r such bad English.
I must take a successful English novel as my model."

"Mr. Malcolm is literary himself," said Miss Rennie, who had left the
two students to amuse each other, and now joined the more congenial
group. "He writes such clever things in magazines, Miss Melville, I
quite delight to come on anything of his, they are so amusing."

"Miss Rennie, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for your good opinion.
Then you like my style? Do you hear that, you ogre? Publishers, you
know, Miss Melville, are noted for living upon the bones of unfortunate
authors, and never saying grace either before or after the meal. This
Goth, this Vandal, this Jacob Tonson, has had the barbarity to find
fault with the last thing I put into the "Mag"."

"Well, I thought you had never done anything so good. It was so funny;
papa laughed till he shook the spectacles off his face, and then all
the children laughed too."

"Listen, thou devourer of innocents, thou fattener on my labour and
groans. My work was good, and my style better, fashionable as Miss
Rennie's flounces, and piquant as the sauce we will have from our host
at supper."

"The style has been fashionable," said the publisher, "but it is
getting overdone. Everybody is trying the allusive style now, and
wandering from the subject in hand to quote a book, or to refer to
something very remotely connected with it. Every word or sentence is
made a peg to hang something else on. Our authors are too fond of
showing off reading or curious information; the style of the old
essayists----"

"Bald and tame, with very little knowledge of the finer shades of
character," interrupted Mr. Malcolm. "I wonder why you, as a critic,
can compare our brilliant modern literature to such poor performances."

"They have their deficiencies, certainly; but there was a simplicity
and directness in these old writings that we would do well to imitate."

"I had better imitate the style of the paying article at present, and
write an evangelical novel. I had better read up in it; but the unlucky
thing is that they invariably put me to sleep; so perhaps I would do
better to trust to my own original genius, and begin in an independent
manner."

"Is it not a treat," whispered Miss Rennie to Jane, "to get a peep
behind the scenes in this way? Mr. Malcolm is quite a genius. I am sure
he could write anything; but he really ought not to go to sleep over
those charming books. He is such a severe critic, I am quit