ABSTRACT
Mr Gissing is one of the few English novelists who take the trouble to have a view oflife. In his case the view is not sanguine. A squalid street on a wet day does not disclose much buoyancy of aspect, and Mr Gissing seems to spend most of his time and observation, so to speak, in that street, watching dreary figures under dripping umbrellas. In the present work he has chosen Brixton, and the region there adjacent, as the background ofhis drama-and anybody who has even a superficial acquaintance with the social economy on that side of the river may suspect the infinity of sordid misery which unfolds itself to a remorseless eye. Personally, I am ready to believe anything ofBrixton; but I have been staggered by Mr Gissing's revelations. Here is a typical family, named French. Ada is married to one Arthur Peachey. Her sisters, Beatrice and Fanny, live in disinterested contemplation of the Peachey household, which is racked by Ada's temper, and illuminated by side-lights of sisterly vulgarity. Peachey, a quiet man, leaves Ada, taking his child with him; and his wife proceeds to smash the furniture. Beatrice cannot tolerate 'wanton destruction of property,' and this is the cheerful scene that ensues-
Take another flower ofBrixton-Jessica Morgan. She ruins her health by cramming for the examinations at Burlington House, and in her
case the mill of education turns out a rancorous mass of blighted sexuality and spite. Then consider Samuel Barmby. He, I think, represents the genius ofCamberwell. He has been brought up on paragraphs, and knows how many miles would be covered by all the cabs in London if they were arranged in a line, 'back to back.' He lectures at debating societies on national progress, and, in his capacity as executor of an estate, proposes to condone the evasion of the will by immoral relations with a married woman. How is that for Camberwell? Then there is Mr Luckworth Crewe, who began his career as a foundling on a doorstep. He has a keen sense of humour, which fmds its highest gratification in a row at Lillie Bridge, where the mob stormed the refreshment-room, and the 'bobbies' were pelted with bottles, stones, and logs of wood. 'And the swearing that went on!' says Mr Crewe, describing this agreeable diversion to Miss French; 'it's a long time since I heard such downright, hearty, solid swearing. There was one chap I kept near, and he swore for a full hour without stopping, except when he had a bottle in his mouth; he only stopped when he was speechless with liquor.' 'I wish I'd been there,' said Miss French gaily; 'it must have been no end of fun.'
