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PEACOCK 61
curiosity and ; just as he lacked the depth of
a philosopher so he wanted the vision of a
poet. That he possessed genius will not be
denied ; but his art is fanciful rather than
imaginative and of creative power he had
next to none. His life was neither a mission
nor a miracle. But he was blessed with that
keen delight in his own sensations which makes
a world full of beautiful and amusing things,
charming people, wine, and warm sunshine
seem, on the whole, a very tolerable place,
and all metaphysical speculation and political
passion a little unnecessary. He made an art
of
living, and his novels are a part of his life.
He wrote them because he had a subtle sense
of the ludicrous, a turn for satire, and style.
He wrote because he enjoyed writing ; and,
with a disregard for the public inconceivable
in a man of sense, he wrote the sort of books
that he himself would have liked to read.
They are the sort, we think, that will always
be worth reading.