xaggeration. "My dear Whiteside, how
_can_ you say so? Do you not see that by saying such a thing you give
yourself away?" etc.

Forster, however, more than redeemed himself when he issued his
well-known _Life of Dickens_, a work that was a perfect delight to the
world and to his friends. For here is the proper lightness of touch.
The complete familiarity with every detail of the course of the man of
whose life his had been a portion, and the quiet air of authority
which he could assume in consequence, gave the work an attraction that
was beyond dispute. There have been, it is said, some fifteen or
sixteen official Lives issued since the writer's death; but all these
are written "from outside" as it were, and it is extraordinary what a
different man each presents. But hardly sufficient credit has been
given to him for the finished style which only a true and well trained
critic could have brought, the easy touch, the appropriate treatment
of trifles, the mere indication as it were, the correct passing by or
sliding over of matters that should not be touched. All this imparted
a dignity of treatment, and though familiar, the whole was gay and
bright. True, occasionally he lapsed into his favourite pompousness
and autocracy, but this made the work more characteristic of the man.
Nothing could have been in better taste than his treatment of certain
passages in the author's life as to which, he showed, the public were
not entitled to demand more than the mere historical mention of the
facts. When he was writing this Life it was amusing to find how
sturdily independent he became. The "Blacking episode" could not have
been acceptable, but Forster was stern and would not bate a line. So,
with much more--he "rubbed it in" without scruple. The true reason, by
the way, of the uproar raised against the writer, was that it was too
much of a close borough, no one but Boz and his Bear leader being
allowed upon the stage. Numbers had their little letters from the
great man with many compliments and favours which would look well in
print. Many, like Wilkie Collins or Edmund Yates, had a whole
collection. I myself had some sixty or seventy. Some of these
personages were highly indignant, for were they not characters in the
drama? When the family came to publish the collection of letters,
Yates, I believe, declined to allow his to be printed; so did Collins,
whose Boz letters were later sold and published in America.

No doubt the subj