H. Sothern.
Still our intimacy had prepared me for the change. Through many a long
night after working hours we had wandered through the moonlit streets until
daybreak exchanging views freely and sturdily on historical characters on
the philosophy of history, on the character of Henry of Navarre and his
followers, and on the worthies of Elizabethan England, in the literature of
which we had immersed ourselves. Kipling had recently burst meteor-like
on the world, and Barrie raised his head with a whimsical smile closely
chasing a tear. Thomas Hardy was in the saddle writing "Tess," and in
France Daudet was yet active though his prime was past. Guy de Maupassant
continued the production of his marvellous short stories. These were the
contemporary prose writers who engaged our attention. A little later we
hailed the appearance of Stanley J. Weyman with "A Gentleman of France,"
and the Conan Doyle of "The White Company" and "Micah Clarke" rather than
the creator of "Sherlock Holmes" commended our admiration. We were by no
means in accord on the younger authors. Diversity of opinion stimulates
critical discussion, however.
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