The greater part of the following Essay was written several years ago. It
was too long for any of the periodicals to which the author had been in
the habit of occasionally contributing, and no thought was then
entertained of publishing it in a separate form. One day, however,
during his last illness, the talk happened to turn on George Eliot's
Works, and he mentioned his long-forgotten paper. One of the friends
then present--a competent critic and high literary authority--expressed a
wish to see it, and his opinion was so favourable that its publication
was determined on. The author then proposed to complete his work by
taking up 'Middlemarch' and 'Deronda'; and if any trace of failing vigour
is discernible in these latter pages, the reader will bear in mind that
the greater portion of them was composed when the author was rapidly
sinking under a painful disease, and that the concluding paragraphs were
dictated to his daughter after the power of writing had failed him, only
five days before his death.