From the London Examiner.
That tender pathos, which could sink so deep—that gentle humor, which could soar so lightly—that delicate perception, which nothing could escape—that wide sympathy, which ranged so far—those sweet moralities, which rang so true; it is indeed hard and sad to feel that these must be silent for us henceforth forever.
Let us be grateful, however, that we have still those writings of hers which England will not willingly let die, and that she has given us no less an example of conscientious work and careful pains, by which we all alike may profit. For Mrs. Gaskell had not only genius of a high order, but she had also the true feeling of the artist, that grows impatient at whatever is unfinished or imperfect. Whether describing with touching skill the charities of poor to poor, or painting, with an art which Miss Austin might have envied, the daily round of common life, or merely telling, in her graphic way, some wild or simple tale: whatever the work, she did it with all her power, sparing nothing, scarcely sparing herself enough, if only the work were well and completely done.
From the New York Evening Post.
It is said that George Sand remarked to an English friend: “Mrs. Gaskell has done what neither I nor other female writers in France can accomplish—she has written novels which excite the deepest interest in men of the world, and which every girl will be the better for reading.”
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Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
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