but the records of his existence would, if
placed in close juxtaposition, hardly fill out ten years."

Thus writes Mr. Freeman; and Mr. Van Doren's book is a failure just
because he has insisted on expanding those records into a volume of
three hundred pages. Of such a work a great part must consist in stating
trivial facts and drawing from them inferences which there is no reason
to accept, and which would be unimportant if accepted.

"About the time of the publication of 'Palmyra,' the young poet
went back to Chertsey to live. His grandfather, Thomas Love, died
December 10, 1805, and Mrs. Love, thus left alone, probably desired
the companionship of her daughter and grandson. A letter to
Hookham, dated two years later, testifies that Peacock soon
extended one of his walking tours much farther than he had hitherto
gone, in an excursion to Scotland."

Here follows an extract from a rather gushing and quite unimportant
letter about the beauties of Scotch scenery, after which the paragraph
concludes as follows:

"Nothing further is known of this Scottish tour, but from it
probably dates Peacock's inveterate prejudice against the Scotch."

This is Mr. Van Doren at his worst and hack biography at normal. At his
best he gives a straightforward account of the little that industry can
unearth concerning a writer of first-rate importance who died but
fifty-five years ago and whose life is yet more obscure than that of
many a smaller man who has been dead twice or thrice as long. Industry
in quest of facts is, indeed, Mr. Van Doren's chief merit, which only
aggravates our surprise and regret at his having concluded his
researches without discovering that Old Sarum is not in Cornwall. Still,
he has written a readable book. His knowledge of English is superior to
that of the majority of his compatriots; and when he is not trying to
be caustic or facetious he is often quite sensible. We can say no more
for him however.

Mr. Freeman aims higher, and though he comes short of his mark his is a
valuable book. He can write well, and will write better; at present he
is set upon being witty and clever, which is the more to be regretted in
that he is both by nature. He has a view of life and letters which, if
it be literary and rather superficial, is, at all events, personal.
Perceiving the insufficiency of material for a biography, he has
attempted an appreciation of Peacoc