_Ansard_. I wish my duns would do the same, even if it were only my washerwoman; but there's no more tick for me here, except this old watch of my father's, which serves to remind me of what I cannot obtain from others--time; but, however, there is a time for all things, and when the time comes that my romance is ready, my creditors will obtain the _ready_. _Barnstaple_. Your only excuse, Ansard. _Ansard_. I beg your pardon. The public require strong writing now-a-days. We have thousands who write well, and the public are nauseated with what is called _good writing_. _Barnstaple_. And so they want something bad, eh? Well, Ansard, you certainly can supply them. _Ansard_. My dear Barnstaple, you must not disparage this style of writing--it is not bad--there is a great art in it. It may be termed writing intellectual and ethereal. You observe, that it never allows probabilities or even possibilities to stand in its way. The dross of humanity is rejected: all the common wants and grosser feelings of our natures are disallowed. It is a novel which is all mind and passion. Corporeal attributes and necessities are thrown on one side, as they would destroy the charm of perfectability. Nothing can soil, or defile, or destroy my heroine; suffering adds lustre to her beauty, as pure gold is tried by fire: nothing can kill her, because she is all mind. As for my men, you will observe when you read my work-- _Barnstaple_. When I do! _Ansard_. Which, of course, you will--that they also have their appetites in abeyance; they never want to eat, or drink, or sleep--are always at hand when required, without regard to time or space. Now there is a great beauty in this description of writing. The women adore it because they find their sex divested of those human necessities, without which they would indeed be angels! the mirror is held up to them, and they find themselves perfect--no wonder they are pleased. The other sex are also very glad to dwell upon female perfectability, which they can only find in a romance, although they have often dreamt of it in their younger days. _Barnstaple_. There is some truth in these remarks. Every milliner's girl, who devours your pages in bed by the half-hour's light of tallow stolen for the purpose, imagines a strong similarity between herself and your Angelicanarinella, and every shop-boy measuring tape or weighing yellow soap will find out attributes common to himself and to your hero. _Ansard_. Exactly. As long as you draw perfection in both sexes, you are certain to be read, because by so doing you flatter human nature and self-love, and transfer it to the individual who reads. Now a picture of real life-- _Barnstaple_. Is like some of Wouvermans' best pictures, which will not be purchased by many, because his dogs in the foreground are doing exactly what all dogs will naturally do when they first are let out of their kennels.