He did his best, the best he
knew, and it is all on the side of manliness, courage, kindness.
Perhaps he tried too many things--science, history, fairy tales,
religious and political discussions, romance, poetry. Poetry was
what he did best, romance next; his science and his history are
entertaining, but without authority.
This, when one reads it again, seems a cold, unfriendly estimate of
a man so ardent and so genuine, a writer so vivacious and courageous
as Kingsley. Even the elderly reviewer bears to him, and to his
brother Henry, a debt he owes to few of their generation. The truth
is we should READ Kingsley; we must not criticise him. We must
accept him and be glad of him, as we accept a windy, sunny autumn
day--beautiful and blusterous--to be enjoyed and struggled with. If
once we stop and reflect, and hesitate, he seems to preach too much,
and with a confidence which his knowledge of the world and of
history does not justify. To be at one with Kingsley we must be
boys again, and that momentary change cannot but be good for us.
Soon enough--too soon--we shall drop back on manhood, and on all the
difficulties and dragons that Kingsley drove away by a blast on his
chivalrous and cheery horn.
CHARLES LEVER: HIS BOOKS, ADVENTURES AND MISFORTUNES
Surely it is a pleasant thing that there are books, like other
enjoyments, for all ages. You would not have a boy prefer whist to
fives, nor tobacco to toffee, nor Tolstoi to Charles Lever.
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