The Pessimist. By A. Newman. (David Nutt. 6s.)—If anyone is
really interested in listening to the outpourings of a thoroughgoing yet superficial egoist, to him we recommend Mr. Newman's novel. For ourselves, we would go far to avoid such depressing and introspective literature. The book resembles nothing so much as Ecclesiastes, with all the originality left out, and most of the common-sense. Take, for example, the following few lines : "The world crowns its artists with thorns, and its artisans with gold. Art is the yearning for expression which great minds know. The aim of the artist is to make his moods immortaL" Or again: " Those who create live; those who do not create exist. The clever man is he who can charge his mind with facts ; and the great man is he who can create something new, having previously nourished his mind with knowledge." There are three hundred pages of such effusions as these, whilst there is no plot whatever, save the wild notion of the discovery of a germ which could cause universal death.
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