FURTHER WORDS ON TROLLOPE SIR,—It was refreshing in these drab
days, when so much originality and individuality in the British character seems to be lost, to read the resounding anti-Trollope barrage by Sir Patrick Abercrombie. And it says a good deal for you, Sir, as an editor, that you published it. Your correspondent is right, of course: Trollope, in spite of the idol- worshippers, Mr. Michael Sadleir included, is a very dull dog. Apart from the Barchester novels, and his autobiography, he is a dreadful hack, as Sir Patrick Abercrombie's quotations from Orley Farm go to prove.
What else can be expected from an author who tried to cram so much into his life, who wrote merely to make money, and who prided himself on the fact that, rain or shine, he was able to turn out 250 words every quarter of an hour? When it comes to the Victorians, give me . . . M. E. Braddon every timel—Yours, &c., SYDNEY HORLER.
Wickham Cottage, East Dean, Eastbourne, Sussex.
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