this he has little or nothing,
but he realizes vividly a scene or an incident, and conveys the
impression with great force and directness to the reader's mind.
Ainsworth came upon the reading world at a happy moment. People were
weary of the inanities of the fashionable novel, and were ready to
listen to one who had a power of vivacious narrative. In 1881, when he
was in his seventy-seventh year, a pleasant tribute of respect and
admiration was paid to him in his native town. The Mayor of Manchester
entertained him at a banquet in the town hall September 15, 1881, "as an
expression of the high esteem in which he is held by his fellow-townsmen
and of his services to literature." In proposing Mr. Ainsworth's health,
the mayor gave a curious instance of the popularity of his writings. "In
our Manchester public free libraries there are two hundred and fifty
volumes of Mr. Ainsworth's different works. During the last twelve
months these volumes have been read seven thousand six hundred and sixty
times, mostly by the artisan class of readers. And this means that
twenty volumes of his works are being perused in Manchester by readers
of the free libraries every day all the year through." It was well that
this pleasant recognition was not longer delayed. The contrast was
pathetically great between the tall, handsome, dandified figure
presented in the portraits of him by Pickersgill and Maclise, and the
bent and feeble old man who stood by and acknowledged the plaudits of
those who had assembled to honor him. His last published work was
"Stanley Brereton," which he dedicated to his hospitable entertainer.
He died at Reigate January 3, 1882, leaving a widow and also three
daughters by his first marriage. He was buried at Kensal Green Cemetery.
With the exception of George Gleig, he was the last survivor of the
brilliant group who wrote for the early numbers of _Fraser's Magazine_,
and, though he died in harness, had outlived nearly all the associates
of the days when he first achieved fame.

_TO MY MOTHER_

When I inscribed this Romance to you, my dear Mother, on its first
appearance, I was satisfied that, whatever reception it might meet with
elsewhere, at your hands it would be sure of indulgence. Since then, the
approbation your partiality would scarcely have withheld has been
liberally accorded by the public; and I have the satisfaction of
reflecting, that in following the dictates of affection, which prompted
me to