Perhaps the passage which attracted most attention in the book was one from the essay on the various marriage systems of the world.  It ran:—­

“If people require us to construct,” exclaimed the writer, “we set good breeding as the corner-stone of our edifice.  We would have it ever present consciously or unconsciously in the minds of all as the central faith in which they should live and move and have their being, as the touchstone of all things whereby they may be known as good or evil according as they make for good breeding or against it.”

“That a man should have been bred well and breed others well; that his figure, head, hands, feet, voice, manner and clothes should carry conviction upon this point, so that no one can look at him without seeing that he has come of good stock and is likely to throw good stock himself, this is the desiderandum.  And the same with a woman.  The greatest number of these well-bred men and women, and the greatest happiness of these well-bred men and women, this is the highest good; towards this all government, all social conventions, all art, literature and science should directly or indirectly tend.  Holy men and holy women are those who keep this unconsciously in view at all times whether of work or pastime.”

If Ernest had published this work in his own name I should think it would have fallen stillborn from the press, but the form he had chosen was calculated at that time to arouse curiosity, and as I have said he had wickedly dropped a few hints which the reviewers did not think anyone would have been impudent enough to do if he were not a bishop, or at any rate some one in authority.  A well-known judge was spoken of as being another of the writers, and the idea spread ere long that six or seven of the leading bishops and judges had laid their heads together to produce a volume, which should at once outbid “Essays and Reviews” and counteract the influence of that then still famous work.

Reviewers are men of like passions with ourselves, and with them as with everyone else omne ignotum pro magnifico.  The book was really an able one and abounded with humour, just satire, and good sense.  It struck a new note and the speculation which for some time was rife concerning its authorship made many turn to it who would never have looked at it otherwise.  One of the most gushing weeklies had a fit over it, and declared it to be the finest thing that had been done since the “Provincial Letters” of Pascal.  Once a month or so that weekly always found some picture which was the finest that had been done since the old masters, or some satire that was the finest that had appeared since Swift or some something which was incomparably the finest that had appeared since something else.  If Ernest had put his name to the book, and the writer had known that it was by a nobody, he would doubtless have written in a very different strain.  Reviewers like to think that for aught they know they are patting a Duke or even a Prince of the blood upon the back, and lay it on thick till they find they have been only praising Brown, Jones or Robinson.  Then they are disappointed, and as a general rule will pay Brown, Jones or Robinson out.