"But surely there are those who know a good book when they see it, and I mean to write a good book."
"You little simpleton, as if that would save you! Do you suppose you will be forgiven for writing a _good_ book? No, my dear; the editor of 'The Daily Lorgnette,' takes it up, he devours a chapter or two, he begins to fidget in his chair, he sees there is genius in it, he gets up and strides across his office, he recollects certain books of his own, which nobody ever read but his publishers and himself, and every word he reads irritates that old sore. The next day, under the head of book notices you will see the following in the Daily Lorgnette:--
"'We have perused this book; it is unnecessary to state in its title-page that it was written by a _female_ hand. The plot is feeble and inartistic. In dialogue, the writer utterly fails; the heroine, Effie Waters, is a stiff, artificial creation, reminding us constantly of those females painted on the pannels of omnibuses, convulsively grasping to their bosoms a posy, or a poodle. There is an indescribable and heterogeneous jumbling of characters in this volume. The authoress vainly endeavors to straighten out this snarl in the last chapter, which has nothing to recommend it but that it _is_ the last. We advise the authoress of 'Gore House' to choose some other escape-valve for her restless femininity; petticoat literature has become a drug in the market.'
"How do you like that?" said Gertrude, laughing.
"Well, the editor of the 'Christian Warrior' sits down to read 'Gore House,' he takes out his spectacles, and wipes them deliberately on his red-silk pocket-handkerchief, he adjusts them on the bridge of his sagacious nose; he reads on undisturbed until he comes to the description of 'Deacon Pendergrast,' who is very graphically sketched as a 'wolf in sheep's clothing.' Conscience holds up the mirror, and he beholds _himself_, like unto a man who sees his natural face in a glass. Straightway he sitteth down, and writeth the following impartial critique of the book:
"'We have read "Gore House." We do not hesitate to pronounce it a _bad_ book, unfit to lie on the table of any _religious_ family. In it, _religion_ is held up to ridicule. It can not fail to have a most pernicious influence on the minds of the young. We hope Christian editors all over the land will not hesitate, out of courtesy to the authoress, to warn the reading public of this locomotive poison.'