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Love-stories are all right. But when they are produced in such an enormous mass as at present, they become a nuisance. The more so, when they are slipshod stuff, for the most part, with demoralizing “High-collarists” and “Hisashigami” as their chief characters. Their constructions, which are nearly of a piece, are stale and dull. Their charm, if it may be called so, invariably consists in scandalous incidents and offensive dialogues. These are the productions which, catching the attention of wide circles of youthful readers, have long remained the master of the literary field. But such “going on” are not to last for ever. As we naturally want to smack the lips at some refreshing dishes when always served with the same old insipid meal, so there has been of late in the reading community a reaction demanding new works with an enlivening literary setting. Nor were a number of intelligent writers slow to take up their pens to meet this demand. But none has come out so