ABSTRACT
Surely we have in this story something of the same spirit that filled Ireland once with gallant, irresponsible ill-doing, but now it is in itsright place making merry among the things of the mind, and laughing gaily at our most firm fixed convictions. In one other Londoner, the socialist, Mr. Bernard Shaw, I recognize the same spirit. His account of how the old Adam gradually changed into the great political economist Adam Smith is like Oscar Wilde in every way. These two men, together with Mr. Whistler, the painter-half an Irishman also, I believe-keep literary London continually agog to know what they will say next.
