reader. He is a just thinker; he is a sagacious observer; there
is wisdom in his theory, and, I doubt not, energy in his
practice. But why, then, are you often provoked with him while
you read? How does he manage, while teaching, to make his hearer
feel as if his business was, not quietly to receive the doctrines
propounded, but to combat them? You acknowledge that he offers
you gems of pure truth; why do you keep perpetually scrutinising
them for flaws?

"Mr. Lewes, I divine, with all his talents and honesty, must have
some faults of manner; there must be a touch too much of
dogmatism; a dash extra of confidence in him, sometimes. This you
think while you are reading the book; but when you have closed it
and laid it down, and sat a few minutes collecting your thoughts,
and settling your impressions, you find the idea or feeling
predominant in your mind to be pleasure at the fuller
acquaintance you have made with a fine mind and a true heart,
with high abilities and manly principles. I hope he will not be
long ere he publishes another book. His emotional scenes are
somewhat too uniformly vehement: would not a more subdued style
of treatment often have produced a more masterly effect? Now and
then Mr. Lewes takes a French pen into his hand, wherein he
differs from Mr. Thackeray, who always uses an English quill.
However, the French pen does not far mislead Mr. Lewes; he wields
it with British muscles. All honour to him for the excellent
general tendency of his book!

"He gives no charming picture of London literary society, and
especially the female part of it; but all coteries, whether they
be literary, scientific, political, or religious, must, it seems