nd congratulates him upon his last story in the _Slasher_ [in
which he has never written a line]. It is so full of farce and fun [the
author is a grave writer]. 'Only I don't see why it is not advertised
under the same title in the other newspapers.' The fact being that the
story in the _Slasher_ is a parody--and not a very good-natured
one--upon the author's last work, and resembles it only as a picture in
_Vanity Fair_ resembles its original.

Some Critics on the Hearth are not only good-natured, but have rather
too high, or, if that is impossible, let us say too pronounced, an
opinion of the abilities of their literary friends. They wonder why
they do not employ their gigantic talents in some enduring monument,
such as a life of 'Alexander the Great' or a popular history of the
Visigoths. To them literature is literature, and they do not concern
themselves with little niceties of style or differences of subject.
Others again, though extremely civil, are apt to affect more enthusiasm
than they feel. They admire one's works without exception--'they are
all absolutely charming'--but they would be placed in a position of
great embarrassment if they were asked to name their favourite: for, as
a matter of fact, they are ignorant of the very names of them. A
novelist of my acquaintance lent his last work to a lady cousin because
she 'really could not wait till she got it from the library;' besides,
'she was ill, and wanted some amusing literature.' After a month or so
he got his three volumes back, with a most gushing letter. It 'had been
the comfort of many a weary hour of sleeplessness,' etc. The thought of
having 'smoothed the pillow and soothed the pain' would, she felt sure,
be gratifying to him. Perhaps it would have been, only she had omitted
to cut the pages even of the first volume.

But, as a general rule, these volunteer censors plume themselves on
discovering defects and not beauties. When any author is particularly
popular and has been long before the public, they have two methods of
discoursing upon him in relation to their literary friend. In the
first, they represent him as a model of excellence, and recommend their
friend to study him, though without holding out much hope of his ever
becoming his rival; in the second, they describe him as 'worked out,'
and darkly hint that sooner or later [they mean sooner] their friend
will be in the same unhappy condition. These, I need not say, are among
the most detest