matchless method of narration is his without a suspicion of a doubt. Never was there a story which held the reader from beginning to end in so relentless and yet so delightful a grasp; and I seeing that it is not so very short this grip is even more remarkable than in mere "moments" of tale-telling like Mateo Falcone and the Redoute. Nor should we omit to notice the peculiar mastery of Mérimée's management of his rôle as narrator with a slight touch of actor as well. The conveniences of this have constantly recommended it to tale-tellers both on the small scale and the great; its inconveniences have perhaps only dawned on them when it was too late. Mérimée is rather fond of it, as here, in the Venus d'Ille, in Lokis and elsewhere. I can not think of a single instance in which he falls or even makes a false step; and it is only necessary to set against this the absolute and in fact confessed failure of Dickens in the first version of The Old Curiosity Shop and the by no means complete success of Mr. Stevenson in The Master of Ballantrae.
French critics, and perhaps some later English critics who have followed them have been specially interested in Arsène Guillot. The reasons, more and less convincing, of this interest are obvious enough. The piece is Mérimée's—
