Promised Land, turns out to be Moses going to the Fair; Portrait of
His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury, is transformed, as if by
irreverent enchantment of the dissenting interest, into A Favourite
Terrier, or Cattle Grazing; and the most extraordinary work of art
in the list described by the Bleater, is coolly sponged out
altogether, and asserted never to have had existence at all, even in
the most shadow thoughts of its executant! This is vile enough, but
this is not all. Picture-buyers then come forth from their secret
positions, and creep into their places in the assassin-multitude of
conspirators. Mr. Baring, after expressly telling the Bleater's
London Correspondent that he had bought No. 39 for one thousand
guineas, gives it up to somebody unknown for a couple of hundred
pounds; the Marquis of Lansdowne pretends to have no knowledge
whatever of the commissions to which the London Correspondent of the
Bleater swore him, but allows a Railway Contractor to cut him out
for half the money. Similar examples might be multiplied. Shame,
shame, on these men! Is this England?

Sir, look again at Literature. The Bleater's London Correspondent
is not merely acquainted with all the eminent writers, but is in
possession of the secrets of their souls. He is versed in their
hidden meanings and references, sees their manuscripts before
publication, and knows the subjects and titles of their books when
they are not begun. How dare those writers turn upon the eminent
man and depart from every intention they have confided to him? How
do they justify themselves in entirely altering their manuscripts,
changing their titles, and abandoning their subjects? Will they
deny, in the face of Tattlesnivel, that they do so? If they have
such hardihood, let the file of the Bleater strike them dumb. By
their fruits they shall be known. Let their works be compared with