tion, leads his reader
up from a consideration of imagined facts to a comprehension of truth,
and that the romantic, by deduction, leads his reader down from an
apprehension of truth to a consideration of imagined facts, we may
next examine certain advantages and disadvantages of each method in
comparison with the other.

In the first place, we notice that, while the imagined facts of the
romantic are selected merely to illustrate the truth he wishes to
convey, the imagined facts of the realist are selected not only to
illustrate, but also to support, the truth that lies inherent in them.
The realist, then, has this advantage over the romantic in his method
of expressing truth: he has the opportunity to prove his case by
presenting the evidence on which his truth is based. It is therefore
less difficult for him to conquer credence from a skeptical and wary
reader: and we must remember always that even though a story tells the
truth, it is still a failure unless it gets that truth believed. The
romantic necessarily demands a deeper faith in his wisdom than the
realist need ask for; and he can evoke deep faith only by absolute
sincerity and utter clearness in the presentation of his fable. Unless
the reader of "The Brushwood Boy" and "They" has absolute faith that
Mr. Kipling knows the truth of his themes, the stories are reduced to
nonsense; for they present no evidence (through running parallel to
actuality) which proves that the author _does_ know the truth. Unless
the reader has faith that Stevenson deeply understands the nature of
remorse, the conversation between Markheim and his ghostly visitant
becomes incredible and vain. The author gives himself no opportunity
to prove (through analogy with actual experience) that such a colloquy
consistently presents the inner truth of conscience.

But this great advantage of the realist--that he supports his theme
with evidence--carries with it an attendant disadvantage. Since he
lays his evidence bare before the reader, he makes it simpler for the
reader to detect him in a lie. The romantic says, "These things are
so, because I know they are"; and unless we reject him at once and in
entirety as a colossal liar, we are almost doomed to take his word in
the big moments of his story. But the realist says, "These things are
so, because they are supported by actual facts similar to the imagined
facts in which I clothe them"; and we may answer at any point in the
story, "Not at a