Never was there a more subjective writer.

Unlike Flaubert, who laid down the canon that the author should exist in his work as God in creation, to be, here or there, dimly divined but never recognized, though everywhere latent, Trollope was never weary of writing himself large in every man, woman, or child he described.
The illusion of objectivity which he so successfully achieves is due to the fact that his mind was so perfectly contented with its hereditary and circumstantial conditions, was itself so perfectly the mental equivalent of those conditions.

Thus the perfection of his egotism, tight as a drum, saved him.

Had it been a little less complete, he would have faltered and bungled; as it was, he had the naive certainty of a child, to whose innocent apprehension the world and self are one, and who therefore cannot err.
ALGAR THOROLD.
CONTENTS I.THE BARONY OF DESMOND.
II.

OWEN FITZGERALD.
III.