As we look back over the history of the English novel, it would appear that every permanent work of fiction has been a great story. _Robinson Crusoe_, _Clarissa_, _Tom Jones_, _Humphry Clinker_, _The Bride of Lammermoor_, _Pride and Prejudice_, _Esmond_, _David Copperfield_, _The Mill on the Floss_, _Richard Feverel_, _The Return of the Native_, _Treasure Island_, _The Last of the Mohicans_, _The Scarlet Letter_, _Huckleberry Finn_, although they represent various shades of realism and romanticism, have all been primarily stories, in which we follow the fortunes of the chief actors with steady interest. These books owe their supremacy in fiction--at least, most of them do--to a combination of narrative, character, and style; every one of them, if given in colloquial paraphrase to a group of men around a camp-fire, would be rewarded with attention. Sometimes the very thing that gives a drama or a novel immediate currency makes it smell of mortality; by taking advantage of some hotly-discussed social question, general interest is awakened; but when the question is obsolete, what becomes of the work of art? I shall not venture to make a prediction; but I think it is at least possible that some of the earlier plays of Ibsen, like _The Pretenders_, may outlast some of the later ones, like _Ghosts_; the later ones blaze with the flames of public debate, the earlier reflect the light of the stars. Of all forms of literature, the novel has suffered most by its desertion of art for propaganda. It has been debased by its popularity. It lends itself so easily as a channel for political, social or religious oratory. Every theorist uses it as a megaphone. Although novels are as common as grasshoppers, good stories are scarce. Now this desertion of art for propaganda is founded on the fallacy that a work of pure fiction cannot stand or ought not to stand by itself, but should lean on politics, social reform, science, or theology for support. We do not insist on a thesis in sculpture or music or painting or poetry. There have been, indeed, many attempts to turn Pegasus into a cart-horse; and unfortunately the attempt is almost invariably successful. I prefer novels that express the opinions of the characters in the story to those that express the opinions of the author. I do not mean that all novels ought to be impersonal; such a result, even when most ardently desired by the novelist, is impossible of achievement. The work of every true artist reflects his personality, and is, in a sense, subjective. Even the coldest novels betray their makers' sympathies, and the standpoint from which they regard the world. But there is a difference between having ideas and arguing a case. Women who have ideas are always more interesting than those who have only opinions.