He handles thunder and lightning, the terrific
weapons of the mighty Jove himself, in a very haughty, Jove-like
manner, it must be confessed. He isn't afraid of singing his fingers
with the thunderbolts, but seizes them with the familiar gripe of
unquestionable authority. In a glorified language he paints glorified
visions. Very little of the calm domestic sunlight of the working
noonday glimmers among his pages, but a perpetual, everlasting
gorgeousness of deep-colored sunset radiance. For merit of style all
these novels are well worthy of commendation and of study. Education and
extensive reading have preserved them from faults of gaudiness and
meretricious ornament. They are chastened by good taste and regulated by
gentlemanly cultivation. They are written by a scholar, and not by a
scribbler; and while reading their magnificent pages we need have no
misgiving that we are admiring the flashy ornaments of wordy or
half-educated mediocrity. Far the best of them is also the first, 'Guy
Livingstone.' The poorest is 'Sword and Gown;' this has the feeblest
plot, in fact a mere apology for a story, and contains more passages
which seem unfinished, and what on a second reading would scarce have
satisfied their own writer. 'Guy Livingstone,' though not faultless, is
a work of power, talent, and brilliancy. Guy himself is an Olympian
character, sketched upon the scale and model of a Torso, a giant in his
virtues and his vices and his frame--but exaggerated with such tact and
ability that even the impossible hugeness charms and fascinates.
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