These simple romancers in nowise resemble the vitriolic
melo-dramatists--scarcely caricatured by _Punch_ in "Mokeanna,"--who try
to drug, in default of intoxicating their audience; the liquor they
proffer in their pretty flimsy cups, if not exciting, is far from
deleterious; not unfrequently you catch glimpses of an under-current of
honest pathos, soon smothered by garish flowers of language; and
sometimes the style sparkles into mild effervescence, redeeming itself
from utter vapidity; these ephemerals, indeed, belong rather to the
lemonade than the milk-and-water class; but, throughout, there is a
woeful want of _verve_ and virility.
It was inexpressibly refreshing, after loitering through twenty such
pages, to revert to the "History of the Crimean War:" the curt, nervous
periods were a powerful mental tonic; and few of his many readers owe so
practical a debt to Mr. Kinglake as the writer of these words.
CHAPTER X.
DARK DAYS.
So--heavier with each link--the chain of days dragged on. My room mate
soon thawed into a stolid sociability, and was quite disposed to be
communicative; but his narrative riches about matched those of the
knife-grinder, and his military experience of one year only embraced one
battle--that of Manassas.
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