only
extends in space beyond the horizons of Tooting but in time beyond the
Edwardian and even the Victorian era.

A critic, I submit, should judge a work of art, not in relation to the
age and circumstances in which it was produced, but by an absolute
standard based on the whole _corpus_ of that art to which the particular
work belongs. We do not want to hear how good "Tono-Bungay" seems by
comparison with Mrs. Ward's last production. Marvellous, no doubt: so,
no doubt, are Mrs. Ward's intellectual gifts by comparison with those of
a walrus. But we want to have Mrs. Ward judged as a specimen of Humanity
and "Tono-Bungay" as a specimen of Literature. It must be tried by the
standards we try "Tristram Shandy" and "La Princesse de Cleves" by.
How, then, does it stand? With "Liaisons Dangereuses"? Hardly. Well, is
it of the class of "Evelina" or of "Adolphe," or of "Consuelo" even? Mr.
Bennett can be as sharp as a special constable with Thackeray: is it as
good as "Pendennis"? And, unless it be infinitely better, what sense is
there in despising Thackeray and extolling Mr. Wells? Pray, Mr. Bennett,
how good is this book? Let us see; I think I have a note on the subject:
"his scientific romances" are "on the plane of epic poetry" and "in
'Tono-Bungay' he has achieved the same feat, magnified by ten--or a
hundred"; "there are passages toward the close of the book which may
fitly be compared with the lyrical freedoms of no matter what epic, and
which display an unsurpassable dexterity of hand." And now what are we
to say of "Manon Lescaut"? That it is a million times better than Milton
and knocks spots off Homer? But all this though distressing is not
conclusive; it proves provinciality but it proves nothing worse. Mr.
Bennett may really have been thinking all the time of "Robert Elsmere"
and "The Epic of Hades." About another of his favourites, however, he is
more precise: "I re-read 'A Man of Property,'" he says, "immediately
after re-reading Dostoievsky's 'Crime and Punishment,' and immediately
before re-reading Bjornson's 'Arne.' It ranks well with these European
masterpieces." I repeat that in one respect I am a better critic than
Mr. Bennett.

This question of criticism fascinates me. It interests Mr. Bennett, too,
and he has written several competent and surprisingly confident articles
on the subject. I could almost wish to discuss one of them with him. I
would help him to understand Coleridge and tell him about Dryde