ghtley, and Edmund Bertram. Some have complained indeed of finding
her fools too much like nature, and consequently tiresome. There is no
disputing about tastes; all we can say is, that such critics must
(whatever deference they may outwardly pay to received opinions) find the
"Merry Wives of Windsor" and "Twelfth Night" very tiresome; and that
those who look with pleasure at Wilkie's pictures, or those of the Dutch
school, must admit that excellence of imitation may confer attraction on
that which would be insipid or disagreeable in the reality. Her
minuteness of detail has also been found fault with; but even where it
produces, at the time, a degree of tediousness, we know not whether that
can justly be reckoned a blemish, which is absolutely essential to a very
high excellence. Now it is absolutely impossible, without this, to
produce that thorough acquaintance with the characters which is necessary
to make the reader heartily interested in them. Let any one cut out from
the "Iliad" or from Shakspeare's plays everything (we are far from saying
that either might not lose some parts with advantage, but let him reject
everything) which is absolutely devoid of importance and interest _in_
_itself_; and he will find that what is left will have lost more than
half its charms. We are convinced that some writers have diminished the
effect of their works by being scrupulous to admit nothing into them
which had not some absolute and independent merit. They have acted like
those who strip off the leaves of a fruit tree, as being of themselves
good for nothing, with the view of securing more nourishment to the
fruit, which in fact cannot attain its full maturity and flavour without
them.'

The world, I think, has endorsed the opinion of the later writer; but it
would not be fair to set down the discrepancy between the two entirely to
the discredit of the former. The fact is that, in the course of the
intervening five years, these works had been read and reread by many
leaders in the literary world. The public taste was forming itself all
this time, and 'grew by what it fed on.' These novels belong to a class
which gain rather than lose by frequent perusals, and it is probable that
each Reviewer represented fairly enough the prevailing opinions of
readers in the year when each wrote.

Since that time, the testimonies in favour of Jane Austen's works have
been continual and almost unanimous. They are frequently referred