ever the author may tell us of robber caves and
black-hearted villains, there is nothing incredible in any of his
confidences. Nothing in recent novel writing is more vivid than the
contrast between these outcast nobles the Doones, robbers and brigands,
living in the wilds of Bagworthy Forest, locked fast in the hills,--and
the peaceful farm-house of the yeoman Ridd who lives on the Downs. This
home is not idealized. From the diamond-paned kitchen come savory smells
of cooking and substantial fare. Pretty Annie, whose "like has never
been seen for making a man comfortable," Lizzie, who was undersized and
loved books, "but knew the gift of cooking had not been vouchsafed her
by God," the sweet homely mother, and above all the manly figure of the
young giant John, make a picture of which the gloomy castle of the
Doones is the shadow. And what more charming than the story of the love
that takes possession of the young boy, making a poet, a soldier, a
knight of him, through a chance encounter with Lorna, the queen of the
wild band, the grandchild of old Sir Ensor Doone?

With John Ridd,--"Grit Jan"--the author dwelt till he possessed him with
human attributes and made him alive. Around him the interest of the
story centres. He is full of mother-wit and observation of men and
things, especially of every changing mood of the nature he regards as
his true mother. He is brave and resourceful, and rescues Lorna and
himself from numberless difficulties by his native shrewdness. And his
love is a poem, an idyl that crowns him a shepherd king in his own green
pastures. Nothing that he does in his plodding, sturdy way wearies us.
His size, his strength, his good farming, the way he digs his sheep out
of the snow, entertain us as well as his rescue of Lorna from the clan.

The texture of this novel is close, the composition elaborate. It is
impossible to escape from it, the story having been once begun. 'Lorna
Doone' is Blackmore at his highest point, full of truest nature and
loveliest thoughts.

A DESPERATE VENTURE

From 'Lorna Doone'

The journey was a great deal longer to fetch around the southern hills,
and enter by the Doone gate, than to cross the lower land and steal in
by the water-slide. However, I durst not take a horse (for fear of the
Doones, who might be abroad upon their usual business), but started
betimes in the evening, so as not to hurry, or waste any strength upon
the way. And thus I came to the robbe