is in the world which held Ariel. The Bonde I like much, and Lorimer. How necessary are some defects to a perfect liking! How we are in touch with poor Humanity through its weak side! This is, I suppose, why we do not sympathize as we ought with Christ. We feel sad for ourselves, and I can only truly pity those who need it,—the sort of cry in our hearts for the lost perfection. . . . I could write several sheets about the novel, but I forbear. Don't write too fast. One who can write as well as you can, can write better, and in the long run will stand better on financial grounds."
Here is advice from one possessing great experience and much worldly wisdom. How helpful such sound and friendly counsel proved to the young novelist can readily be imagined.
"The death of Sigurd, and that also of Olaf," wrote Mr. Bentley, on March 28th, 1887, "are far ahead in literary excellence and truth of anything in 'She.'". . . "I confess I hate perfect people," he remarks in a subsequent letter, "and that is why, on the contrary, I love Thelma's father, have a strong sympathy with poor Sigurd as well as with many of the other characters in the story, and with that pretty little side picture of the plucky little waiting maid. I congratulate you on your next idea. It is in the Spirit of the age to pierce into the
