ed in defining either term. He has, to be sure,
essayed a negative definition of realism:--"Realistic fiction is that
which does not shrink from the commonplace or from the unpleasant in
its effort to depict things as they are, life as it is." But we have
seen that the effort of all fiction, whether realistic or romantic,
is to depict life as it _really_ (though not necessarily as it
_actually_) is. Does not "The Brushwood Boy," although it suggests
the super-actual, set forth a common truth of the most intimate human
relationship, which every lover recognizes as real? Every great writer
of fiction tries, in his own romantic or realistic way, to "draw
the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They Are." We
must therefore focus our attention mainly on the earlier phrases of
Professor Perry's definition. He states that realistic fiction does
not shrink from the commonplace. That depends. The realism of Jules
and Edmond de Goncourt does not, to be sure; but most assuredly the
realism of Mr. Meredith does. You will find far less shrinking from
the commonplace in many passages of the romantic Fenimore Cooper than
in the pages of Mr. Meredith. Whether or not realistic fiction shrinks
from the unpleasant depends also on the particular nature of the
realist. Zola's realism certainly does not; Jane Austen's decidedly
does. You will find far less shrinking from the unpleasant, of
one sort, in Poe, of another sort, in Catulle Mendes--both of them
romantics--than in the novels of Jane Austen. What is the use, then,
of Professor Perry's definition of realism, since it remains open to
so many exceptions? And in his chapter on romance the critic does not
even attempt to formulate a definition.

We have now examined several of the current explanations of the
difference between romance and realism and have found that each is
wanting. The trouble with all of them seems to be that they attempt to
find a basis for distinguishing between the two schools of fiction in
the subject-matter, or materials, of the novelist. Does not the real
distinction lie rather in the novelist's attitude of mind toward his
materials, whatever those materials may be? Surely there is no such
thing inherently as a realistic subject or a romantic subject. The
very same subject may be treated realistically by one novelist and
romantically by another. George Eliot would have built a realistic
novel on the theme of "The Scarlet Letter"; and Hawthorne would have