had made his own, illustrating the
story of a fad that had always amused him, illustrating the craze he
had helped to create, in _Prudence: A Story of Aesthetic London_, by
Lucy C. Lillie. We hope the reader of this page does not think we should
have read this book. We looked at the illustrations of a muscular
curate--whom we took to be the hero--making an impressive entrance into
a gathering of "aesthetes," and farther on leaving the church door with
"Prudence"; we read the legend to the final illustration--"It was odd to
see how completely Prudence forsook her brief period of aesthetic
light"--and we came to our own conclusions. The illustrations are made
very small in process of printing, but du Maurier's art never lost by
reduction. A picture of a Private View day in a Gallery--which at first
makes one think of the Royal Academy, but in which the pictures are too
well hung for that, and which is probably intended for the Grosvenor
Gallery--is one of those admirable drawings of a fashionable crush with
which du Maurier always excelled. In reviewing this book, however, we
are already away from the most characteristic period of du Maurier's
work as an illustrator of fiction. That was between 1860 and 1880. His
line is altogether less intense in the next book we have to
consider--Philips's _As in a Looking Glass_ (1889). The falling off
between this and the book we were reviewing here but a moment ago is the
most evident feature of the work before us. We have, we feel, said
good-bye to the du Maurier who added so much lustre to the illustrative
work of the period just preceding its publication. But in _Punch_ the
vivacity of his art is still sustained; and long afterwards in _Trilby_
he scores successes again. In later years du Maurier _allowed_ in his
originals for reduction, and the original cannot be rightly judged until
the reduction is made. In the book under notice no reduction appears to
have been made, and the drawings are consequently lacking in precision
of detail. The book is a large drawing-room table book--in our opinion
the most hateful kind of book that was ever made--occupying more space
than any but the rarest works in the world are worth, giving more
trouble to hold than it is possible for any but a great masterpiece to
compensate for--and generally putting author and publisher in the debt
of the reader, which is quite the wrong way round. The curious may see
in this book what du Maurier's art was at it