mother of a more celebrated son, contributed largely to the English domestic novel.  The pathetic story of the lives of the Bronte sisters, supplied by Mrs. Gaskell, has deepened the interest excited by the early popularity of “Jane Eyre.”  Charlotte was the most talented of the family, and won a widespread admiration by her knowledge of life, her freshness, her vigor, and her innocent disregard of conventionality.  Mrs. Gaskell described the life and trials of the manufacturing classes with great ability in “Mary Barton” and other novels.  Miss Yonge, author of the “Heir of Redclyffe,” Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,” and Mrs. Lynn Linton have added largely to this department of fiction.  The Baroness Tautphoeus described English and German life in the particularly fascinating novels, “Quits,” “At Odds,” and “The Initials.”  Miss Thackeray has made good use of talents inherited from her father.  Mary R. Mitford and Mrs. Alexander have written many entertaining and popular novels.  Miss Mulock began a long list of successful works with “The Ogilvies” and “John Halifax.”

But by far the greatest female novelist who has devoted her talents to the English domestic novel, and by far the greatest female writer in the language is undeniably George Eliot.  Women almost invariably leave the stamp of their sex upon their work.  But George Eliot took and held a man’s position in literature from the outset of her career.  It was not that she was unfeminine.  She brought to her work a woman’s sympathy and a woman’s attention to detail.  But in breadth of conception, in comprehensiveness of thought, her mind was essentially masculine.  Her appreciation of varieties and shades of character was almost Shakespearian.  She could describe the self-indulgence of a Hetty Sorrel leading to cruelty, and that of a Tito leading to treachery, with perfect distinctness.  She could enter into the generous aspirations of a Savonarola, and the selfish desires of a Grandcourt, with equal perspicuity.  Her readers do not feel less familiar with the dull barrenness of Casaubon than with the pregnant vivacity of Mrs. Poyser.  In the study of the inward workings of the human mind, George Eliot is unsurpassed by any novelist.  Thackeray alone can dispute her pre-eminence in this respect.  However much the reader may recoil from the horror of Little Hetty’s crime, he cannot deny that it follows as a natural consequence.  Although Dorothea’s marriages are extremely disappointing, the train of thought which led her to enter into them is traced with unerring clearness.

An obstacle to the popularity of George Eliot’s novels lies in the slowness of their movement.  The author’s soliloquies, comments, and reflections, which are so much valued by her especial admirers, constantly interrupt the course of the narrative, and prove cumbersome to such readers as enjoy a rapid, flowing story.  But without these interruptions, how much of George Eliot’s best wisdom would