And I consider that as a conscientious critic you were bound to read through the whole of the ‘rhyme’ called ‘A Curse for a Nation’ before ticketing it for the public, and I complain that after neglecting to do so and making a mistake in consequence, you refused the poor amends of printing my letter in full.  A loose paragraph like this found to-day in your ‘Athenaeum’ about Mrs. Browning ‘wishing to state’ that the ‘Curse’ was levelled at America quoad negro-slavery, and the satisfaction of her English readers in this correction of what was ‘generally thought’; as if Mrs. Browning ‘stated’ it arbitrarily (perhaps from fright) and as if the poem stated nothing distinctly, and as if the intention of it could be ‘generally thought’ what the ‘Athenaeum’ critic took it to be, except by following his lead or adopting his process of a general skipping of half the said poem—­this loose paragraph does not cover a great fault, it seems to me.  Well, I have spoken.

As to the extent of the ‘general thought,’ we cannot, of course judge here, where it is so difficult to get access to periodicals.  We have seen, however, two virulent articles from enemies in ‘Blackwood’ and the ‘Saturday Review,’ the latter sparing none of its native mud through three columns; not to speak of a renewal of the charge in several political articles with a most flattering persistency.  Both these writers (being enemies) keep clear of the ‘general thought’ suggested by a friend, and accepted indeed by friendly and generous reviewers in the ‘Atlas’ and ‘Daily News.’  Therefore I feel perfectly unaggrieved by all the enemies’ hard words.  They speak from their own point of view, and have a right to speak.

In fact, in printing the poems, I did not expect to help my reputation in England, but simply to deliver my soul, to get the relief to my conscience and heart, which comes from a pent-up word spoken or a tear shed.  Whatever I may have ever written of the least worth has represented a conviction in me, something in me felt as a truth.  I never wrote to please any of you, not even to please my own husband.  Every genuine artist in the world (whatever his degree) goes to heaven for speaking the truth.  It is one of the beatitudes of art, and attainable without putting off the flesh.

To be plain, and not mystical, it is obvious that if I had expected compliments and caresses from the English press to my ’Poems before Congress,’ the said poems would have been little deserved in England, and a greater mistake on my part than any committed by the ‘Athenaeum,’ which is saying much.

There!  I have done.  The spark is under my shoe.  If in ‘losing my temper’ I have ‘lost my music,’ don’t let it be said that I have lost my friend by my own fault and choice also.

For I would not willingly lose him, though he should be unjust to me thrice, instead of this once throughout our intercourse.  Affectionately yours, dear Mr. Chorley,