jah's Diamond_ against _Aladdin_. I am merely pointing out that life
is presented to us in Galland and in Mr. Stevenson's first book of
tales under very similar conditions--the chief difference being that
Mr. Stevenson has to abate something of the supernatural, or to handle
it less frankly.

But several years divide the _New Arabian Nights_ from the _Island
Nights' Entertainments_; and in the interval our author has written
_The Master of Ballantrae_ and his famous _Open Letter_ on Father
Damien. That is to say, he has grown in his understanding of the human
creature and in his speculations upon his creature's duties and
destinies. He has travelled far, on shipboard and in emigrant trains;
has passed through much sickness; has acquired property and
responsibility; has mixed in public affairs; has written _A Footnote
to History_, and sundry letters to the _Times_; and even, as his
latest letter shows, stands in some danger of imprisonment. Therefore,
while the title of his new volume would seem to refer us once more to
the old Arabian models, we are not surprised to find this apparent
design belied by the contents. The third story, indeed, _The Isle of
Voices_, has affinity with some of the Arabian tales--with Sindbad's
adventures, for instance. But in the longer _Beach of Falesa_ and _The
Bottle Imp_ we are dealing with no debauch of fancy, but with the
problems of real life.

For what is the knot untied in the _Beach of Falesa_? If I mistake
not, our interest centres neither in Case's dirty trick of the
marriage, nor in his more stiff-jointed trick of the devil-contraptions.
The first but helps to construct the problem, the second seems a
superfluity. The problem is (and the author puts it before us fair
and square), How is Wiltshire a fairly loose moralist with some
generosity of heart, going to treat the girl he has wronged? And I
am bound to say that as soon as Wiltshire answers that question
before the missionary--an excellent scene and most dramatically
managed--my interest in the story, which is but halftold at this
point, begins to droop. As I said, the "devil-work" chapter strikes me
as stiff, and the conclusion but rough-and-tumble. And I feel certain
that the story itself is to blame, and neither the scenery nor the
persons, being one of those who had as lief Mr. Stevenson spake of the
South Seas as of the Hebrides, so that he speak and I listen. Let it
be granted that the Polynesian names are a trifle har