“Your defects are the less excusable. Their incorrectness may be forgiven in those who work for money, who are obliged to complete a given task in a given time, and are paid according to the bulk, not value of their productions. But in those whom no necessity forces to turn author, who merely write for fame, and have full leisure to polish their compositions, faults are impardonable, and merit the sharpest arrows of criticism.”

The Marquis rose from the sofa; the page looked discouraged and melancholy, and this did not escape his master’s observation.

“However,” added he smiling, “I think that these lines do you no discredit. Your versification is tolerably easy, and your ear seems to be just. The perusal of your little poem upon the whole gave me much pleasure; and if it is not asking too great a favour, I shall be highly obliged to you for a copy.”