“No, sir.  Had I ever commenced filling the sieve of the Danaides, I should have time for nothing else.  If you will not regard me as exceedingly presumptuous, and utterly ridiculous by the comparison, I will add that, with reference to unfavorable criticism, I have followed the illustrious example of Buffon, who said, when critics opened their batteries, ’Je n’ai jamais repondu a aucune critique, et je garderai le meme silence sur celle-ci.’”

“But, my dear Miss Earl, I see that you have been accused of plagiarizing.  Have you not refuted this statement?”

“Again I find Buffon’s words rising to answer for me, as they did for himself under similar circumstances, ’Il vaut mieux laisser ces mauvaises gens dans l’incertitude!’ Moreover, sir, I have no right to complain, for if it is necessary in well-regulated municipalities to have inspectors of all other commodities, why not of books also!  I do not object to the rigid balancing—­I wish to pass for no more than I weigh; but I do feel inclined to protest sometimes, when I see myself denounced simply because the scales are too small to hold what is ambitiously piled upon them, and my book is either thrown out pettishly, or whittled and scraped down to fit the scales.  The storm, Sir Roger, was very severe at first—­nay, it is not yet ended; but I hope, I believe I shall weather it safely.  If my literary bark had proved unworthy and sprung a leak and foundered, it would only have shown that it did not deserve to live; that it was better it should go down alone and early, than when attempting to pilot others on the rough unknown sea of letters.  I can not agree with you in thinking that critics are more abundant now than formerly.  More books are written, and consequently more are tabooed; but the history of literature proves that, from the days of Congreve,

  ’Critics to plays for the same end resort
   That surgeons wait on trials in a court;
   For innocence condemned they’ve no respect
   Provided they’ve a body to dissect.’

After all, it cannot be denied that some of the best portions of Byron’s and Pope’s writings were scourged out of them by the scorpion thongs of adverse criticism; and the virulence of the Xenien Sturm waged by Schiller and Goethe against the army of critics who assaulted them, attests the fact that even appreciative Germany sometimes nods in her critical councils.  Certainly I have had my share of scourging; for my critics have most religiously observed the warning of ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’; and henceforth if my writings are not model, well-behaved, puritanical literary children, my censors must be exonerated from all blame, and I will give testimony in favor of the zeal and punctuality of these self-elected officials of the public whipping-post.  The canons have not varied one iota for ages; if authors merely reflect the ordinary normal aspect of society, without melodramatic exaggeration or ludicrous caricature,