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But with all the scope of the theme there is a lack of genuine historical color; and compared with the great historical novel of Ricarda Huch, this anachronistic picture of the past seems like the story of another Robinson Crusoe.
"Funeral," said Miss Watson brightly. "Huch," said Jock; "it's a word of one syllable." "I think," Jean said as the door shut on Jock I think I know what the word is pyre." "Oh, really," said Miss Watson, "I'm all shaking yet with the fright I got. He's an awful bad wee boy that sort of regardless. He needs a man to look after him."
Ricarda Huch in her "Blütezeit der Romantik" makes the striking statement that from this poet's figures one must "tear away the labels stuck upon them and name them altogether Ludwig Tieck, for in truth they are only refractions of this one beam." One may hear for example how Sternbald felt: "The orb of the moon stood exactly opposite the window of his room."
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