work. He makes Methodism the butt of his jibes. In her estimate of Methodism, Miss Braddon has adopted the philosophical critic's point of view; and her book may be read by the historian without any fear that his nerves will be jarred by maladroit references or absurd misrepresentations.

We have only space to refer to two points which have occurred to us in reading The Infidel. First, Miss Braddon has seen into the character of John Wesley with rare insight. Then, she has sketched the influence of Methodism in "Society," in a manner that reveals just appreciation of its mission. Whenever John Wesley appears in her scenes we immediately recognize the presence of a calm-minded, deepthoughted, sympathetic gentleman. Miss Braddon understands the value of the artistic law of contrast, and she avails herself of that law to bring out the fine lines of John Wesley's character. It is somewhat the fashion, in certain places, to speak disparagingly of John Wesley when he is compared with George Whitefield. Miss Braddon does not make that mistake. Without dwelling on the essential differences in the character of the two men, we may unhesitatingly refer to her description of the contrast between them as preachers, in confirmation of our estimate of her skill in mental and moral analysis. We have been especially interested to note that Miss Braddon has detected the gentler aspects of Wesley's character. In the midst of Stobart's miseries, Wesley tries to divert his mind from his excruciating sorrows by alluring him into the country as his companion on a preaching campaign. That one touch shows the perfection of Miss Braddon's insight. We do not know if she has read the story of Robert Carr Brackenbury of Raithby Hall, in Lincolnshire. When he lost his young wife, Wesley did for him exactly what Miss Braddon rep

resents him as doing in the case of Stobart. That illustration of the accuracy of Miss Braddon's insight does not stand alone. John Wesley's heart was tremulous with sympathy, and responded to every sight and sound of woe. When a man who could preach was in trouble, there was, in Wesley's estimation, no remedy equal to that which came from riding through the country on a great evangelizing expedition. Those who are intimately acquainted with the contents of the "Journals," and who can read between the lines, will be at no loss for further illustrations of the trait in Wesley's character which Miss Braddon has so finely suggested.

We have said that Miss Braddon's book reveals the influence of Meth-, odism in "Society." Lady Huntingdon figures in its pages, and her religious assemblies are described with much vivacity. Lady Huntingdon and her coteries lend themselves to the wit of the satirist, but Miss Braddon discerns their character and gauges their influence with exactness. Her descriptions are very suggestive. We refer to them in order that we may raise an important question. Why is it that Methodism has ceased to directly affect "Society?" We cannot now give reasons which are even approximately correct, but we confess that, in reading Miss Braddon's book, the question has been forced on our attention with special emphasis. In the pages of The Infidel we see that Methodism brought an answer to the anxious inquiries of men and women in "Society" who were conscious of sin, and who were distressed until the torment of their mind was relieved by the good news of a salvation that came through faith in Jesus Christ. Is that consciousness of sin existent now only among the middle classes and the poor? We are convinced that the experience of George Stobart in the

"Foundery" still repeats itself in men who are now, apparently, far removed from the influence of Methodism. The depth of their iniquity is revealed, the hollowness of a life without God in the world is discovered. Speaking of that critical moment in her hero's life, Miss Braddon says: "He had looked along the backward path of years, and had seen himself a child, drowsily enduring the familiar liturgy, sleeping through the hated sermon; a lad at Eton, making a jest of holy things, scorning any assumption of religion in his schoolfellows, insolent to his masters, arrogant and uncharitable, shirking everything that did not minister to his own pleasures or his own aims, studious only in the pursuit of selfish ambitions, dreaming of future greatness to be won amidst the carnage of battles as ruthless, as unnecessary, as Malplaquet. And following those early years of self-love and impiety there had come a season of darker sins, of the sins which prosperous youth calls pleasure-sins that had sat so lightly on the slumbering conscience, but which filled the awakened soul with horror." The angel that brought the liberating message to George Stobart was Methodism, and we cannot think that the mission of that angel to refined and cultured people has ceased.

Miss Fowler is not to be numbered among the strangers who have wandered into the "garden enclosed." She writes of Methodism with a loving familiarity which gives her books, in the eyes of a Methodist, a special charm. It is not necessary to write any general criticism of her work. Its popularity is attested by the fact that some of her books have attained the dignity of a "sixpenny edition"-a sure sign that, in the estimation of enterprising publishers, she has won for herself a high place in the regard of the British public. It will be enough for our present purpose if we point out

some of the Methodist characteristics of the books which first made her fame.

Miss Fowler has been fortunate in her selection of the districts in which many of the chief incidents of her stories take place. That district-the country round about Wolverhampton-is repellent in the eyes of some lovers of the picturesque. In their estimation it is a dreary land, studded with blastfurnaces and tall chimneys, and covered with a gruesome canopy of smoke. But this is a mistake. Many years ago Charles Dickens, in The Old Curiosity Shop, drew a dismal picture of "The Black Country," but he took care to put brighter colors on his palette when Little Nell and her grandfather got across the zone of gloom and turned their faces towards Tong. Elihu Burritt also avoided the aesthete's error. In his Green Borderland of the Black Country he dealt another blow at the prevailing ignorance. Now Miss Fowler has continued the work of illuminating the public mind, and has pointed out with surprising effect the beauty of a much maligned country. In reading her descriptions of scenery we have often wished that she would give us more frequently "bits" of landscape sleeping in the sunshine, touched with the shadows of passing clouds or ruffled by the breath of a storm. She is a lover of light, of color, and of distance, and she excels when she exercises her power as a landscape painter. We could have spared much smart conversation in London drawing-rooms, if she had given us, in its place, more of her Mershire vignettes.

All who know the neighborhood which she describes in her books will confess that Miss Fowler has, with remarkable accuracy and sympathy, reproduced the characteristics of the country she loves. Has she been equally successful in depicting the

characteristics of Methodism and of the Methodist people? So far as Methodism is concerned, we think that the answer must be in the affirmative. Like Miss Braddon, she has seen the meaning of Methodism with precision, and expressed it with success. Methodism has a message, not only for the multitude, but for every man and woman who stands helpless and hopeless in the presence of the problem of personal sin. Miss Fowler knows that the conviction of sin does not spare those who move in what we call "Society." Neither is it an unknown experience to those who have won that emancipation of the intellect that comes through strong intelligence, wide reading, much knowledge, fearless inquiry, and profound thought. The fascinations of "Society" fail, and the daring intellect quails when man awakens to the fact that "there are only two beings in the universeGod and his own soul." Looking into the eyes of his Maker and Judge, conscious of personal guilt, each pleasure and pursuit of life ceases to attract until the question is settled: "What must I do to be saved?" To a man in whom the consciousness of the need of pardon has become acute, Methodism speaks its message. Miss Fowler has looked steadily into the inner meaning of Methodism, and she has taken care that the music of its refreshing evangel shall be clearly heard in her books.

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If Miss Fowlers successful in representing the characteristics of Methodism, does she succeed when she attempts to sketch the characteristics of the Methodist people? Are the men and women whom she describes distinct from the other people of the neighborhood, and does their distinction arise from their possessing certain traits of character which are due to the fact that they have been trained as Methodists? Or, are they merely

Mershire people who would have displayed the same mental peculiarities if they had never been touched by Methodism? It is at this point we are in uncertainty. If we confine our attention to Concerning Isabel Carnaby and The Farringdons, we recognize at once the Methodist type of character and the Methodist tone of speech; but if we scan the pages of A Double Thread and of Fuel of Fire, we meet with figures possessing the same characteristics, and they represent persons who are members of the Established Church! Take, for instance, the comic servants upon whom Miss Fowler lavishes so much artistic skill. We judge that they are sketched from a model which Miss Fowler has had special opportunities of studying. They are entertaining. Unconsciously they obey the great law of contrast, which plays such an important part in humor. One of the most popular forms of humor is that in which sacred ideas and ideas that are absurd are brought into contact without offensive irreverence. This form of humor abounds in Miss Fowler's pages. Her comic servants mix up sacred ideas and names with a surprising familiarity. But is this form of humor distinctively Methodist? If it is, how did Mrs. Candy in Fuel of Fire, and Mr. Clutterbuck, the rector's gardener, in A Double Thread, obtain the special graces which adorn their conversation?

We can speak with more certainty of Miss Fowler's work as a painter of Methodist characteristics when we turn over the pages of her remarkable book, Concerning Isabel Carnaby. In her sketches of Mark Seaton, the Methodist supernumerary minister, his wife, and the home in Chayford, Miss Fowler has achieved one of her greatest successes. She has caught the tone which we think is peculiar to the higher type of Methodist domestic life. That tone existed, we know, in

such a home as that of the Taylors of Ongar, and also in many of the families which, in the earlier part of the last century, represented the quietness, the intelligence, the culture, and the devoutness of the "Old Dissent." Still every "child of the Methodist manse" will eagerly admit that Miss Fowler has stirred in him the undying memories of a sacred past. We do not know who sat to Miss Fowler as the model for Mark Seaton, but we can testify that such men have lived and still exist. Mrs. Seaton, who is described with that delicacy of touch which marks Miss Fowler's highest work, is an easily recognized type. We cannot refrain from reproducing the description of the experiences of the children in the Chayford home.

"Paul and Joanna Seaton were brought up in the good old Methodist style and learned to take life seriously. . . . They were early taught by their father that the only two things of importance in this life are salvation and education; likewise, that the verb To Be is of infinite moment-the verb To Do of great weight-and the verb To Have of no significance at all. Therefore, whatever faults and failings they might suffer from in after-life, there was no possibility of the little Seatons becoming vulgar.

"At Chayford Paul and Joanna spent three of the interminable years of childhood; and Chayford chapel was ever afterwards associated in their minds with all that is sacred and holy. It was there that they had first touched the fringe of the Unseen, and caught glimpses of life's deeper meanings; it was there that they had sung the oldfashioned hymns to the old-fashioned tunes, and had felt as if they themselves were somehow one with the white-robed multitude, which no man can number, singing the song which the angels cannot learn. Then the hearts of the children were filled with joy, and their eyes with tears, and a strange thrill ran through the whole The London Quarterly Review.

of their being. They did not understand why they felt so gloriously happy and yet wanted to cry; for they were then too young to know that earth, and probably heaven, has nothing better to offer us than that same thrill which runs through us when we catch fleeting glimpses of the Beautiful and the True, and rise superior for the time being to all that is sordid and cowardly and mean. For the moment we are "pure in heart"; and therefore, either through the interpretation of art or the revelation of nature, either in the loyalty of a great people or in the love on a familiar face, we 'see God.'"

The severest test to which Miss Fowler subjects Isabel Carnaby is to bring her from the atmosphere of London Society into the light of the Chayford home. The way in which she appreciates the refinement and spiritual elevation which reigned in the modest dwelling of the Methodist supernumerary minister is a revelation of the essential goodness of her own character. Nor does she miss her reward. In the Chayford chapel she listens to the singing of "There is a land of pure delight," and she feels the "thrill" which comes to us when, for a few moments, we rise above "all that is sordid and cowardly and mean."

We lay aside the books that have occupied our attention with mingled feelings. We cannot refrain from expressing our regret that Mr. QuillerCouch has lifted the veil that covered a hidden tragedy; but no such feeling rises within us when we recall the incidents which Miss Braddon and Miss Fowler have so sympathetically described. We are conscious that they have pointed out some of the foibles and the defects of Methodism. By doing so they have rendered us a service. But they have laid us under a greater obligation by reminding us of the ideals of our fathers, and of the great mission to which we must throughout all coming time be true.

John S. Simon.

CHAPTER VIII.

HALL.

THE UNKNOWN GALLANT.

I usually put up my horse at the Nag's Head at Upton, the charges being lower than at the Crown, where, moreover, they occasionally were SO overcrowded that they had no room for him; but on the day before the Flowering so many folks from distant villages had taken up their quarters there that I was forced to stable Chestnut at the post-house. Here travellers of a different quality baited, and for the most part continued their journey after a few hours, and the ceremony of the morrow brought Landlord Billington no increase of custom.

On turning into the yard to seek my beast I found the stablemen busy, and the chief ostler attending to the needs of a handsome brown horse, from which a gentleman had evidently just alighted. He was a stranger, and had apparently ridden far, for he and his horse looked weary and both were splashed with mud. He was a slender, tall man, dressed in a plain dark riding suit, and wearing his own hair, which was of so bright a color that it flamed in the evening sun, tied back with a black ribbon. His fine pale face was cut as clear as the face of a statue.

"I will be with you in a minute, Mr. Luke," cried Jim the ostler, "or I'll give a shout to one of the other lads if ye like."

"I'm in no hurry, thank ye, Jim," said I. "Pray do not hurry with this gentleman's horse-'tis as bonny a one as ever I saw," said I, turning to its

master, "and deserves good treatment."

"Why, yes, I believe he does," returned he, with a pleasant smile. "He has carried me many a mile to-day, and yesterday too for that matter. I always make it a point of seeing to his comfort before I touch bite or sup myself."

"A good rule, Sir," said I. (“Wash his legs down well, Jim-they're fair caked with mud.") "These good friends of ours are dumb, when all's said and done, and cannot protest if they are ill done to."

"My horse can almost speak, though," said the newcomer. "Cannot you, Star?"

Hearing his name the horse turned his head and uttered a gentle whinny, and I saw that he had a white star on his forehead, though the rest of him was of a most beautiful dark dappled brown. I stepped up to him to pat him, and noticed a small white patch just behind his shoulder, not much bigger than a shilling, but nevertheless a blemish; I remarked upon this to his owner, and he laughed and said:

"Yes; a worthless fellow of a groom, that I had once, rode him carelessly out of his stable, grazing him against the sharp latch of the door; it would scarce be noticed, however, and after all even a blemish may be of service. Were Star stolen I could easily identify him."

We stood by, chatting together until the horse was comfortably installed for the night. I asked my new acquaintance, during this time, if he intended to pursue his journey on the