And yet Mr Booker was an honest man, and had set his face persistently against many literary malpractices.

Stretched-out type, insufficient lines, and the French habit of meandering with a few words over an entire page, had been rebuked by him with conscientious strength.

He was supposed to be rather an Aristides among reviewers.

But circumstanced as he was he could not oppose himself altogether to the usages of the time.

'Bad; of course it is bad,' he said to a young friend who was working with him on his periodical.