the way in which the waves are spoken of, and prefer just to
take it as a loose way of speaking, and pass on. And lastly,
how does it happen that the sea was quite calm next day? Is
this great hurricane a piece of scene-painting after all?
And when we have forgiven Gilliat's prodigies of strength
(although, in soberness, he reminds us more of Porthos in the
Vicomte de Bragelonne than is quite desirable), what is to be
said to his suicide, and how are we to condemn in adequate
terms that unprincipled avidity after effect, which tells us
that the sloop disappeared over the horizon, and the head
under the water, at one and the same moment? Monsieur Hugo
may say what he will, but we know better; we know very well
that they did not; a thing like that raises up a despairing
spirit of opposition in a man's readers; they give him the
lie fiercely, as they read. Lastly, we have here already
some beginning of that curious series of English blunders,
that makes us wonder if there are neither proof-sheets nor
judicious friends in the whole of France, and affects us
sometimes with a sickening uneasiness as to what may be our
own exploits when we touch upon foreign countries and foreign
tongues. It is here that we shall find the famous "first of
the fourth," and many English words that may be
comprehensible perhaps in Paris. It is here that we learn
that "laird" in Scotland is the same title as "lord" in
England. Here, also, is an account of a Highland soldier's
equipment, which we recommend to the lovers of genuine fun.

In L'HOMME QUI RIT, it was Hugo's object to 'denounce' (as he
would say himself) the aristocratic principle as it was
exhibited in England; and this purpose, somewhat more