indigestion. My chest has been better lately."

In consequence of this long-protracted state of languor,
headache, and sickness, to which the slightest exposure to cold
added sensations of hoarseness and soreness at the chest, she
determined to take the evil in time, as much for her father's
sake as for her own, and to go up to London and consult some
physician there. It was not her first intention to visit
anywhere; but the friendly urgency of her publishers prevailed,
and it was decided that she was to become the guest of Mr. Smith.
Before she went, she wrote two characteristic letters about
"Shirley," from which I shall take a few extracts.

"'Shirley' makes her way. The reviews shower in fast. . . . The
best critique which has yet appeared is in the Revue des deux
Mondes, a sort of European Cosmopolitan periodical, whose head-
quarters are at Paris. Comparatively few reviewers, even in their
praise, evince a just comprehension of the author's meaning.
Eugene Forcarde, the reviewer in question, follows Currer Bell
through every winding, discerns every point, discriminates every
shade, proves himself master of the subject, and lord of the aim.
With that man I would shake hands, if I saw him. I would say,
'You know me, Monsieur; I shall deem it an honour to know you.' I
could not say so much of the mass of the London critics. Perhaps
I could not say so much to five hundred men and women in all the
millions of Great Britain. That matters little. My own conscience
I satisfy first; and having done that, if I further content and
delight a Forsarde, a Fonblanque, and a Thackeray, my ambition
has had its ration, it is fed; it lies down for the present
satisfied; my faculties have wrought a day's task, and earned a