Cranford

thirty years ago, pays a fine tribute to Mrs. Gaskell’s striking
exposition of the life amidst which so much of her own was passed, to
her depth of feeling, to her moderation of statement.

The article also, to my surprise, gives an answer to the little riddle
I was trying to solve in my own mind as to the difference between the
world of Cranford and that of Miss Austen. Each century possesses a
force of its own, says the critic, one particular means of action, to
the exclusion of others; it may be intelligence, it may be passion, it
may be determination, each rules in turn.

In the sixteenth century will prevailed, and the character of the men
and the martyrs of that time were in value far beyond their convictions.
In the eighteenth century, on the contrary, the ideas were worth more
than the lives. Books and pamphlets were better than the men who wrote
them. What is the force, says Mr. Montégut, of the age in which we
ourselves are living? it is certainly not will, nor is it brilliant
intelligence, as in the days of Voltaire. It is a quality which, for
want of a better word, we will call the ‘force of sentiment.’...
‘People,’ he continues, ‘have little confidence in systems, a man with a