it is one of the best, of his stories. He was but twenty-one at the time, but his genius was recognized by the leading critics of the time. Professor Wilson, the editor of Blackwood, said: "Richelieu' is one of the most spirited romances I ever read; characters well drawn, incidents well managed, story gradually progressive, catastrophe at once natural and unexpected, moral good, but not goody, and the whole felt in every chapter to be the work of a gentleman."

Washington Irving was in England at this time, pursuing his own literary career, and he encouraged James to continue his writing. Sir Walter Scott read "Richelieu " and tendered his friendship and assistance to the author. On every hand the young novelist met with encouragement. And from that time he wrote with the most astonishing rapidity, and yet his work was, as a rule, received with the greatest of favor. If any one will take the trouble to look over the catalogue of" Harper's Select Library of Novels published, say from 1835 to 1855, he will find that the novels of G. P. R. James hold a very distinguished place in the list. And not improperly So. He was a remarkably good story-teller, and that he is not much read in these days is not due so much to the fact that he is not worth reading, as

it is that so many other and more modern storytellers press upon us. Leigh Hunt, who was certainly a most excellent critic, and withal a very honest one, once wrote:

I hail every fresh publication of James, though I half know what he is going to do with his lady, and his gentleman, and his landscape, and his mystery, and his orthodoxy, and his criminal trial. But I am charmed with the new amusement which he brings out of the old materials. I look on him as I look on a musician famous for " variations." I am grateful for his vein of cheerfulness, for his singularly varied and vivid landscapes, for his power of painting women at once ladylike and loving (a rare talent), for his making lovers to match, at once beautiful and well-bred, and for the solace which all this has afforded me; sometimes over and over again, in illness and in convalescence, when I required interest without violence, and entertainment at once animated and mild.

Other critics have written none the less favorably, and even the mighty Lockhart looked favorably upon him. Judged by the modern standards he is not quite up to the level of a great author. Doubtless his stories are all now forgotten, and even the "Solitary Horseman " and the "Two Cavaliers " are no more remembered, though once the sport and play of the humorist and the parodist. But he was upon the whole an admirable story-teller and a good writer as well.

He used over and over again all the well-worn stock ingredients of a novel,-court trials, combats, tournaments, rescues, forged wills, forlorn maidens, mysterious strangers, renowned heroes, and imperishable actions. With these for his quarry, he wrought industriously for years, and the mere list of his works is simply astounding. Not even Dumas with his unmatchable novel factory, where he employed a half-dozen journeymen to turn out words by the wholesale, could more than equal him.

In the annals of bookmaking there has been no such workman as George Payne Rainsford James. Novels, histories, poems, tales and sketches poured from his prolific pen as if it was inspired. He was the author of fifty novels, each in three volumes, a dozen histories, and numerous other sketches on many subjects. In all, the dictionary of authors gives him credit for two hundred printed volumes.

He was born in London in 1801, and commenced to write when he was still a youth. He was historiographer to William IV., and later held a consulship in this country, and afterward in Venice. He died in 1860. What fame he achieved comes from his works, and notwithstanding the volume of matter he wrote, some of it is

well entitled to remembrance, and I think will, in a degree, hold its place in literature. Richelieu," "Arabella Stuart," " Arrah Neil," Philip Augustus," "Russell," "Agnes Sorel," "The Smuggler," and "Darnley," are all good novels, and are a hundred times better than the trash that is spawned from the press of to-day. infinite amusement and pastime in ioned novels, and that they are not out of date is evidenced by the fact that they are still published.

One will find these old-fash

He was not a Scott, a Bulwer-Lytton, a Thackeray or a Dickens. He drew no character that any reader of his novels cares to remember, and we cannot find among them a Bailie Nicol Jarvie, a Baron Bradwardine, a Pelham, a Guy Darrel, a Becky Sharp, a Colonel Newcome, a Sam Weller, or a Uriah Heap. One may read fifty of James' novels with the utmost satisfaction, and even pleasure, and come away from them with a mind perfectly blank as to the characters.

They are mere puppets, and have made no impression on him whatever. Nevertheless, he has had a pleasant time. And this, after all, as I take it, is the ultimate expectation of the inveterate novel reader.

WILLIAM M. THACKERAY.

(1811-1863.)

AND now they are talking of a "Thackeray revival," just as a little while ago they were talking of a "Dickens revival." There are no "revivals" with these great writers, because they are always being read, and new editions of their works are published every year just like school books. It is the same with Scott. No library is complete without Scott, Dickens, and Thackeray, and in these days when the passion for reading is universal, no boy's or girl's education is finished till they have read them.

But it so happens that whenever some one writes an essay, a criticism, or an appreciation of one or the other of them, the shout is raised at once, we are to have a "revival." A little while ago Mr. Swinburne wrote some extravagant things about Dickens or rather wrote about Dickens in his most extravagant manner. This led to other articles, and as a consequence much was said about the "Dickens revival."