e the characters are no
more than puppets. The bony fist of the showman visibly propels them;
their springs are an open secret; their faces are of wood, their
bellies filled with bran; and yet we thrillingly partake of their
adventures. And the point may be illustrated still further. The last
interview between Lucy and Richard Feveril[21] is pure drama; more
than that, it is the strongest scene, since Shakespeare, in the
English tongue. Their first meeting by the river, on the other hand,
is pure romance; it has nothing to do with character; it might happen
to any other boy and maiden, and be none the less delightful for the
change. And yet I think he would be a bold man who should choose
between these passages. Thus, in the same book, we may have two
scenes, each capital in its order: in the one, human passion, deep
calling unto deep, shall utter its genuine voice; in the second,
according circumstances, like instruments in tune, shall build up a
trivial but desirable incident, such as we love to prefigure for
ourselves; and in the end, in spite of the critics, we may hesitate to
give the preference to either. The one may ask more genius--I do not
say it does; but at least the other dwells as clearly in the memory.

True romantic art, again, makes a romance of all things. It reaches
into the highest abstraction of the ideal; it does not refuse the most
pedestrian realism. _Robinson Crusoe_ is as realistic as it is
romantic:[22] both qualities are pushed to an extreme, and neither
suffers. Nor does romance depend upon the material importance of the
incidents. To deal with strong and deadly elements, banditti, pirates,
war and murder, is to conjure with great names, and, in the event of
failure, to double the disgrace. The arrival of Haydn[23] and Consuelo
at the Canon's villa is a very trifling incident; yet we may read a
dozen boisterous stories from beginning to end, and not receive so
fresh and stirring an impression of adventure. It was the scene of
Crusoe at the wreck, if I remember rightly, that so bewitched my
blacksmith. Nor is the fact surprising. Every single article the
castaway recovers from the hulk is "a joy for ever"[24] to the man who
reads of them. They are the things that should be found, and the bare
enumeration stirs the blood. I found a glimmer of the same interest
the other day in a new book, _The Sailor's Sweetheart_,[25] by Mr.
Clark Russell. The whole business of the brig _Morning Star_ is very