It is not entirely just to Mr. George S. Hellman to put his biography of _Washington Irving_ in the category defined for Mr. Minnigerode’s book, but it fits there more accurately than elsewhere. It is laden with personalities and generously interspersed with gossip; particularly about Irving’s love affairs, perhaps the most interesting thing in the world about which to gossip and to conjecture: “It seems perhaps a cruel thing to say, but I am convinced that if Mathilda Hoffman had lived, the man of letters that the world of literature knows as Washington Irving would never have come into being.” Perhaps “cruel” is not the most felicitous adjective that the author might have used. No doubt many will find Mr. Hellman’s interpretation of Irving’s amativeness very entertaining, but it will scarcely add anything to his reputation as the greatest pioneer of American literature. Mr. Hellman says, “The present volume has been called ‛Washington Irving, Esq.,’ and it is in the life of a great and lovable gentleman that we are far more interested than in the easily ascertainable achievement of the writer whose works have long been the subject of critical evaluation.” If he had added to this that he had also wanted to give Irving’s first biographer, his nephew, a black eye, and to include a lot of letters which Irving had written from Spain, chiefly to the State Department, it would have been a perfect description of the motive for writing the book. There are so many recent biographies that fall short of the ideal that it would seem prejudiced distinction to make mention of one and to point out with some specificity its shortcomings. But Mr. Ernest Brennecke, Jr., had an unusual opportunity, an inspiring subject, and a waiting public for his work. His _Life of Thomas Hardy_ must be reckoned a failure. The reader who can glean a concept of the personality of the famous English novelist and poet, whom George Moore has recently derided, from Mr. Brennecke’s book has great perspicacity. The narrative itself is clumsily composed and awkwardly arranged; the material obtained from personal contact with Mr. Hardy is used maladroitly; gossip, anecdote and puerile information clog the wheel of the story; and the backgrounds of “origins” and “The Soil” take up nearly a third of the volume. In a foreword, the author says, “There is little spice and perhaps too little story in this book.” I would not say so, but there is too little style, substance and sequence; too much irrelevancy and not enough form and finality. If Mr. Brennecke had given to Mr. Strachey one of the ten years that he devoted to Mr. Hardy he might have written a more acceptable book.