[Grant Allen [Charles Grant Blairfindie Allen], British novelist and writer on science, born in Canada.] Heavily-revised Autograph Manuscript of part of essay on literary obscurity, with reference to George Meredith, presented to Meredith’s daughter.

See the entries on Allen and Meredith in the Oxford DNB. On one side of 20 x 18 cm piece of paper, in good condition, with two vertical folds, laid down on 4to leaf of thick gilt-edged paper removed from an autograph album of Meredith's daughter Marie Eveleen (Mariette; 1871-1933), later the wife of Henry Parkman Sturgis (1847-1929), American-born banker and Liberal politician. Sixteen lines of heavily-revised text, in Allen’s close hand, with interpolation by him in the right-hand margin. The place of publication of the text has not been traced, but it is highly complimentary to Meredith. It begins: And isn’t it odd how in the end the verdict of Cato always carries the day? (Our first and only appearance in the character of Cato.) Can’t we all remember how one was accounted mad or at least eccentric, not so very long since, if one believed in Browning, in Holman Hunt, in Millais, even, aye, hard as it may seem now to believe it, in Tennyson. Yes indeed; I’m playing you no tricks: I can recollect hearing a man of taste read the Ballad of Oriana aloud in a burlesque voice, and then ask in indignant thuder what anybody could find to admire in that blatant nonsense-monger.’ Interpolated here is the following: ‘(See more on this point in Mrs. Sutherland-Orr’s Browning. Three hundred copies of one volume sold - the rest unsaleable!)’ He continues with reference to the Saturday Reiew, ‘Landor’s death’, ‘Swinburne’s Folly’, Wagner, Burne-Jones, Earlswood. The manuscript concludes: ‘Laugh on, mademoiselle, laugh on: you are young: you are merry: but you will live to know that they laugh last who laugh longest. Why, I can recall the time when people used to say pretty much the same thing about Mr. George Meredith. Had you there, I fancy! And now - why, now, even the general public itself is beginning to discover that no higher peak than Box Hill exists anywhere among the summits of our modern British Parnassus.’ Note: Extracted from an Album of Autograph Letters created by Meredith's daughter which included letters to George Meredith from distinguished fellow-writers (as here) such as Henry James, George Eliot but also from people of distinction (such as Wellington and Clemenceau) to other correspondents