(Which is strong commendation from a book publisher.) The London Reviewer, my friend, is not the stupid, “serious” creature he pretends to be, _I_ think; but, on the contrary, has a keen appreciation and enjoyment of your book. As I read his article in _The Galaxy_, I could imagine him giving vent to many a hearty laugh. But he is writing for Catholics and Established Church people, and high-toned, antiquated, conservative gentility, whom it is a delight to him to help you shock, while he pretends to shake his head with owlish density. He is a magnificent humorist himself. (Now that is graceful and handsome. I take off my hat to my life-long friend and comrade, and with my feet together and my fingers spread over my heart, I say, in the language of Alabama, “You do me proud.”) I stand guilty of the authorship of the article, but I did not mean any harm. I saw by an item in the Boston _Advertiser_ that a solemn, serious critique on the English edition of my book had appeared in the London _Saturday Review_, and the idea of _such _a literary breakfast by a stolid, ponderous British ogre of the quill was too much for a naturally weak virtue, and I went home and burlesqued it--reveled in it, I may say. I never saw a copy of the real _Saturday Review_ criticism until after my burlesque was written and mailed to the printer. But when I did get hold of a copy, I found it to be vulgar, awkwardly written, ill-natured, and entirely serious and in earnest. The gentleman who wrote the newspaper paragraph above quoted had not been misled as to its character. If any man doubts my word now, I will kill him. No, I will not kill him; I will win his money. I will bet him twenty to one, and let any New York publisher hold the stakes, that the statements I have above made as to the authorship of the article in question are entirely true. Perhaps I may get wealthy at this, for I am willing to take all the bets that offer; and if a man wants larger odds, I will give him all he requires. But he ought to find out whether I am betting on what is termed “a sure thing” or not before he ventures his money, and he can do that by going to a public library and examining the London _Saturday Review_ of October 8th, which contains the real critique. Bless me, some people thought that _I_ was the “sold” person! P.S.--I cannot resist the temptation to toss in this most savory thing of all--this easy, graceful, philosophical disquisition, with his happy, chirping confidence. It is from the Cincinnati _Enquirer_: