ht, I fear, than authors are willing to allow; for it _is_
aggravating to have one's pet bits of pathos put between inverted commas
for the world in general to make a mock at (we could hardly write them
down without tears in our eyes), and to have our story condensed into a
few clever, pithy sentences (all in the present tense), till its
weakness becomes painfully apparent. More than this, our candid friends
are impalpable. Real life can furnish us with enough substantial
opponents for us not to trouble ourselves about Junius. Neither in war
nor love is it expedient to grasp at shadows. Ah! Mr. Reade, why were
you not warned by Ixion?

One thing is certain: however sound your arguments in depreciation of
personal prowess may be, you will never gain a unanimous feminine
verdict. It must be an extraordinary exhibition of mental excellence
that will really interest the generality of our sisters for the moment
as deeply as a very ordinary feat of strength or skill. It is not that
they can not thoroughly appreciate rectitude of feeling, brilliancy of
conversation, and distinguished talent; but remember the hackneyed
quotation:

Segnius irritant animum demissa per aures,
Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus.

If you want a proof of the correctness of Horace's opinion, go up to
"Lord's" this month, and watch the flutter among the fair spectators,
just after a "forward drive" over the Pavilion; or, better still, the
next time the "Grand Military" comes off at Warwick, mark the reception
that the man who rides a winner will meet with in the stand.
Conventionality has done a good deal, but it has not refined away all
the frank, impulsive woman-nature yet. The knights are dust, and their
good swords rust; but dame and demoiselle are very much the same as they
were in the old days, when the Queen of Scots could sing

How they reveled through the summer night,
And by day made lanceshafts flee,
For Mary Beatoun, and Mary Seatoun,
And Mary Fleming, and me.

Will this long and rather rash _tirade_ in the least excuse Cecil
Tresilyan? Of course not. My poor heroine! It was very unnecessary--that
advertisement that she was not superior to the weaknesses of her sex;
for it seems to me, with every chapter, she has been growing more
fallible and frail. She was utterly incapable of being at all
demonstrative or "gushing;" but her preference for Royston Keene was now
quite undisguised.

Mrs. Danvers was bitterly e