Mad, perfectly mad, madder than the immortal tea-party of Alice, is the thought while reading this novel, or satire, or caricature, or allegory, or farce, or joke, or whatever it is, which Mr. Chesterton has published. When you have finished reading the book, you lay it down and positively gasp, your brain whirls and you stagger with the question whether you have been reading a book, or dreaming a...