Why do we, who have houses and hot-and-cold water taps and express trains, like to read about people who dwell in tents and log shanties, who take their water from vivers and streams, and whose journeyings are by horse or afoot across desert or prairie or forest? According to Mr. W. L. Randell, whose study of "Open Air Novels" is here quoted, the answer is easy: although ow surroundings seem. miore<prosaie' than they really are, and although R.L. Stevenson said, ta man's true life, for which he consents to live, may tie altogether in the field of fancy," we like the contrast. man in his spare hours may be winning battles, the xiiing ships, the banker reaping triumph in the a 7 and by the aid of those who set down the thrill of lands where human nature is re duced to elementals, the dream comes to the busines: verdict, some still hard to rival our old tr the "Swiss Family Robinson," '"Masterman Ready "Robinson Or and others, tht may be ascribed to the prejudice of affectionate memories. It is simple fact, to be tested any reader, that our "Wild We wuthors—a comprehensive—term, into which factor not entirely "wild'? nor exclusively "west? may be allowed to enter—are "out" to tell a good story, and tht they succeed admirably. Most of them are not concerned with subtleties of character analysis: they tell what happens when two angry men face each other over the gaming-table and the crowd starts shooting. "That is life,' they yw: "read about it, you quiet city people with your wall papers and evening papers and income-tax papers; your world is bounded on the north by the fire-place and on the south by the bookcase, on the east by the office window and on the west by Shaftesbury Avenue, but our world is wider. Read about it!"
The "Wild West' novelist. comes of a hardy race; as a type, he is probably immortal: and Jet us not think him insignificant in the domain of fiction. He lets us know that the world is still full of life and energy, and not a matter of watertight. compartments. We realize, as we read, that at this very moment there exists a sphere of life in rough-and-ready lands where all our knowledge of business would be at fault, where the woodpile and the timber shack take the place of office-stoa! and suburban house; lands for which we could tomorrow buy our ticket and take our preliminary train. But we either leck courage-or have not the physique: we are too comfortable, too set."' Let as give thanks, then, to these hearty fellows who write of primitive things, of humanity unsophisticated, and be glad that we can enjoy their stories =-and wish we were young enough to emulate their heroes.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.