ABSTRACT
The anonymous author of Demos emerged, some time since, from behind the veil which he was pleased to draw around his name proper, and stands confessed in the present day as a certain Mr George Gissing. Whether this be his own name or one chosen for publishing purposes will doubtless transpire in course of time. He has certainly no reason
to be ashamed of allowing the world at large to become possessed of all particulars concerning himself that concerns the public, for his powers are very far above the average, and we must welcome him as a very promising recruit in the literary ranks. Before dealing with Thyrza at full length we would like to relieve ourselves publicly of the frrm conviction that 'George Gissing' is of the feminine gender, in spite of his swashing and martial outside, but, if we are mistaken, we offer humble apologies, at the same time that we intend to rest on our conviction until we have very good proof afforded us of its truth or the reverse. Thyrza is a story of one of the 'people'. A dweller in the East End, making her living at lining hats, mixing with her own order, who in real life are not conspicuous for refmement, yet Thyrzais as lovely as a houri, and as well-mannered (indeed better-mannered than some) as a duchess. The story ofher life is a distressful one, because it is so marred by untoward circumstance, and she goes from one trouble to another until the reader feels that the release which awaits her is as merciful as it is abrupt and ill-conceived. The book as a whole is profoundly imbued with despondency-the despondency, however, of a thoughtful and cultured mind-and it is full of the gloom which a study of real life must ever cast on him who studies it. It deals, as all Mr Gissing's books have hitherto dealt, to some extent with a social phase which has seen a wide development among us of late years, and that is the attempt to bring two opposite classes of people into more friendly and intimate relations with each other. But of late years the subject has been treated as a matter for patient research, and the dwellers in the West have penetrated into the East, doing some good, and a vast deal ofharm. Among the good may be counted such books as this one of Mr Gissing's, which is doubtless the result of experience poetised by the hand of genius. It does not deal with the lowest class of all, but more especially with the men and women of the workingclass, whose wits have been sharpened by long struggle, and whose senses have been alert from childhood in that keenest ofcompetitionsthe winning of the daily bread. Chance introduces these recipients to books, the contents of which are accepted by the sharpened wits and the alert senses, and so a smattering of education is secured which ripens into knowledge, and blossoms into attainments that rise to the surface and make their mark sooner or later. Of such men Gilbert Grail in Mr Gissing's book is an excellent example, and it is perhaps due to her acquaintanceship with him that Thyrza is so very much above the average of the East-end hat-liner. The love element of the
