carefully studied. But these will perish, while that will be cherished
by all the generations to come. It is because the author kept throughout
precisely on a level with his subject. He was conscious, on every page,
that he was writing of one man,--that nothing was trivial which could
throw light on this man, and nothing important which did not tend
directly to the same end. Nelson was made to speak, not only in his own
words, but in the many little ways and actions which best show the stuff
one is made of. There is no essay, nothing strictly didactic. Facts are
given: inferences are left entirely with the reader. Few books are more
wearisome than those which are thoroughly exhaustive, which point a
moral and adorn a tale on every page. Imagination and thought must
sit supine, despairing of new conquests. Their work has all been done
before.

Christopher North--Heaven be praised!--was not an "historic force." He
was a good many things, but not that. And so it was always pleasant to
read him and about him. He was so completely vital and individual, that
nothing that concerned him ever lacked in human interest. The world has
known him for a long time, and has lost nothing by the acquaintance.
Latterly it has come to know him better than before in his character
of citizen, son, husband, and father; and it has come to the sage
conclusion that even as a family-man he was not quite so bad, after all.
It is a great relief to know at last that Christopher was throughout
consistent,--that the child was father to the man. One of his first
exploits was fishing with a bent pin. Another was to preach a little
sermon on a naughty fish. The "application," though brief, was earnest.
To the infant expounder, the subject of his discourse doubtless appeared
in the guise of a piscatorial Cockney. After many other the like
foreshadowings, and after draining dry his native village, he went, when
twelve years of age, to Glasgow University. Professor Jardine, who then