Now these not very adept defenders of Mr.Meredith seem to assert that these processes are desirable in any case, and necessary in his.

As a matter of fact the necessity is not omnipresent: but it is present far too frequently.

It is the first duty of the novelist to "let himself be read"-- anything else that he gives you is a _bonus_, a trimming, a dessert.
It is not unamusing to those who regarded Mr.Meredith during almost his whole career with those mingled feelings of the highest admiration and of critical reserve which this notice has endeavoured to express, to note a new phase which seems to be coming over the youngest criticism.
The original want of appreciation has passed, never, one may hope, to return; and the middle _engouement_, which was mainly engineered by those doughty partisans, Mr.Stevenson and Mr.Henley, is passing likewise.

But the most competent and generous juniors seem to be a little uncomfortable, to have to take a good deal on trust, and not quite to "like the security." To those who know the history of critical opinion these signs speak pretty clearly, though not so as to authorise them to anticipate the final judgment absolutely.

Genius, all but of the highest, can hardly be denied to Mr.Meredith: but it is genius marred, perhaps by unfortunate education, certainly by undue egotism, by a certain Celtic _tapage_, and by a too painful and elaborate endeavour to be unlike other people.
A very interesting subject for examination from the present point of view is Mr.Blackmore, because, on the one hand there is complete _parrhesia_, and on the other (here at least) enthusiastic admiration.
Few of our modern novelists have combined so much scholarship with so much command of mother wit and racy English, so much close study of minor character and local speech with such wealth of romantic fancy; such a thorough observance of "good form" with so complete a freedom from priggishness and prudery.