Thus I would desire that the biographies of many of our most illustrious
personages of romance should be continued by fitting hands, and that
they should be heard of, until at least a decent age.--Look at Mr.
James's heroes: they invariably marry young. Look at Mr. Dickens's:
they disappear from the scene when they are mere chits. I trust these
authors, who are still alive, will see the propriety of telling us
something more about people in whom we took a considerable interest,
and who must be at present strong and hearty, and in the full vigor
of health and intellect. And in the tales of the great Sir Walter (may
honor be to his name), I am sure there are a number of people who are
untimely carried away from us, and of whom we ought to hear more.
My dear Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York, has always, in my mind, been
one of these; nor can I ever believe that such a woman, so admirable, so
tender, so heroic, so beautiful, could disappear altogether before such
another woman as Rowena, that vapid, flaxen-headed creature, who is,
in my humble opinion, unworthy of Ivanhoe, and unworthy of her place as
heroine. Had both of them got their rights, it ever seemed to me that
Rebecca would have had the husband, and Rowena would have gone off to
a convent and shut herself up, where I, for one, would never have taken
the trouble of inquiring for her.
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