The San Francisco call., 1897-04-25
BY A CALIFORNIAN.

THEAPE,THE IDIOT AND OTHER PEOPLE
BY W. c. Morrow. Pbilade phia; J. B; Lippin-
colt Company. For sale Ia this city by A. NJ.
Robertson, Post street. Price 81 so.
When a good story, or volume of good
stories is fresh from the publishers the pleas
ure which it gives 10 all lovers of literature
will be felt in much augmented degree Dy
those who can claim the author as a posses
sion by virtue of mis- being fellow-country-
men fellow-citizen. Thus the feeling of
patriotism and pride in sense of semi
ownership adds zest to the appreciation of an
excellence which the purely literary tastes
would have found delight in without consid-
ering whence it came. Such is the double
nature OF the treat presented to San Francis
, cans and Californians in this choice collection
OF artistic short stories by one of our own
coast writers-one in whom we can take a
patriotic pride and confidently challenge
comparison with him by the writers OF any
other State or country in the particular line
which he has made speciality. He takes
rank among the strongest writer's of short
stories now living, and is second to none on
this coast, although he has here a bright
array of competitors.
The gilded griffin on the binding of the
book strikingly suggests the nature Of the
stories inclosed, and partly prepares the read
er imagination tor those charms OF the grew
some and the grotesque which the author has
used with consummate cleverness TO spell
liantly horrible would but poorly characterize
the work al though even if that were the sole |
achievement in them, the amount OF lngen- |
nifty displayed in their construction, the skill
ful use OF language, the extent and originality
OF Imagination, would combine to make them
OF thrilling interest and of rare merit as ini- |
mitab literary productions.
Many OF the stories are subtle analyses OF
human passion, and deserve 10 he read care
fully and seriously pondered, not merely a
matter OF curious interest in literary skill, but
because they enlarge the understanding of
human nature. 1t is one of the highest aims
OF fiction to so extend our sympathies that we
can learn more and moro TO put ourselves in
the authors place, and so br baden our CON-
prehension of the human mind. Particularly
IS this needed in order that we may be 'loyal
10 the low and cognizant of the less scrutable
mejesties."
Mr.. Morrow's book is superlative in its power
OF making us realize the possibilities that
these ''less scrutable msjesties" exist in the
personalities around us, perhaps seemingly
far beneath us-in rags, in convict stripes, in
the stupidity of the idiot and semi-idiot, in
the unfortunate who is condemned for a single
grave fault.
With talent of close kinship to that of the
great actors on the stage he shows US traits of
character in these "Iows," to whom we might
well be loyal as having majesty of heroism,
patient endurance and OF kindness, placing
them far above US, could we but be cognizant
OF what is in their souls. Qualities which
need the searching of keen intellect and deep
sympathy to find now perhaps, but yet germs
half smothered of an exalted destiny beyond
our guessing. Indeed, many OF the stories
read as if the thought of the less scrutable
mejesties was dominant in the authors mind
when he composed them. fine example of
this sort OF portrayal Is the tale of "The Hero
OF the Plague" wherein the ex-convict and
seeming fool, Baker, is so shown as to convince
rs that he had wisdom enough in his dull
brain to win the eternal wealth of heavens
approval.
The foundation of fact on which some of
these stories are built will give them added
interest While the happenings are changed
and colored by Imagination, there is yet ruth
enough to show that the existence of such
characters is credible; and this hero of the
plague, for instance, really lived, suffered for
his own and the stupidity of other people
and wore crown invisible to most who saw
him here.
Where the tales are purely fiction the au-
thor possesses such method of anslysis OF
details as 10 make things that would seem
highly i'm probable by less clever treatment ap-
pear not merely credible but inevitable as
the outflow from the nature of the being por-
trayed and his compass of circumstances
The characteristics of his work are strength
in the delineation of the weird and grewsome
a rare faculty for showing US many unex-
plored abysses of mind and EN- otion-passions
hopes and fears, infrequent but intense and
often felt by those the tragedy of whose lives
we are prone to supercfliously overlook.
There is story in the collection called IAN
Uncommon View of It," dealing with the pas
sions of a wfonged husband and his gradual
change of point of view and intentions in re-
gard to his once loved and loving wife, which
is not so much story as an essay on the
higher manhood, and which is a most subtle
tracing OF the emotions and reasonings of a
noble being subjected TO one of the most will
puzzling and severe of trials.
The author evidently considers the best
thing in the collection to be the tale which he
has chosen TO give title to the book. There
are some notable examples in the history of
literature where authors were unconscious of il
when they performed their best work. This
may may not be the case in this instance
but, while the merit of the story about the ape
and the idiot IS appreciated for its artistic
conformity to an ideal com bina ton OF grew
some mess with beauty, for its mastery attain
ment of that short-story desideratum, the sud-
den surprise in its DEVELOPMENT, and for its
astonishing finale, so gioriously happy for the
heather Chinee and pathetically sad for
the serviceab able ape who had brought this hap
piness. yet, in spite of these excellencies, we
would unhesitatingly choose as the master
piece of the volume the tale of "The Inmate of
the Dungeon" Herein is drama tically told
the story of a convicted but brave and finely
fbered man-one who describes, in passionate
eloquence, the soul torture caused by the
jailer's lash, saying: "Tnen something in
side me twisted hard and then broke wide
open and went pouring all through me like
melted IRON"