salvation lies in economic effort.  This mere skeleton of a story furnishes an excuse for rehearsing again the ideas that Page had already made familiar in his writings and in his public addresses.  This time the lesson is enlivened by the portrayal of certain typical characters of the post-bellum South.  They are all there—­the several types of Negro, ranging all the way from the faithful and philosophic plantation retainer to the lazy “Publican” office-seeker; the political colonel, to whom the Confederate veterans and the “fair daughters of the South (God bless ’em)” are the mainstays of “civerlerzation” and indispensable instrumentalities in the game of partisan politics; the evangelical clergymen who cared more for old-fashioned creeds than for the education of the masses; the disreputable editor who specialized in Negro crime and constantly preached the doctrine of the “white man’s country”; the Southern woman who, innocently and sincerely and even charmingly, upheld the ancient tradition and the ancient feud.  On the other hand, Page’s book portrays the buoyant enthusiast of the new day, the reformer who was seeking to establish a public school system and to strengthen the position of woman; and, above all, the quiet, hard-working industrialist who cared nothing for stump speaking but much for cotton mills, improved methods of farming, the introduction of diversified crops, the tidying up of cities and the country.

These chapters, extensively rewritten, were published as a book in 1909.  Probably Page was under no illusion that he had created a real romance when he described his completed work as a “novel.”  The Atlantic autobiography had attracted wide attention, and the identification of the author had been immediate and accurate.  Page’s friends began calling his house on the telephone and asking for “Nicholas” and certain genial spirits addressed him in letters as “Marse Little Nick”—­the name under which the hero was known to the old Negro family servant, Uncle Ephraim—­perhaps the best drawn character in the book.  Page’s real purpose in calling the book a “novel” therefore, was to inform the public that the story, so far as its incidents and most of its characters were concerned, was pure fiction.  Certain episodes, such as those describing the hero’s early days, were, in the main, veracious transcripts from Page’s own life, but the rest of the book bears practically no relation to his career.  The fact that he spent his mature years in the North, editing magazines and publishing, whereas Nicholas Worth spends his in the South, engaged in educational work and in politics and industry, settles this point.  The characters, too, are rather types than specific individuals, though one or two of them, particularly Professor Billy Bain, who is clearly Charles D. McIver, may be accepted as fairly accurate portraits.  But as a work of fiction “The Southerner” can hardly be considered a success; the love story is too slight, the women not well done, most of the characters rather personified qualities than flesh and blood people.  Its strength consists in the picture that it gives of the so-called “Southern problem,” and especially of the devastating influence of slavery.  From this standpoint the book is an autobiography, for the ideas and convictions it presents had formed the mental life of Page from his earliest days.