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Ugliness in Fiction. Probably the author of it has read
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Liza of Lambeth, and said Faugh! The article, peculiarly inept, is one of those outpourings which every generation of artists has to suffer with what tranquillity it can. According to the Reviewer, ugliness is specially rife
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It is always
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It was
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when George Eliot wrote
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Adam Bede, when George Moore wrote
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A Mummer's Wife, when Thomas Hardy wrote
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Jude the Obscure. As sure as ever a novelist endeavours to paint a complete picture of life in this honest, hypocritical country of bad restaurants and good women; as sure as ever he hints that all is not for the best in the best of all possible islands, some witling is bound to come forward and point out with wise finger that life is not all black. I once resided near a young noodle of a Methodist pastor who had the pious habit of reading novels aloud to his father and mother. He began to read one of mine to them, but half-way through decided that something of Charlotte M. Yonge would be less unsuitable for the parental ear. He then called and lectured me. Among other aphorisms of his which I have treasured up was this:
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Life, my dear friend, is like an April day--sunshine and shadow chasing each other over the plain.