tous good luck in ushering _Manon_ into the world. There is
something in them of both their successors, _Cleveland_ and the _Doyen_,
but it may be admitted that they are less unreadable than the first, and
less trivial than the second. The plan--if it deserve that name--is odd,
one marquis first telling his own fortunes and voyages and whatnots, and
then serving as Mentor (the application, though of course not original,
is inevitable) to another marquis in further voyages and adventures.
There are Turkish brides and Spanish murdered damsels; English politics
and literature, where, unfortunately, the spelling _does_ sometimes
break down; glances backward, in "Histoires" of the _Grand Siecle_, at
meetings with Charles de Sevigne, Racine, etc.; mysterious remedies, a
great deal of moralising, and a great deal more of weeping. Indeed the
whole of Prevost, like the whole of that "Sensibility Novel" of which he
is a considerable though rather an outside practitioner, is pervaded
with a gentle rain of tears wherein the personages seem to revel--indeed
admit that they do so--in the midst of their woes.

[Sidenote: Its miscellaneous curiosities.]

On the whole, however, the youthful--or almost youthful--half-wisdom of
Sainte-Beuve is better justified of its preference for the _Memoires_
than of other things in the same article. I found it, reading it later
on purpose and with "preventions" rather the other way, very much more
readable than any of its companions (_Manon_ is not its companion, but
in a way its constituent), without being exactly readable _simpliciter_.
All sorts of curious things might be dug out of it: for instance, quite
at the beginning, a more definite declaration than I know elsewhere of
that curious French title-system which has always been such a puzzle to
Englishmen. "Il _se fit_ appeler le Comte de ... et, se voyant un fils,
il _lui donna_ celui de Marquis de ..." There is a good deal in it which
makes us think that Prevost had read Defoe, and something which makes it
not extravagant to fancy that Thackeray had read Prevost. But once more
"let us come to the real things--let us speak of" _Manon Lescaut_.

[Sidenote: _Manon Lescaut._]

[Sidenote: Its uniqueness.]

It would be a very interesting question in that study of
literature--rather unacademic, or perhaps academic in the best sense
only--which might be so near and is so far--whether the man is most to
be envied who reads _Manon Lescaut_ for the f