e and some social aspects still less agree able to
contemplate there is ample subject-matter for any novelist who may have
the disposition and ability to carry on the work which Clarke had
indicated, but scarcely begun, before he died.

_Long Odds_, Clarke's first story, deals with English life, and bears no
resemblance in quality or kind to the later novel with which his name is
chiefly associated. It is primarily the tragedy of a _mesalliance_, and
horseracing and politics assist the plot, with the usual complications
of gambling and intrigue. The story has, however, a good deal less to
do with sport than the title suggests. The plot is mainly concerned with
the selfish, cruel, and infamous in human nature--a singularly dark
theme for a young beginner in fiction to choose. Except at rare
intervals when the business of characterisation is momentarily set
aside, as in the vivid descriptions of the Kirkminster Steeplechase and
the Matcham Hunt, there is little suggestion of youthful spirit or
freshness.

The outlines of plot and incident are attractively arranged, the
expression of life for the most part second-hand and artificial. There
are traces of Dickens' burlesque without his sympathy, and the high
colouring of Lytton with less than Lytton's wit. Disraeli's satire, too,
is echoed in the political scenes. The young Australian squatter, whose
experiences in England were to have formed the main purpose of the book,
is allowed no opportunity to show the better, and rarely even the
ordinary, capabilities of the new race of which he is ostensibly a type.

It is said to be a well-understood maxim of the novelist's art that many
a liberty taken with hero or heroine, or both, is forgiven if the writer
keeps a constant eye upon his villain, and deals honestly by him. In
_Long Odds_ there are two villains, and at least two others villainously
inclined. Between the four of them the easy-going hero has no chance.

It is natural that, in the construction of a novel which aims at
dramatic point before anything else, the 'simple Australian,' as his
author is at last constrained to regard him, should seem less useful
than the polished and unprincipled man of the world. But in this
instance the balance of interest is too unequal. Dramatic quality has
been secured at the expense of tone and proportion. Of the two male
characters whose exploits in rascality it becomes the real business of
the story to tell, Rupert Dacre is the more