The English have put a premium on prolix novels by giving them a regulation length of just three volumes, to be cold for a guinea and a half. This droll uniformity has much less basis of reason than the old custom of writing tragedies and comedies just five acts long; for there is sense in making a play last out an evening. Trouble to writer and weariness to reader must come of spinning a novel against space, overlaying a plot with trivial incidents, and stuffing a story with padding, merely to reach a standard of length both arbitrary and absurd. Yet prodigious was the patience of our novel-reading ancestry prior to Fielding. The "Grand Cyrus" was issued in ten volumes, "Clarissa Harlowe" in eight, and sometimes an heroic romance reached twelve. Jules Janin puts Richardson on Shakespeare's level, and modern French readers appreciate "Clarissa" more than English--but they get it abridged. Mr. Dallas, following Janin, has abridged the famous novel with care for English readers, too, and a more recent editor likewise aims to evade its monotony by striking out "tediously unnecessary passages and unimportant details," though old-fashioned readers may still like to take "Clarissa" in all its prolixity. As to the romances that preceded it, they seem to our age duller than any ever written--"huge folios of inanity," said Sir Walter, "over which our ancestors yawned themselves to sleep." I warrant their descendants never yawned over "Guy Mannering."
Still, modern novels as a class are more apt to be voluble than prolix. Story-writers like Trollope, Mrs. Edwards, and McCarthy amaze us at the ductility which the English tongue assumes for them. They seem less to compose than to _reel off_ their pages. To Trollope's free-and-easy flow is there any stop? None, surely, through mental exhaustion. His bright loquacity and productiveness remind one of that bewitched salt mill in the story of Nicholas, which ground on for ever, without effort or wearying, until it had salted the whole sea.
SOMETHING was said, in a former "Driftwood" essay, regarding the frequent dedications of private fortunes, in America, to public uses. We see a philanthropic millionaire stripping himself, even in hale life, of all his wealth save a slender annuity and the portions reserved for his heirs and legatees; or we see the bulk of a great fortune given to charities in a testamentary bequest.