the long-suffering
hero of _The Children of the Abbey_, who early in the first
volume demands of Amanda Fitzalan, what he calls an
"eclaircissement," but does not win it until the close of the
fourth. Barrett does not scruple to mention the titles of the
books he derides. The following catalogue will show how widely he
casts his net: _Mysteries of Udolpho, Romance of the Forest,
Children of the Abbey, Sir Charles Grandison, Pamela, Clarissa
Harlowe, Evelina, Camilla, Cecilia, La Nouvelle Heloise,
Rasselas, The Delicate Distress, Caroline of Lichfield_,[98] _The
Knights of the Swan_,[99] _The Beggar Girl, The Romance of the
Highlands_.[100] Besides these novels, which he actually names,
Barrett alludes indirectly to several others, among them
_Tristram Shandy_ and _Amelia_. From this enumeration it is
evident that Barrett was satirising the heroine, not merely of
the "novel of terror," but of the "sentimental novel" from which
she traced her descent. He organises a masquerade, mindful that
it is always the scene of the heroine's "best adventure," with
Fielding's _Amelia_ and Miss Burney's _Cecilia_ and probably
other novels in view. The precipitate flight of Cherubina,
"dressed in a long-skirted red coat stiff with tarnished lace, a
satin petticoat, satin shoes and no stockings," and with hair
streaming like a meteor, described in Letter XX, is clearly a
cruel mockery of Cecilia's distressful plight in Miss Burney's
novel. Even Scott is not immune from Barrett's barbed arrows, and
Byron is glanced at in the bogus antique language of "Eftsoones."
Barrett, indeed, jeers at the mediaeval revival in its various
manifestations and even at "Romanticism" generally, not merely at
the new school of fiction represented by Mrs. Radcliffe, her
followers and rivals. Not content with reaching his aim, as he
does again and again in _The Heroine_, Barrett, like many another
parodist, sometimes over-reaches it, and sneers at what is not in
itself ridiculous.

Nominally Cherubina is the butt of Barrett's satire, but the
permanent interest of the book lies in the skilful stage-managing
of her lively adventures. There is hardly an attempt at
characterisation. The people are mere masqueraders, who amuse us
by their costume and mannerisms, but reveal no individuality. The
plot is a wild extravaganza, crammed with high-flown,
mock-romantic episodes. Cherry Wilkinson, as the result of a
surfeit of romances, perhaps including _The Misanthrop