ere so slight
that he could take them cheerfully, even in our world where poverty is
both a blunder and a crime. This in itself tends toward happiness. Henry
Adams, it is true, suffered terribly in his heart. His description of
the death of his sister is heart-rending; he does not dwell on the worst
of his griefs. No man had a more agreeable circle of friends, no man
more pleasant surrounding. He was free in a way that few other men are
free, and to my mind it is this sense of freedom, of which he does not
always take advantage, that is one of the most appealing qualities of
his book. It is a great relief to meet a man and to be intimate with
him, as we are with Henry Adams, who has the power of using wings,
whether he uses them or not.

There are many reasons for the success of his book. The chapters on
"Diplomacy," on "Friends and Foes," on "Political Morality," and on "The
Battle of the Rams" are new contributions to our history. More than
that, they elucidate conditions of mind which are generally wrapped up,
for motives of policy, in misty and often hypocritical verbiage.

Some of the reviewers found "The Education" egotistical. This is too
strong a term. These memoirs would have no value if they were not
egotistical; and if the term "egotistical" implies conceit or
self-complacency or the desire to show one's better side to the public,
"The Education" does not deserve it. A man cannot write about himself
without writing about himself. This seems very much like a platitude.
And Henry Adams writes about himself with no affectation of modesty. If
anything, he underrates himself, as in conversation he sometimes took a
tone which made him appear to those who knew him slightly as below the
average of the real Henry Adams.

Here, for instance, is a good passage:

Swinburne tested him [Henry Adams] then and there by one of his
favourite tests--Victor Hugo; for to him the test of Victor Hugo
was the surest and quickest of standards. French poetry is at best
a severe exercise for foreigners; it requires extraordinary
knowledge of the language and rare refinement of ear to appreciate
even the recitation of French verse; but unless a poet has both, he
lacks something of poetry. Adams had neither. To the end of his
life he never listened to a French recitation with pleasure, or
felt a sense of majesty in French verse; but he did not care to
proclaim his weakness, and he tri