it. Not so Master
Francis. I do not think that I ever read him with greater interest than
at this last time. Indeed I doubt whether I have ever felt the
_catholicon_--the pervading virtue of his book--quite so strongly as I
have in the days preceding that on which I write these words.

[Sidenote: Some objections considered.]

Of course Momus may find handles--he generally can. "You are suffering
from morbid senile relapse into puerile enjoyment of indecency," he or
Mrs. Momus (whom later ages have called Grundy) may be kind enough to
say. "You were a member of the Rabelais Club of pleasant memory, and
think it necessary to live up to your earlier profession." "You have
said this in print before [I have not exactly done so] and are bound to
stick to it," etc. etc. etc., down to that final, "You are a bad critic,
and it doesn't matter what you say," which certainly, in a sense, does
leave nothing to be replied. But whether this is because the accused is
guilty, or because the Court does not call upon him, is a question which
one may leave to others.

Laying it down, then, as a point of fact that Rabelais _has_ this
curious "holding" quality, whence does he get it? As everybody ought to
know, many good people, admitting the fact, have, as he would himself
have said, gone about with lanterns to seek for out-of-the-way reasons
and qualities; while some people, not so good, but also accepting the
fact in a way, have grasped at the above-mentioned indecency itself for
an explanation. This trick requires little effort to kick it into its
native gutter. The greater proportion of the "_Indexable_" part of
Rabelais is mere nastiness, which is only attractive to a very small
minority of persons at any age, while to expert readers it is but a
time-deodorised dunghill by the roadside, not beautiful, but negligible.
Of the other part of this kind--the "naughty" part which is not nasty
and may be somewhat nice--there is, when you come to consider it
dispassionately, not really so very much, and it is seldom used in a
seductive fashion. It may tickle, but it does not excite; may create
laughter, but never passion or even desire. Therefore it cannot be this
which "holds" any reader but a mere novice or a glutton for garbage.

Less easily dismissible, but, it will seem, not less inadequate is the
alleged "key"-interest of the book. Of course there are some people, and
more than a person who wishes to think nobly of humanity might desir