cannot get them from the libraries. In the case of an author who has
already secured a public, it is indeed extraordinary what little
effect reviews, either good or bad, have upon his circulation. Those
who like his works continue to read them, no matter what evil is
written of them; and those who don't like them are not to be persuaded
(alas!) to change their minds, though his latest effort should be
described as though it had dropped from the heavens. I could give some
statistics upon this point not a little surprising, but statistics
involve comparisons--which are odious. As for fiction, its success
depends more upon what Mrs. Brown says to Mrs. Jones as to the
necessity of getting that charming book from the library while there
is yet time, than on all the reviews in Christendom.

O Fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases
Than to see the bright eyes of those dear ones discover
They thought that I was not unworthy--

of a special messenger to Mr. Mudie's.

Heaven bless them! for, when we get old and stupid, they still stick by
one, and are not to be seduced from their allegiance by any blaring of
trumpets, or clashing of cymbals, that heralds a new arrival among the
story-tellers.

On the other hand, as respects his first venture, the author is very
dependent upon what the critics say of him. It is the conductor, you
know (I wouldn't call him a 'cad,' even in fun, for ten thousand
pounds), on whom, to return to our metaphor, the driver is dependent
for the patronage of his vehicle, and even for the announcement of its