II

Bulwer Lytton has likewise lost ground greatly:  but read to-day he has much more to offer.  In him, too, may be seen an imperfectly blent mixture of by-gone sentimentality and modern truth:  yet whether in the romance of historic setting, “The Last Days of Pompeii,” or in the satiric study of realism, like “My Novel,” Bulwer is much nearer to us, and holds out vital literature for our appreciation.  It is easy to name faults both in romance and realism of his making:  but the important thing to acknowledge is that he still appeals, can be read with a certain pleasure.  His most mature work, moreover, bears testimony to the coming creed of fiction, as Disraeli’s never does.  There are moments with Bulwer when he almost seems a fellow of Meredith’s.  I recall with amusement the classroom remark of a college professor to the effect that “My Novel” was the greatest fiction in English literature.  While the freshmen to whom this was addressed did not appreciate the generous erraticism of the judgment, even now one of them sees that, coming as it did from a clergyman of genial culture, a true lover of literature and one to inspire that love in others—­even in freshmen!—­it could hardly have been spoken concerning a mere man-milliner of letters.  Bulwer produced too much and in too many kinds to do his best in all—­or in any one.  But most of us sooner or later have been in thrall to “Kenelm Chillingly” or thrilled to that masterly horror story, “The House and the Brain.”  There is pinchbeck with the gold, but the shining true metal is there.

III

To pass to Kingsley, is like turning from the world to the kingdom of God:  all is religious fervor, humanitarian purpose.  Here again the activity is multiple but the dominant spirit is that of militant Christianity.  Outside of the Novel, Kingsley has left in “Water Babies” a book deserving the name of modern classic, unless the phrase be a contradiction in terms.  “Alton Locke,” read to-day, is felt to be too much the tract to bear favorable comparison with Eliot’s “Felix Holt”; but it has literary power and noble sincerity.  Kingsley is one of the first to feel the ground-swell of social democracy which was to sweep later fiction on its mighty tide.  “Westward Ho!” is a sterling historical romance, one of the more successful books in a select list which embraces “The Cloister and the Hearth,” “Lorna Doone,” and “John Inglesant.”  “Hypatia,” examined dispassionately, may be described as an historical romance with elements of greatness rather than a great historical romance.  But it shed its glamour over our youth and there is affectionate dread in the thought of a more critical re-reading.