d as a source of inspiration to the flagging ingenuity of each
succeeding generation. It would be tedious to enter on an enumeration
of the various indebtednesses of English literature to these early
tales. A few instances will serve as illustration.

It seems a far cry from the _The Ingoldsby Legends_ to _The Deeds of
the Romans_, nevertheless _The Leech of Folk-stone_ was directly taken
from the hundred and second tale, _Of the Transgressions and Wounds of
the Soul_. Shakespeare himself was a frequent borrower, and planned
his entire play of _Pericles, Prince of Tyre_, upon the hundred
and fifty-third tale, _Of Temporal Tribulation_. In some cases the
language is almost identical, as for instance in the fifth tale, where
the king warns his son, saying, "Son, I tell thee that thou canst
not confide in her, and consequently ought not to espouse her. _She
deceived her own father when she liberated thee from prison_; for this
did her father lose the price of thy ransom." Compare with this:

"Look to her, Moor; have a quick eye to see;
_She has deceived her father, and may thee_."[5]

[Footnote 5: _Othello_, act I, scene III.]

But the ethical treatment of the short-story, as exemplified in these
monkish fables, handicapped its progress and circumscribed its field
of endeavor. Morality necessitated the twisting of incidents, so that
they might harmonize with the sermonic summing-up that was in view.
Life is not always moral; it is more often perplexing, boisterous,
unjust, and flippant. The wicked dwell in prosperity. "There are no
pangs in their death; their strength is firm. They are not in trouble
as other men; neither are they plagued as other men. They have more
than heart could wish." But the art of the teller of tales "is
occupied, and bound to be occupied not so much in making stories true
as in making them typical."[6]

[Footnote 6: From a Humble Remonstrance, in _Memories and Portraits_,
by R.L. Stevenson.]

The ethical method of handling fiction falls between two stools; it
not only fails in portraying that which is true for the individual,
but it incurs the graver error of ceasing to be true to the race,
i.e., typical.

It would be interesting, had we space, to follow Shakespeare in his
borrowings, noticing what he adopts and incorporates in his work
as artistically true, and what he rejects. Like a water-color
landscape-painter, he pauses above the box of crude materials which
others have made