New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1912-10-12

dith, coming TO know him almost, 1t
would seem. as his friends knew him
In the flesh and in a curiously IN
innate and moving way he takes us
captive. His son notes that these
souvenirs do not make a complete
collection, and that they are not in
tended 10 form a narrative Of his life.
Ii does not matter. The main point
is that the man is put before us, with
much that throws light on the author,
and, moreover. we are not sure that
the world needs any more exhaustive
biography of Meredith than the nomi-
nally superficial one here provided.
Who cares 10 know where he lived in
a given month, what the state of his
finances was at that time, whether
he suffered from headaches or rheuma .
tism, and what he preferred to have
for dinner. when all the time he Is
showing us the traits Of character
governing the progress of his whole
career?
II was the career OF a man born
10 look on at life and to dramatize
what he saw. Almost we had said that
II was the career Of man destined 10
turn the fruits OF observation into
works of art; but just as the novels.
streaked with genius as they are, fail
short Of fulfilling the laws of art so
the letters disclose the connoisseur Of
emotion rather than the pure artist
In this fact, by the way, resides the''
chiefest charm. There is nothing
.literary" about them. Never Tor an
instant does the reader feel, as he so
often feels In studying the correspon-
dence Of Stevenson. for example. that
the writer's condolences to his friends
were 30 framed, whether consciously
or unconsciously, as TO make COCA
"copy." Meredith, we fancy, would
simply not have known how TO write
a private letter with a view TO lts
future publication. Talking on paper
he was spontaneity itself. The i'm
mediate impression Of his epistolary
style is one OF a light, witty and some
times deliberately entertaining touch
II Is obvious that he was ready u
take pains to give pleasure to those
he loved. But on reflection the reader
Is struck by the absence Of anything
ever -amotely resembling forced
note. Meredith sud be playfully In
xenious. but it was not In him TO be
c:,yer; he was too big man for that'
Character and mind, as they come OUT
IN the letters, are essentially masculine,
vigorous and direct. 1t is slight but
interesting point to note here that
while his diction is sometimes that OF
the novels, 1t is generally free from
obscurity and freakishness He lets
himself go In easy. natural fashion.
Feeling, plain human feeling, urges
his pen, and he has no time Tor the
pol,shing Of a period. Endearins' too'
in a very simple way, Is the quality OF
his emotion. Early in this book we
come upon his friendship with Miss
Janet Dun Gordon, and we are allowed
20 look over his shoulder when her
marriage stirs him to words manly and
affectionate, beneath which one divines
a little honest soreness Of heart. GOD
hess YOU. my dear girl" he exclaims.
III you don't make a good wife, I've
never read the page Of woman" His
friends husband was Henry James
Ross, a colleague Of "Nineveh" Lay
ards in the famous excavations. and
from Egypt she sent him her portrait
Thus ne Acknowledges the gift:
My Dear Jsnet--A thoussnd thanks for
the photo; II lie a good and hitting present
al this awful instant II admirably repre-
sents the occasion. Looking on II, see
the corpse OF the Maiden Janet. just
what she may henceforth give OF herself,
and no more. II isn't bad, it's pleasant 70
have. but It's Janet washed out ana