been
all right. He did no harm, so far as I can make out--he was honest and
upright; he would have done very well as a trustee."

Father Payne stopped, and looked round with a melancholy air. "I have
gathered," he said, "after several hours' reading, three interesting facts
about him. The first is that he wore rather loud checks--I liked that--I
detected a touch of vanity in that. The second is that he was fond of
quoting poetry, and the moment he did so, his voice became wholly inaudible
from emotion--that's a good touch. And the third is that, if he had a guest
staying with him, he used to talk continuously in the smoking-room, light
his candle, go on talking, walk away talking--by Jove, I can hear him doing
it--all up the stairs, along the passage to his bedroom--talk, talk,
talk--in they went--then he used to begin to undress--no escape--I can hear
his voice muffled as he pulled off his shirt--off went his socks--talking
still--then he would actually get into bed--more explanations, more
quotations, I wonder how the guest got away; that isn't related--in the
intervals of an inaudible quotation, perhaps? What do you think?"

We exploded in laughter, in which Father Payne joined. Then he said: "But
look here, you know, it's not really a joke--it's horribly serious! A man
ought really to be prosecuted for writing such a book. That is the worst of
English people, that they have no idea who deserves a biography and who
does not. It isn't enough to be a rich man, or a public man, or a man of
virtue. No one ought to be written about, simply because he has _done_
things. He must be content with that. No one should have a biography unless
he was either beautiful or picturesque or absurd, just as no one should
have a portrait painted unless he is one of the three. Now this poor
fellow--I daresay there were people who loved him--think what their
feelings must be at seeing him stuffed and set up like this! A biography
must be a work of art--it ought not to be a post-dated testimonial! Most of
us are only fit, when we have finished our work, to go straight into the
waste-paper basket. The people who deserve biographies are the vivid, rich,
animated natures who lived life with zest and interest. There are a good
many such men, who can say vigorous, shrewd, lively, fresh things in talk,
but who cannot express themselves in writing. The curse of most biographies
is the letters; not many people can write good letters, and yet it bec