so much the fashion
in our day to declare that society is against us when we have to work
unremittingly for what we want, that Trollope's honesty is refreshing,
and, though most readers will consider the word rather absurd as applied
to him--inspiring!

In earlier days every American was brought up with a prejudice against
Mrs. Trollope's "Domestic Manners of the Americans," as we were all
taught to hate "American Notes," by Dickens. We all softened toward
Dickens later, and it would be difficult to read the simply told story
of the heroic devotion and courage which Trollope relates of his mother
without believing that the recording angel in no way holds her
responsible for her rather vulgar book.

How fascinating to the budding author is the record of sales of the
books written by Trollope as he ascended the ladder of popularity! How
he managed to cajole the publishers in the beginning he does not tell
us. They are not so easily managed now. And there is the story of the
pious editor who began the serial publication of "Rachel Ray," and
although paying Trollope his honorarium, stopped it abruptly because
there was a dancing party in the story! In all this the author of "The
Warden" and "Barchester Towers" nothing extenuates nor puts down aught
in malice. And I must say that for me this autobiography is very good
reading. As the sailor once said of a piece of rather solid beef,
"There's a great deal of chaw in it."

I pause a moment to reflect on a letter which I have just received from
a young college woman who has so far read the manuscript of this book.
She writes that it is really not a book so far for professing
Christians.

My mother and I had expected of you something more edifying,
something that would lead us to the reading of good and elevating
books. At college I looked on literature as something apart. Since
I have come home to Georgia, I find that it is better for me to
submit myself to the direction of our good Baptist clergyman, and
have no books on our library shelves that I cannot read aloud to
the young. One of your favourites, Madame de S['e]vign['e], shocks
me by the cruelty of her description of the death of the famous
poisoner, Madame de Brinvilliers. And I do not think that the pages
of the Duc de Saint-Simon should be read by young people.

This is an example of what a refined atmosphere may do to a Georgia
girl! I have written to her by wa