oned phrase--there is Mrs. Inchbald's empire, there is the
sphere of her glory and her command. Outside of it, her powers are weak
and fluctuating. She has no firm grasp of the masculine elements in
character: she wishes to draw a rough man, Sandford, and she draws a
rude one; she tries her hand at a hero, Rushbrook, and she turns out a
prig. Her humour is not faulty, but it is exceedingly slight. What an
immortal figure the dim Mrs. Horton would have become in the hands of
Jane Austen! In _Nature and Art_, her attempts at social satire are
superficial and overstrained. But weaknesses of this kind--and it would
be easy to prolong the list--are what every reader of the following pages
will notice without difficulty, and what no wise one will regard. "Il ne
faut point juger des hommes par ce qu'ils ignorent, mais par ce qu'ils
savent;" and Mrs. Inchbald's knowledge was as profound as it was
limited. Her Miss Milner is an original and brilliant creation, compact
of charm and life. She is a flirt, and a flirt not only adorable, but
worthy of adoration. Did Mrs. Inchbald take the suggestion of a heroine
with imperfections from the little masterpiece which, on more sides than
one, closely touches her's--Manon Lescaut? Perhaps; and yet, if this was
so, the borrowing was of the slightest, for it is only in the fact that
she _is_ imperfect that Miss Milner bears to Manon any resemblance at
all. In every other respect, the English heroine is the precise contrary
of the French one: she is a creature of fiery will, of high bearing, of
noble disposition; and her shortcomings are born, not of weakness, but
of excess of strength. Mrs. Inchbald has taken this character, she has
thrown it under the influence of a violent and absorbing passion, and,
upon that theme, she has written her delicate, sympathetic, and
artificial book.

As one reads it, one cannot but feel that it is, if not directly and
circumstantially, at least in essence, autobiographical. One finds
oneself speculating over the author, wondering what was her history, and
how much of it was Miss Milner's. Unfortunately the greater part of what
we should most like to know of Mrs. Inchbald's life has vanished beyond
recovery. She wrote her Memoirs, and she burnt them; and who can tell
whether even there we should have found a self-revelation? Confessions
are sometimes curiously discreet, and, in the case of Mrs. Inchbald, we
may be sure that it is only what was indiscreet that