incomparable Margaret--of whom it does one good to hear Mr. Besant
say, "No heroine in fiction is more dear to me"--Reade drew some
admirable portraits of women; but his men, to tell the truth--and
especially his priggish young heroes--seem remarkably ill invented.
Again, of course, I except _The Cloister_. Omit that book, and you
would say that such a character as Bailie Nicol Jarvie or Dugald
Dalgetty were altogether beyond Reade's range. Open _The Cloister_ and
you find in Denis the Burgundian a character as good as the Bailie and
Dalgetty rolled into one.

Other authors have been lifted above themselves. But was there ever a
case of one sustained at such an unusual height throughout a long,
intricate and arduous work?




HENRY KINGSLEY


Feb. 9, 1895. Henry Kingsley.

Mr. Shorter begins his Memoir of the author of _Ravenshoe_ with this
paragraph:--

"The story of Henry Kingsley's life may well be told in a few
words, because that life was on the whole a failure. The world
will not listen very tolerantly to a narrative of failure
unaccompanied by the halo of remoteness. To write the life of
Charles Kingsley would be a quite different task. Here was