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Of Middlemarch I remember the delight with which I read each volume, and there were six or eight in the edition that I came upon in my grandfather's library when I was twelve or thirteen, mayhap fourteen. You may have caught sight of the portrait of an old gentleman on the wall of the lobby as you came up stairs—my grandfather, the historian who in his preface to his history of the French Revolution (I give the preface in Ave) speaks with delightful resignation and humility of his failure to obtain recognition. Compelled by a presentiment