Deplore as we must his dissolute living, it was of short duration, for he went from earth at the age of two and thirty, and the evil effects have been lost in Time’s abatements. His associates, doubtless were as dissolute as he himself. Nash wrote: “With any notorious crime I never knew him tainted, and he inherited more virtues than vices.” The reader, at any rate, will give but little credence to the accusations of such a hyena-dog as Gabriel Harvey. Robert Greene was not “lip-holy,” nor heart-hollow, for, in regard to his wife and their separation, “he took to himself all blame, breathed never a word against her, and did not squander all of his earnings in dissipation, but sent part of his income to the good woman, the wife of his youth, and addressed to her in loving trust the last letter he wrote.” Gabriel Harvey, drenched in hate, could not rob the “Sweet-wife letter of its pathos.” In all the galleries of noble women, Greene’s heroines deserve a foremost place, for all the gracious types of womanhood belonged to Greene, before they became Shakespeare’s. “Robert Greene is the first of our play-writers to represent upon the public stage the purity and sweetness of wife and maiden.” Unselfish love and maternity are sketched with feminine delicacy and minuteness of touch in all the tenderness of its purity. His writings have assuaged the sorrow of the self-sacrificing mother, who is always a queen uncrowned, long suffering and faithful. Robert Green “is always on the side of the angels.” When loud mouthed detraction calls him badhearted, we should not forget that this confessedly dissolute man could, and did, keep inviolate the purity of his imagination; few have left a wealthier legacy in feminine models of moral and physical beauty. What is most characteristic in the pages of Greene is the absence of the indecencies which attest the passage of the author of “Lear,” “the damnable scenes which raised the anger of Swinburne and which Coleridge attempted in vain to palliate.”