existence. A good review is still the very best of advertisements to a
new author; and even a bad one is better than no review at all. Indeed,
I have heard it whispered that a review which speaks unfavourably of a
work of fiction, upon moral grounds, is of very great use to it. This,
however, the same gossips say, is mainly confined to works of fiction
written by female authors for readers of their own sex--'_by_ ladies
_for_ ladies,' as a feminine _Pall Mall Gazette_ might describe itself.

Nor would I be understood to say that even a well-established author is
not affected by what the critics may say of him; I only state that his
circulation is not--albeit they may make his very blood curdle. I have
a popular writer in my mind, who never looks at a newspaper unless it
comes to him by a hand he can trust, for fear his eyes should light
upon an unpleasant review. His argument is this: 'I have been at this
work for the last twelve months, thinking of little else and putting my
best intelligence (which is considerable) at its service. Is it humanly
probable that a reviewer who has given his mind to it for a less number
of hours, can suggest anything in the way of improvement worthy of my
consideration? I am supposing him to be endowed with ability and
actuated by good faith; that he has not failed in my own profession and
is not jealous of my popularity; yet even thus, how is it possible that
his opinion can be of material advantage to me? If favourable, it gives
me pleasure, because it flatters my _amour propre_, and I am even not
quite sure that it does not afford a stimulating encouragement; but if
unfavourable, I own it gives me considerable annoyance. [This is his
euphemistic phrase to express the feeling of being in a hornets' nest
without his clothes on.] On the other hand, if the critic is a mere
hireling, or a young gentleman from the university who is trying his
'prentice hand at a lowish rate of remuneration upon a veteran like
myself, how still more idle would it be to regard his views!'