The disquisitions on art, life, religion, morals and the corruption
of society which Mr. Dreiser pours forth with special reference to the American scene in his book HO Rub-a-Dub-Dub (Constable, 7s. 6d.) are yet further example' of that depressing flabbiness which grows upon novelist, when they leave their trade for the pulpit. Is there anyone more tedious than the philosophizing novelist ? From what platitudes and ancient complaints does he squeeze the last drop ! That American freedom is illusory, that after a glance at the newspapers it does not appear that Truth prevails or that Virtue is triumphant, that the " good " of here and to-day may be inimical to the " good " of there and to-morrow, that the gods are jealous of men and that men return the compliment by a little truculent scepticism about the gods, that the great American nation—but how many times have we not heard all this ? Mr. Dreiser's long sentences wind on and on like dreary streets among the mind's well-worn tenements. The whole creation groaneth —but it is the creation we want to see and hear ; and when he is giving us this Mr. Dreiser has his interest and his importance.
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