freely and to creep out of their burrows somewhat less
nervously; when, in fact, they were seen to be, at least in outward
semblance, much as other men; some regard had to be paid to statements
that could be checked by observation; and the Papist's disappointing
ordinariness had to be attributed to dissimulation or to be otherwise
interpreted into accord with the preposterous principles by which their
lives were thought to be governed.

Mrs. Humphrey Ward represents the furthest advance of this reform. She
at least has spared no pains to acquaint herself with facts, to gather
information, to verify statements. She is never guilty of the grotesque
blunders that other high-class novelists fall into about Catholic
beliefs, practices, and habits, simply because they are dealing with
what is to their readers a _terra incognita,_ and can, therefore, afford
to be loose and inaccurate. An artistic conscientiousness which values
truth and honesty in every detail, saves her from this too common snare.
But it does not and cannot save her in the work of selection, synthesis,
and interpretation of instances, which has to be guided, not by
objective facts, but by subjective opinions and impressions. History
written in a purely positivist spirit, _ad narrandum_, and in no sense
_ad docendum_, is a chimerical notion by which Renan beguiled himself
into thinking that his _Vie de Jesus_ was a bundle of facts and nothing
more. And Mrs. Humphrey Ward is no less beguiled, if she is unaware that
in threading together, classifying and explaining the results of her
conscientious observation and inquiry, she is governed by an _a priori_
conception of Catholicism hardly different from that which inspired the
author of "Father Clement." Hence, to us Catholics, though her evident
desire to be critical and impartial is gratifying, yet her failure is
none the less conspicuous. Dr. Johnson once observed, that what might be
wonderful dancing for a dog would be a very poor performance for a
Christian; and so, to us, "Helbeck" as a presentment of Catholic life is
wonderful as coming from an outsider, and, perhaps, especially from Mrs.
Humphrey Ward, but in itself it is grotesque enough--not through any
culpable infidelity to facts, but through lack of the visual power, the
guiding idea, whereby to read them aright.

In _One Poor Scruple_, Mrs. Wilfrid Ward brings to bear upon a somewhat
similar task, an equal fidelity of observation supplemented by a