_Author._ That is the principal matter; but yet an indifferent work is
sometimes towed on by those which have left harbour before it, with
the breeze in their poop.--What say the Critics?
_Captain._ There is a general--feeling--that the White Lady is no
favourite.
_Author._ I think she is a failure myself; but rather in execution
than conception. Could I have evoked an _esprit follet_, at the same
time fantastic and interesting, capricious and kind; a sort of
wildfire of the elements, bound by no fixed laws, or motives of
action; faithful and fond, yet teazing and uncertain----
_Captain._ If you will pardon the interruption, sir, I think you are
describing a pretty woman.
_Author._ On my word, I believe I am. I must invest my elementary
spirits with a little human flesh and blood--they are too fine-drawn
for the present taste of the public.
_Captain._ They object, too, that the object of your Nixie ought to
have been more uniformly noble--Her ducking the priest was no Naiad-
like amusement.
_Author._ Ah! they ought to allow for the capriccios of what is, after
all, but a better sort of goblin. The bath into which Ariel, the most
delicate creation of Shakspeare's imagination, seduces our jolly
friend Trinculo, was not of amber or rose-water. But no one shall find
me rowing against the stream. I care not who knows it--I write for
general amusement; and, though I never will aim at popularity by what
I think unworthy means, I will not, on the other hand, be pertinacious
in the defence of my own errors against the voice of the public.
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