Ainslee's magazine, Volume 16, No. 3, October, 1905

Wade and Carroll represent two types of the political boss. The former is described as “politically unscrupulous, but personally honest” – a combination sometimes found; “Carroll, on the other hand, used politics for his pecuniary advantage;” he worked for his pocket all the time.

The two men personally had little love for each other, but as each controlled a part of the political machine, they were obliged to work together in order to produce results. Their methods of manipulating the machine, however, were not essentially different; if Wade had scruples about offering a man money, yet he would, for a political advantage, let him steal from others or from the State; and his willingness to practise blackmail to compass his own election to the Senate was what finally put an end to his career.

Carroll was disposed of at last also, but his downfall was due to a grossly covetous disposition.

The stories give a very convincing series of pictures of municipal and State politics; the incidents are all of them more or less familiar, but they are all of them extremely interesting, and the narrative is considerably enlivened by the introduction into it of a rather original character for a State legislature, Azro Craig, a man who is not only scrupulously honest, but has not the slightest hesitation in voting and speaking as he thinks.

A somewhat striking story, though one which, it is to be feared, is unlikely to attain a very wide popularity, is Evelyn Underhill’s “The Gray World,” Century Company. It is, to all intents and purposes, a study in spiritual development, the experiences of a soul in search of the beautiful, and disguised – unconsciously, of course – in minor respects, it is substantially indentical with Hawthorne’s “Artist of the Beautiful.”

There is in both the consciousness, vague at first, of a spiritual end to be achieved, and the struggle toward it, the depression and hopeless sense of defeat after each encounter with the material, and finally the successful climax of endeavor which sees, with a cheerful appreciation of true values, the obliteration of the physical means by which it has been reached. The spirit of the slum child after its plunge into the gray world, and its reincarnation in Willie Hopkinson, traveled the same road as that trod by Owen Warland. Both had to undergo this same pitying contempt on the part of their sensible friends and acquaintances, by whom they were mourned as men of promise who wasted their opportunities.

But if Owen Warland was isolated from human companionship, Willie Hopkinson had at least one comprehending friend in Hester Waring, who helped toward his final enlightenment. “She knew very well that he was one of her company; made for quiet journeyings, not for that frenzied rush to catch a hypothetical train, which is called the strenuous life.”

Because the company is so small, the story will probably be understood and enjoyed by but few; and that it is made the means of teaching a lesson, hard to learn, will be another reason for its lack of popularity. Nevertheless, it is a book that ought to be read.

What is essentially characteristic of George Barr McCutcheon’s stories, is his disregard of conventional methods in his selection of material for his plots. This is true of his Graustark stories – though some captious critics profess to see in them a similarity to Anthony Hope’s work – and the same quality is found in “The Day of the Dog.”

His latest book is “The Purple Parasol,” Dodd, Mead & Co., and it furnishes the same sort of more or less fantastic entertainment that distinguishes the author’s other stories. Few people, we imagine, would be likely to select, a purple parasol as a clew by means of which to track an eloping wife; it seems a little incongruous that a woman, in arranging an elopement, should include such an article among her effects. A purple parasol is not a necessity on such a trip, and, besides, it is apt to be conspicuous.

But Mrs. Wharton did take one, and, as luck would have it, Helen Dering also had one; therefore it is not to be wondered at that Sam Rossiter made the mistake that he did. Though his blunder was the cause of considerable unhappiness to him and some humiliation for Miss Dering, the explanations, when they came, were of the most satisfying kind.

The book is handsomely illustrated in colors by Harrison Fisher, and decorated by Charles B. Falls.

Alaska is a region of which much has been written in the last six or eight years, since the opening of the Klondike, but the literature on the subject, having been confined mostly to newspaper accounts of gold discoveries and the stories of Mr. Jack London and Mr. Rex E. Beach, has not been such as to impart a very wide variety of information upon important points.

A book which the publishers announce as the first “to deal in any adequate way with our great Arctic possession,” is John S. McLain’s “Alaska and the Klondike,” McClure, Phillips & Co. Mr. McLain accompanied the sub-committee of the Senate Committee on Territories on their visit to Alaska in 1903, and, of course, had unusual opportunities to gather interesting facts.

The trip was a comprehensive one, and the result, now embodied in this book, shows that its author lost no chances to observe and record important and more or less unfamiliar matters that will entertain as well as instruct his readers.

The book is written in a natural, unpretentious, flowing style, and the material is skillfully handled so as to concentrate the attention and stimulate the imagination. Besides this, there are a great many half-tone reproductions of photographs, which help to make the narrative more graphic.

“Miss Bellard’s Inspiration,” Harper’s, is William D. Howells’ latest story. It is one which, if it could be subjected to the right kind of adaptation, would make a successful and refreshing little comedy. For, in spite of the shadow which Mrs. Mevison casts over the tale, the very human qualities of Mr. and Mrs. Crombie and the self-communings of Miss Bellard, the results of which neutralize the British directness of Edmund Craybourne, make a delicious combination with Mr. Howells’ good-natured cynicism, which, indeed, is so good-natured as to be humor rather that cynicism.

The story is rather a slight one, too slight, in fact, to be called a novel; it is one which can be read in the course of a couple of hours and with fully sustained interest to the end, when Miss Bellard explains and acts upon her inspiration. She supplies all the novelty in the story; she is by no means a commonplace character. Her manner of falling in love, her reasons for breaking her engagement with Craybourne, and the inspiration which led to its reinstatement are not what might be expected by the veteran novel reader. But she is vindicated in the end by the fact that she is a woman, and a beautiful woman.

Mrs. Crombie plays her part with a good deal of sprightliness and adds not a little to the humor of the story. Her rather fierce rebellion at the idea of being imposed upon by her niece and her subsequent abject surrender are all very funny, the more so because she has no idea of being funny.

It seems a long time – possibly it isn’t really – since a story of adventure, so thoroughly good as “Terence O’Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer,” has appeared. It is written by Louis Joseph Vance and published by A. Wessells Company.

It is, of course, crammed full of action, one episode following the other in quick succession without tiresome descriptions or unnecessarily prolonged introductions; episodes that are fresh, vivid and full of color as different as possible from the hackneyed type that has been familiar for years. But the love interest has not been neglected. It is a very pretty story of the loyalty of the light-hearted Irishman, the thread of which runs through the whole book, its climax being reserved as the hero’s reward at the end.

As the central figure in the series of adventures described is O’Rourke, so the most conspicuously meritorious piece of literary work is the delineation of his character. It cannot, of course, be called a character study, inasmuch as the author’s obvious intention in writing the tale, was to create complications for his hero to overcome rather than to solve questions of psychology. But he has, nevertheless, presented in the person of “the O’Rourke of Castle O’Rourke,” a clean, generous, whole-souled Irish gentleman, one of a type that is always lovable.

The title of William J. Locke’s novel, “The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne,” John Lane, is somewhat misleading, for there is nothing in the book to show that the character of Sir Marcus could be made the subject of serious criticism. His aunt’s grim disapproval and ready suspicion of him may fairly be attributed to causes quite foreign to the question of his thorough respectability. It may be, however, that the reference in the title is, not to his personal morals, but to his “History of Renaissance Morals,” upon which he was engaged.

He was considered by his superiors steady enough to be a good schoolmaster, and his accession to the family title does not seem to have marked any material change in his personal habits, although the sudden appearance of Carlotta was a disturbing influence in his life, as it might be in that of the most sedate among us. Carlotta’s introduction is somewhat unusual, if not improbable, but it is to be remembered that a bright, attractive English girl, most of whose life has been spent in a Turkish harem, cannot be expected to conform, all at once, to English standards of conventionality.

Ordeyne’s tribulations, growing out of his enforced guardianship of this extraordinary young woman, may be easily understood, but will hardly be considered a reason for condoling or sympathizing with him.

The end of his “extravagant adventure” is obvious enough. It is, in fact, the only logical conclusion under the circumstances. Naturally Judith and Aunt Jessica disapproved, though for widely different reasons.

Mr. F. Hopkinson Smith has done us all a service in his volume of short stories to which he has given the name “At Close Range,” published by Scribner’s. One of the principal charms of these stories lies in the unpretentiousness of them; they are modest little tales about modest people; people who sometimes seem to have little tenderness or generosity about them, but who, after all, confirm the author’s theory “that at the bottom of every heart crucible choked with life’s cinders there can almost always be found a drop of gold.”

Each one of the stories has just the one touch of nature that always makes its appeal irresistible. Steve Dodd, Sam Makin, Jack Stirling and Captain Shortrode are common enough characters, and of a type from which not much is usually looked for except the energetic pursuit of business, but under the proper stimulus they show traits and impulses similar to those of the Dear Old Lady.