shouldered) several times, once by the alarming person in the crimson shroud, but always rescued, till it is time for her to die and be followed by him. There are endless "alarums and excursions"; some of the _not_ explained supernatural; woods, caves, ruins, underground passages--entirely at discretion. Catherine Morland would have been perfectly happy with it. It is not, however, because it contains these things that it has been called "rubbish." A book might contain them all--Mrs. Radcliffe's own do, with the aggravation of the explained wonders--and not be that. It is because of the extraordinary silliness of the style and sentiments. I should imagine that M. d'Arlincourt was trying to write like his brother viscount, the author of _Les Martyrs_, and a pretty mess he has made of it. "Le char de la nuit roulait silencieux sur les plaines du ciel" (p. 3). "L'entree du jour venait de s'elancer radieuse du palais de l'Aurore." "L'amante de l'Erebe et la mere des Songes[79] avait acheve la moitie de sa course tenebreuse," etc., etc. The historic present is constantly battling with the more ordinary tenses--the very same sentence sometimes contains both. And this half-blown bladder of a style conveys sentiments as feebly pompous as itself. The actual story, though no great thing, is, if you could strip it of its froth and fustian, not so very bad: as told it is deplorable. At the same time its mere existence--much more the fury of acceptance which for the moment greeted it--shows what that moment wanted. It wanted Romance, and in default of better it took _Le Solitaire_. * * * * * An occasional contrast of an almost violent kind may be permitted in a work requiring something more than merely catalogue-composition. It can hardly be found more appropriately than by concluding this chapter, which began with the account of Paul de Kock, by one of Charles Nodier. [Sidenote: Nodier.]