s about her people:
"Has she got any?"

Lord Henry shook his head. "American girls are as clever at concealing
their parents as English women are at concealing their past," he said,
rising to go.

"They are pork-packers, I suppose?"

"I hope so, Uncle George, for Dartmoor's sake. I am told that
pork-packing is the most lucrative profession in America, after
politics."

All this seems to me delightful humour.

The latter part of the book, however, tails off into insignificance.
The first hundred pages held the result of months and months of
Oscar's talk, the latter half was written offhand to complete the
story. "Dorian Gray" was the first piece of work which proved that
Oscar Wilde had at length found his true vein.

A little study of it discovers both his strength and his weakness as a
writer. The initial idea of the book is excellent, finer because
deeper than the commonplace idea that is the foundation of Balzac's
"Peau de Chagrin," though it would probably never have been written if
Balzac had not written his book first; but Balzac's sincerity and
earnestness grapple with the theme and wring a blessing out of it,
whereas the subtler idea in Oscar's hands dwindles gradually away till
one wonders if the book would not have been more effective as a short
story. Oscar did not know life well enough or care enough for
character to write a profound psychological study: he was at his best
in a short story or play.

One day about this time Oscar first showed me the aphorisms he had
written as an introduction to "Dorian Gray." Several of them I thought
excellent; but I found that Oscar had often repeated himself. I cut
these repetitions out and tried to show him how much better the dozen
best were than eighteen of which six were inferior. I added that I
should like to publish the best in "The Fortnightly." He thanked me
and said it was very kind of me.

Next morning I got a letter from him telling me that he had read over
my corrections and thought that the aphorisms I had rejected were the
best, but he hoped I'd publish them as he had written them.

Naturally I replied that the final judgment must rest with him and I
published them at once.

The delight I felt in his undoubted genius and success was not shared
by others. Friends took occasion to tell me that I should not go about
with Oscar Wilde.

"Why not?" I asked.

"He has a bad name," was the reply. "Strange things are said about
him. He came down from