rs, and the man
who can go by any one of a hundred pathetic passages without tears is
a man to be pitied. Let it be admitted that at times he wrenches his
English rather fiercely, and yet let it be said that for delicacy,
strength, sincerity, clarity, and all great graces of style, he is side
by side with the noblest of our prose writers. Can it be that a few
scattered drops of vulgarity in emphasis dim such a fire as this?
Does so small a dead fly taint so big a pot of ointment? I will not be
foolish enough to dogmatise on such a point, and yet I can find no other
reasons than those I have already given why a master-craftsman should
not hold a master-craftsman's place. Solomon has told us what 'a little
folly' can do for him who is in reputation for wisdom.' The great mass
of the public can always tell what pleases it, but it cannot always tell
why it is pleased.

And the man who writes for wide and lasting fame has to depend, not upon
the verdict of the expert and the cultured, but on the love of those who
only know they love, and who have no power to give the critical why and
wherefore. The public--'the stupid and ignorant pig of a public,' as
'Pococurante' called it years ago--is always being abused, and yet it is
only the public which, in the end, can tell us if we have done well or
ill. We have all to consent to be measured by it, and, in the long run,
it estimates our stature with a perfect accuracy.

I hope I may not be thought impertinent in intruding here a reminiscence
of Reade which seems characteristic of his sweeter side. In reading over
these pages for the press I have been moved to a mournful and tender
remembrance of the only one of the three great Vanished Masters whom it
was my happy chance to meet in the flesh. I dedicated to him the second
novel which left my pen--the third to reach the public--and in sending
him the volumes on the day of issue I wrote what I remember as a rather
boyish letter, in which I was at no pains to disguise my admiration for
his genius. That admiration was not then tempered by the considerations
which are expressed above, for they touched me only after many years of
practice in the art he adorned so richly. He answered with a gentle and
sad courtesy, and concluded with these words: 'It is no discredit in a
young man to esteem a senior beyond his merits.' I have always thought
that very graceful and felicitous, and now that I am myself grown to be
a senior I am more persuad