauge variety.
Discerning travelers have made the American pronunciation of the letter a
a reproach to the republic, that is to say, a means of distinguishing a
native of this country. The true American aspires to be cosmopolitan, and
does not want to be "spotted"--if that word may be used--in society by
any peculiarity of speech, that is, by any American peculiarity. Why, at
the bottom of the matter, a narrow 'a' should be a disgrace it is not
easy to see, but it needs no reason if