Birmingham age-herald., 1894-08-15

have been number of realistic writers most eminent. among whom, of course, are Turgeneff and Zola-each of whom has given the world the rich fruits of his genius. They have done wonderful things to be sure, but it is to be questioned, after all, whether or not the work done would not have been quite as well done in. some other way; that is, by some other method. These writers are, per haps, unconsciously, realists, in the sense that as literary creators they never set out, so to speak, to bring into fashion any particular school They wrote as they felt without regard to method or system. Andrew Lang-for whom I confess a real liking, by the by-not long since, at banquet of the Royal academy, commented at some length on this subject, and among the good things he said were these, viz: That William Shakespeare didn't write about contemporary problems; that so many of our novelists now-a- days are given to reminding us of our misfortunes; that novels are getting to be largely tracts on church affairs, free love and~othcr sensational topics; than the thrifty plan of giving us politics, sermons, fiction and the like, all served up in one stodgy sandwich, produces no permanent literature; only what amounts to tracts for the times and for the time being. None of the realists, so-called, so far as I recall save in the case of MT. Howells, who may be regarded, perhaps, as a marked exception-has ever taken the pains to inform the world that he was such, and it is just possible" added the autocrat, with that peculiar twinkle of his eye, ''that he didn't know he wasp
 But it is only natural, Pm sue your will acknowledge" continued the au- tocrat, "that should feel deeper in- terest in, and regard for the older writers, here in America, for instance of my own day. than for those of the present period. I love to think of Hawthorne, the intellectual romancer, who, though more appreciated to-day than formerly, is, nevertheless, far from being estimated at his real worth. love to think of him, and of Longfel- low, the incomparable, sweet singer, and of Emerson the philosopher, and Whittier and Lowell, whose clarion voices in song awoke nation to duty and self-honor. The work these men did can never be surpassed, if in many respects equalled, for they were giants in letters. I knew them all well, and cherished their friendship, God knows how deeply. They are all gone, and, If personal reference be pardonable, I alone remain, only to recall from hour to hour those words of Tom Moore: I stand like one who walks alone, some banquet hall deserted"
 There was moments silence, dur ing which the aged autocrat, with eyes gazing into space, appeared to be wrapped in deep thought. l had no wish to break the spell which held him, for he was musing on a past which was very dear to him. Presently, turn ing his eyes toward me, the autocrat continued: ''PerhAps, of them all, thought most of Longfellow. His was a lovely character; the most so, l think, of anyone I ever knew"
 I venturod to ask the autocrat if he were doing any literary work at pres ent. He replied: "Very little. My work is really done, and I am now rest ing, and l find rest very delightful after long life passed so largely with my pen" NEWELL LovEJoY.