“Shakespeare and Balzac!” Ernest exclaimed with some surprise.

“Yes,” explained Reginald, “they are my gods.”

His gods! Surely there was a key to Clarke’s character. Our gods are ourselves raised to the highest power.

Clarke and Shakespeare!

Even to Ernest’s admiring mind it seemed almost blasphemous to name a contemporary, however esteemed, in one breath with the mighty master of song, whose great gaunt shadow, thrown against the background of the years has assumed immense, unproportionate, monstrous dimensions.

Yet something might be said for the comparison. Clarke undoubtedly was universally broad, and undoubtedly concealed, with no