In respect to certain objections, I am quite sure you do me the justice to believe that I do not willingly give cause for offence.  Without going as far as Robert, who holds that I ‘couldn’t be coarse if I tried,’ (only that!) you will grant that I don’t habitually dabble in the dirt; it’s not the way of my mind or life.  If, therefore, I move certain subjects in this work, it is because my conscience was first moved in me not to ignore them.  What has given most offence in the book, more than the story of Marian—­far more!—­has been the reference to the condition of women in our cities, which a woman oughtn’t to refer to, by any manner of means, says the conventional tradition.  Now I have thought deeply otherwise.  If a woman ignores these wrongs, then may women as a sex continue to suffer them; there is no help for any of us—­let us be dumb and die.  I have spoken therefore, and in speaking have used plain words—­words which look like blots, and which you yourself would put away—­words which, if blurred or softened, would imperil perhaps the force and righteousness of the moral influence.  Still, I certainly will, when the time comes, go over the poem carefully, and see where an offence can be got rid of without loss otherwise.  The second edition was issued so early that Robert would not let me alter even a comma, would not let me look between the pages in order to the least alteration.  He said (the truth) that my head was dizzy-blind with the book, and that, if I changed anything, it would be probably for the worse; like arranging a room in the dark.  Oh no.  Indeed he is not vexed that you should say what you do.  On the contrary, he was pleased because of the much more that you said.  As to your friend with the susceptible ’morals’—­well, I could not help smiling indeed.  I am assured too, by a friend of my own, that the ‘mamas of England’ in a body refuse to let their daughters read it.  Still, the daughters emancipate themselves and do, that is certain; for the number of young women, not merely ’the strong-minded’ as a sect, but pretty, affluent, happy women, surrounded by all the temptations of English respectability, that cover it with the most extravagant praises is surprising to me, who was not prepared for that particular kind of welcome.  It’s true that there’s a quantity of hate to balance the love, only I think it chiefly seems to come from the less advanced part of society. (See how modest that sounds!  But you will know what I mean.) I mean, from persons whose opinions are not in a state of growth, and who do not like to be disturbed from a settled position.  Oh, that there are faults in the book, no human being knows so well as I; defects, weaknesses, great gaps of intelligence.  Don’t let me stop to recount them.

The review in ‘Blackwood’ proves to be by Mr. Aytoun; and coming from the camp of the enemy (artistically and socially) cannot be considered other than generous.  It is not quite so by the ‘North British,’ where another poet (Patmore), who knows more, is somewhat depreciatory, I can’t help feeling.