Reade

reed, Charles (1814-1884), an English novelist. He was educated at Oxford, and, in London, for the law; but preferred to write novels. Foul Play is an intensely interesting tale of shipwreck. Put Yourself in His Place is a well told, sympathetic story of trades unions. In The Woman Hater, a plea is put forth for the right of women to vote. Hard Cash is an attack on private lunatic asylums. Never Too Late to Mend, as might be inferred from the title, deals with prison management. Christie Johnstone is a dialect tale of Scotch fisher-folk. Peg Woffington is not worth reading. The Cloister and the Hearth, especially the first third, is a powerful word picture of the fifteenth century. Other stories are Griffith Gaunt, A Terrible Temptation, The Wandering Heir, and A Perilous Secret. As a novelist Charles Reade belongs to the realistic school. His stories, marked by a peculiarly rugged, energetic style, represent several quite distinct types. The historical novel, the novel "with a purpose," the psychological novel, the melodramatic novel,-each is found in the list. Critics usually place Reade foremost in the second rank of English novelists. Some give him a higher place. See Cloister And The Hearth

If all English-speaking readers were to vote for the best of living novelists, there can be little doubt that they would name Charles Reade. I am one of those who would so vote. I entirely agree with the popular verdict. I, for one, consider that Reade takes rank with Fielding, Smollett, Scott, Dickens, and Thackeray; that is to say, in the great and delightful art of fiction, wherein the English-who are always, in every age, doing something better than their neighbors-have surpassed the world, Charles Reade stands among the foremost and best. . . . Let those who appreciate the best, the most faithful, the highest work in the Royal Art of Fiction, salute the Master.-Walter Besant.

He has left not a few pages which, if they do not live as long as the English language, will fail to do so through no fault of their own, but solely through the malice of accident, by which so many reputations worthy of a longer life have been casually submerged or eclipsed. . . . That he was, at his very best, and that not very rarely, a truly great writer of a truly noble genius, I do not understand how any competent judge of letters could possibly hesitate to affirm.--Swinburne.