I
have commenced, says the Baron, my friend GEORGE MEREDITH's _One of
the Conquerors_. Now G.M. is an author whose work does not admit of
the healthy and graceful exercise of skipping. Here the skipper's
occupation is gone. G.M.'s work should be taken away by the reader far
from the madding crowd and perused and pondered over. If Ponder's End
is a tranquil place as the name implies, then to that secluded spot
betake yourself with your GEORGE MEREDITH, O happy and studious
reader, and ponder in peace.
Since the time of _Richard Feverel_, which I shall always consider his
best, "of the very best" as ZERO of the Monte Carlo Bar has it, G.M.
has developed into a gold-beater of epigrams. What once served him
as a two-line epigram, is now spread out over a couple of pages. Two
volumes instead of three would serve his turn far better, or rather
the public's turn, for his own is a very peculiar one. But to my task,
says the Baron, give me a slight refresher and a suck at the lemon as
it were, or a sip of the lemonade, and at him again. _Festina lente_.
More anon from
THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
* * * * *
ROBERT ON ENGLISH AND FOREIGN WAITERS.
Pages:
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47