with the realities of life, but did not
succeed emphatically enough in the more ponderous effort entitled _The
Happy Family_. There he was too uniform, too mechanical, and rather too
much bound by literary traditions. He was so bound also in his brilliant
_Nocturne_, the tragedy of five creatures within a single night. But Mr
Swinnerton has a point of view, an attitude toward life; I could not
define it, but am conscious of its existence, and in a man of promise
that is quite enough. For a man with an individual attitude will make it
felt if he has the weapons of style with which to express it. Now Mr
Swinnerton shows great dexterity in the use of words, felicity of
phrase, a discrimination in the choice of details which will enable him
to embody such ideas as he may later on conceive. He has only to fear
that he may be mistaken as to the size of his ideas; like Mr Hugh de
Selincourt, he may be too much inclined to take as the plot of a novel
an idea and a story in themselves too slender. Under modern publishing
conditions he may be compelled to spin out his work: as his tendency is
to concentrate, he may find himself so much hampered as to lose the
chief charm of his writing, viz., balance. He has shown charm in
_Nocturne_, some power in _The Happy Family_; these two qualities need
blending, so that Mr Swinnerton be no longer two men, but one.

Brief mention must be made of Mr Perceval Gibbon. Of his novels, one
only, _Souls in Bondage_, showed remarkable promise, but his later work
with the exception of a few short stories, was disappointing. In that
book there was colour, atmosphere, characterisation and technique, but
there was also passion. The passion was not maintained in later years.
Other qualities were still there: he knows how to express the dusty
glare or the dank warmth of the tropics, the languor, veiling fire, of
its men and women, but the vision is a little exterior. Mr Gibbon needs
to state his point of view, if he has one, to let us see more clearly
how he himself stands in relation to the world. This does not apply to
Mr de Selincourt, somewhat afflicted with moral superciliousness, whose
point of view is one of aloof vigour. To a great charm of style he adds
selectiveness; in _A Daughter of the Morning_, the characterisation is
inwrought, just as in _A Boy's Marriage_ it is passionate. And again
there is Mr C. E. Montague, all bathed in the glamour of George
Meredith and Mr Henry James. Of these Mr de