One hundred years ago
Mr Anthony Trollope died on Wednesday, after a few weeks' severe illness, from which after a time it was hoped that he was likely to recover. Of no other writer, living or dead, could it be said, as may be truly said of him, that there are many who know the world — chiefly, of course, though not wholly, the English world — far better from what they have learnt of it from his pages, than they would ever have known of it from the lessons of personal ex- perience. Of all varieties of the English clergyman, of all varieties of the English squire, of almost all varieties of those who constitute the hunting and racing world, of many varieties of the English statesman and politician, of many varieties of the English barrister and solicitor, of many varieties of the English civil servant, of not a few varieties of the merchant, stockbroker, tradesman, commercial traveller, and policeman, and of a vast variety of miscellaneous characters, Mr Trollope has left us inimitable sketches so minute and complete, that one can hardly distinguish those whom one has known in his pages from those whom one has known in real life. Whether or not he has produced more volumes than any other English writer, it is certainly true that no other writer who has written so much has missed his mark so seldom as Mr Trollope.
Spectator, 9 December 1882
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