been aroused by the lifelike nature of the painting, dislike
toward a real man, priggish indeed in many ways, but with a very
human strain of obstinacy and obdurateness, which few writers
would have permitted to have entered into the make-up of any of
their heroes. Of the other men, Undy Scott may be named as among
the very best pieces of portraiture in Victorian fiction; touch
after touch of detail is added to the picture with really
admirable skill, and Undy lives in the reader's memory as vividly
as he must have existed in the imagination of his creator. There
are some strong and curious passages in Chapter XLIV, in which
the novelist contrasts the lives and fates of Varney, Bill Sykes
and Undy Scott; they stir the blood, proving uncontestibly that
Undy Scott was as real to Trollope as he is to us: 'The figure of
Undy swinging from a gibbet at the broad end of Lombard Street
would have an effect. Ah, my fingers itch to be at the rope.'

Trollope possessed the rare and beautiful gift of painting the
hearts and souls of young girls, and of this power he has given
an admirable example in Katie Woodward. It would be foolish and
cruel to attempt to epitomize, or rather to draw in miniature,
this portrait that Trollope has drawn at full length; were it not
for any other end, those that are fond of all that is graceful
and charming in young womanhood should read _The Three Clerks_,
so becoming the friend, nay, the lover of Katie. Her sisters are not
so attractive, simply because nature did not make them so; a very
fine, faithful woman, Gertrude; a dear thing, Linda. All three worthy
of their mother, she who, as we are told in a delicious phrase,
'though adverse to a fool' 'could sympathize with folly '.

These eight portraits are grouped in the foreground of this