In almost all there is a want of central interest in the characters that should be central; in some an exaggeration of dialect; or of quaint non-dialectic but also non-catholic locutions on the author's part.

One rather hates oneself for finding such faults--no one of which is absolutely fatal--in a mass of work which has given, and continues to give, so much pleasure: but the facts remain.

One would not have the books _not_ written on any account; but one feels that they were written rather because the author chose to do so than because he could not help it.

Now it is possible to exaggerate the necessity of "mission" and the like: but, after all, _Ich kann nicht anders_ must be to some extent the mood of mind of the man who is committing a masterpiece.
Something of the sort is still more noticeable in the work of other writers of the period.

We have seen that two ladies of great talent, Mrs.Oliphant and Mrs.Craik, began to write, long before Mr.Meredith published _Richard Feverel_ and very little later than the time of _Vanity Fair_.