jealousy are really high art, when he unconsciously brings every subject back to the original motif—­“but that young man of Twickenham—­he is a most pitiful fellow—­” you feel Dr. Wolff was never more simply sincere and self-deluded, than Von Rosen’s belief that it is an abstract criticism.  Also you know how tedious broken English in a novel is, as a rule.  But Black has very artistically managed his hero’s idioms so as to give great effect.  And as we have a brain wave on about Womanhood you may like, as much as I have, V. Rosen’s sketch of English women (to whom he gives the palm over those of other nations).  Speaking of some others—­“very nice to look at perhaps, and very charming in their ways perhaps, but not sensible, honest, frank like the English woman, and not familiar with the seriousness of the world, and not ready to see the troubles of other people.  But your English-woman who is very frank to be amused, and can enjoy herself when there is a time for that, who is generous in time of trouble and is not afraid, and can be firm and active and yet very gentle, and who does not think always of herself, but is ready to help other people, and can look after a house and manage affairs—­that is a better kind of woman I think—­more to be trusted—­more of a companion—­oh, there is no comparison!”

It is very good, isn’t it?—­and he is mending the fire during this outburst, and keeps piling coal on coal as he warms with his subject.

I must also just throw you two quotations from Macaulay’s most interesting Life and Letters.  Quotations within quotations, for they are extracts.

“Antoni Stradivari has an eye
That winces at false work and loves the true.”

(BROWNING.)

                      “There is na workeman
    That can both worken wel and hastilie
    This must be done at leisure parfaitlie.”

(CHAUCER.)

By the bye, the italics in Black’s quotations are mine.  Good wording I think.

But how one does go back with delight to Scott!  I confess I think to have written the Heart of Midlothian is to have put on record the existence of a moral atmosphere in one’s own nation as grand as the ozone of mountains.  WHAT a contrast to that of French novels (with no disrespect to the brilliant art and refreshing brain quickness of the latter); but Ruskin’s appeal to the responsibility of those who wield Arts instead of Trades recurs to one as one under which Scott might have laid his hand upon his breast, and looked upwards with a clear conscience....

March 16, 1880.

* * * * *

I quite agree with you about an artlessness and roughness in Scott’s work.  I thought what I had dwelt on was the magnificent tone of the H. of Midlothian.  Also he has two of the first (first in rank and order if not first in degree) qualifications for a writer of fiction—­Dramatism and individuality amongst his characters.  He had (rather perhaps one should say), the quality which is nascitur non fit—­Imagination.  It is the great defect, I think, of some of our best modern writers.  They are marvellously FIT and terribly little NASCITUR.  It is why I can never concede the highest palm in her craft to G. Eliot.  Her writing is glorious—­Imagination limited—­Dramatism—­nil!