ABSTRACT
Mr Ryecroft then, is a happily chosen figure for Mr Gissing's purposes. He is pictured as a man old before his time, by unexpected good fortune retired from the battle oflife where he has fared hardly; worn, however, more by anxiety than work, and glad beyond measure to be quit of a struggle in which neither his temperament nor his powers fitted him for victory. Oftener in those who in their own sight at least seem to have failed than in those who have prospered will wisdom be found and understanding, though it has availed them little. Their experience is wider, their warnings carry a deeper sense of conviction. So at least it seems reasonable to suppose, and for our author's ends a man of this stamp and with such a history is the fittest to speak freely what it is well worth while to hear. A note ofdeep indignation sounds in Ryecroft's outcry against the waste of youth which the conditions of life compel, of its instincts, its energies, its opportunities. But if the hindrance that poverty opposes to so many were removed to-morrow, there would still remain the stumbling-block of defective health, of in-born perversity ofheart recognised too late, and repented ofin vain, between the things that might be and that are. 'With a lifetime of dread experience behind me, I say,' exclaims Mr Ryecroft, 'that he who encourages any young man or woman to look for his living to "literature," commits no less than a crime. If my voice had any authority I would cry this truth aloud wherever men could hear.' And except for those few whose daemon assures thenl of the highest prize, this is to a great extent true, principally, because the very gains of which they believed themselves to be certain, freedom and occupation with the things they love prove to be but wandering fires, and the monotony and dependence they trusted to have escaped overtake and keep them prisoners all their days. Still it would not be fair to ignore the compensations that even the unsuccessful may enjoy, the sense ofhaving made their choice, companionship with kindred spirits and some commerce with the invisible that has kept their souls alive. The book deals largely with the delights of country life, and with national characteristics, treated by turns, in a lighter or a graver mood, but with a rightness of judgment and a sureness of vision that are admirable. The writer
analyses with great skill the phenomena of what is usually called the Englishman's hypocrisy, and as English of the English is able to show exactly what it is of faith and of delusion that produces the familiar manifestation. On other pages he affirms, and with truth, the essential aristocratic bent of the national mind and believes that no people were ever so unsuited to democracy, dreading the future of his country if the old instinct is to perish. He himself has dwelt among the people, living their life by force of necessity, but was never of them. The Englishman, he says, must be profuse and large in his way of living; in mean circumstances all his virtue leaves him. A very personal note is struck in his passionate protest against conscription, but whatever may be the relative value of the pros and cons such a method of treating the subject is eccentric to the point of hysteria, and is the expression of opinion which is well-nigh insane.
