ms to me that some of its opponents are somewhat
hypercritical. For many, many years romancists persisted in attributing
to their principal heroes every point of bodily perfection and
accomplishment; no one thought then of caviling at such a
well-understood and established type. That most fertile and meritorious
of writers, for instance, Mr. G. P. R. James, invariably makes his _jeun
premier_ at least moderately athletic; so much so, that when he has the
villain of the tale at his sword's point we feel a comfortable
confidence that virtue will triumph as it deserves. As such a
contingency is certain to occur twice or thrice in the course of the
narrative, a nervous reader is spared much anxiety and trouble of mind
by this satisfactory arrangement. _Nous avons change tout cela._ Modern
refinement requires that the chief character shall be made interesting
in spite of his being dwarfish, plain-featured, and a victim to
pulmonary or some more prosaic disease. Clearly we are right. What is
the use of advancing civilization if it does not correct our taste? What
have we to do with the "manners and customs of the English" in the
eighteenth century, or with the fictions that beguiled our boyhood? Let
our motto still be "Forward;" we have pleasures of which our grandsires
never dreamed, and inventions that they were inexcusable in ignoring. We
are so great that we can afford to be generous. Let them sleep well,
those honest but benighted ancients, who went down to their graves
unconscious of "Aunt Sally," and perhaps never properly appreciated
_caviare_!

It is true that there are some writers--not the weakest--who still
cling to the old-fashioned mould. Putting Lancelot and Amyas out of the
question, I think I would sooner have "stood up" to most heroes of
romance than to sturdy Adam Bede. It can't be a question of religion or
morality, for "muscular _Christianity_" is the stock-sarcasm of the
opposite party: it must be a question of good taste. Well, ancient
Greece is supposed to have had some floating ideas on _that_ subject,
and she deified Strength. It is perfectly true, that to thrash a
prize-fighter unnecessarily is not a virtuous or glorious action, but I
contend that the _capability_ of doing so is an admirable and enviable
attribute. There are grades of physical as well as of moral perfection;
and, after all, the same Hand created both.

Have I been replying against the critics? _Absit omen!_ They are more
often rig