Yet the first thing he does for the naked Friday thirteen years later
is to give him a pair--of--LINEN--trousers! Poor Robin Crusoe--what a
colossal liar was wasted on a desert island!

* * * * *

Of course, no boy sees the blemishes in "Robinson Crusoe;" those are
left to the Infallible Critic. The book is as ludicrous as "Hamlet" from
one aspect and as profound as "Don Quixote" from another. In its pages
the wonder tales and wonder facts meet and resolve; realism and idealism
are joined--above all, there is a mystery no critic may solve. It is
useless to criticize genius or a miracle, except to increase its wonder.
Who remembers anything in "Crusoe" but the touch of the wizard's hand?
Who associates the Duke of Athens, Hermia and Helena, with Bottom and
Snug, Titania, Oberon and Puck? Any literary master mechanic might real
off ten thousand yards of the Greek folks or of "Pericles," but when you
want something that runs thus:

"I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows!
Where oxlip and the nodding violet grows--."

why, then, my masters, you must put up the price and employ a genius to
work the miracle.

Take all miracles without question. Whether work of genius or miracle of
accident, "Robinson Crusoe" gives you a generous run for your money.