age, to the life of clubs, public offices, and Parliament in
London, and to the ways of "society" as it existed in England in the
third quarter of the present century. The plots are neither new nor
ingenious; the incidents are rarely more than commonplace; the
characters are seldom very powerful, or original, or complex. There
are very few "psychologic problems," very few dramatic situations, very
few revelations of a new world and unfamiliar natures. There are some
natural scenes in Ireland; now and then a cook-maid, a farmer, a
labourer, or a clerk, come on the stage and play their short parts with
faultless demeanour. But otherwise, the entire company appear in the
frock-coats and crinolines of the period, and every scene is played in
silk hats, bonnets, and regulation evening toilette.

But within this limited range of life, this uniformity of "genteel
comedy," Trollope has not seldom given us pieces of inimitable
truthfulness and curious delicacy of observation. The dignitaries of
the cathedral close, the sporting squires, the county magnates, the
country doctors, and the rectory home, are drawn with a precision, a
refinement, an absolute fidelity that only Jane Austen could compass.
There is no caricature, no burlesque, nothing improbable or
over-wrought. The bishop, the dean, the warden, the curate, the
apothecary, the duke, the master of fox-hounds, the bishop's wife, the
archdeacon's lady, the vicar's daughter, the governess, the
undergraduate--all are perfectly true to nature. So, too, are the men
in the clubs in London, the chiefs, subordinates, and clerks in the
public offices, the ministers and members of Parliament, the leaders,
and rank and file of London "society." They never utter a sentence
which is not exactly what such men and women do utter; they do and they
think nothing but what such men and women think and do in real life.
Their habits, conversation, dress, and interests are photographically
accurate, to the point of illusion. It is not high art--but it is art.
The field is a narrow one; the actors are ordinary. But the skill,
grace, and humour with which the scenes are caught, and the absolute
illusion of truthfulness, redeem it from the commonplace.

The stage of Trollope's drama is not a wide one, but it is far wider
than that of Jane Austen. His plots and incidents are sufficiently
trite and ordinary, but they are dramatic and original, if contrasted
with those of _Emma_ or _Mansf