ica, where he
will do the drudgery of his own cattle-pens and sheepfolds; and if I were
twenty-four and unmarried I would go out there too, and work like an
Englishman, and live by the sweat of my brow."

This was the right side of his love of the Vikings; it was thus _they_
lived, when not at war--thus that every gentleman who has youth and
health should work, winning new worlds for his class, in place of this
miserable, over-crowded, brawling England. This, I think, was, or should
have been, the real lesson and message of Kingsley for the generations to
come. Like Scott the scion of an old knightly line, he had that drop of
wild blood which drives men from town into the air and the desert,
wherever there are savage lands to conquer, beasts to hunt, and a hardy
life to be lived. But he was the son of a clergyman, and a clergyman
himself. The spirit that should have gone into action went into talking,
preaching, writing--all sources of great pleasure to thousands of people,
and so not wasted. Yet these were not the natural outlets of Kingsley's
life: he should have been a soldier, or an explorer; at least, we may
believe that he would have preferred such fortune. He did his best, the
best he knew, and it is all on the side of manliness, courage, kindness.
Perhaps he tried too many things--science, history, fairy tales,
religious and political discussions, romance, poetry. Poetry was what he
did best, romance next; his science and his history are entertaining, but
without authority.

This, when one reads it again, seems a cold, unfriendly estimate of a man
so ardent and so genuine, a writer so vivacious and courageous as
Kingsley. Even the elderly reviewer bears to him, and to his brother
Henry, a debt he owes to few of their generation. The truth is we should
_read_ Kingsley; we must not criticise him. We must accept him and be
glad of him, as we accept a windy, sunny autumn day--beautiful and
blusterous--to be enjoyed and struggled with. If once we stop and
reflect, and hesitate, he seems to preach too much, and with a confidence
which his knowledge of the world and of history does not justify. To be
at one with Kingsley we must be boys again, and that momentary change
cannot but be good for us. Soon enough--too soon--we shall drop back on
manhood, and on all the difficulties and dragons that Kingsley drove away
by a blast on his chivalrous and cheery horn.

CHARLES LEVER: HIS BOOKS, ADVENTURES AND