suddenly retires into himself.

Thus much for his outer man.

For the rest, there are of course the neat little accounts of his
birthplace, his parentage, his education, etc., etc., published with
the list of his works in due order, with the engravings in the
illustrated papers. But these tell us little of the real life of
the man.

Carlyle, in one of his finest passages, says that 'A true
delineation of the smallest man and his scene of pilgrimage through
life is capable of interesting the greatest men; that all men are to
an unspeakable degree brothers, each man's life a strange emblem of
every man's; and that human portraits faithfully drawn are of all
pictures the welcomest on human walls.' And though I don't profess
to give a portrait, but merely a sketch, I will endeavour to sketch
faithfully, and possibly in the future my work may fall into the
hands of some of those worthy people who imagine that my friend
leapt into fame at a bound, or of those comfortable mortals who seem
to think that a novel is turned out as easily as water from a tap.

There is, however, one thing I can never do:--I am quite unable to
put into words my friend's intensely strong feeling with regard to
the sacredness of his profession. It seemed to me not unlike the
feeling of Isaiah when, in the vision, his mouth had been touched
with the celestial fire. And I can only hope that something of this
may be read between my very inadequate lines.

Looking back, I fancy Derrick must have been a clever child. But he