My Own Darling Child

The first copy of the new novel came down from London this week, and I confess I have been unreasonably pleased with it. I think her as delightful a creature as ever appeared in print.

We read it aloud in the evening to a guest who had no notion who wrote it, and she was quite taken with the heroine. I bore it with tolerable composure, which my sister says is the greatest feat of acting she has ever witnessed.

There are a few errors of the press, as there always are, and one or two passages too light and bright and sparkling for their own good. I shall leave it to readers to find them.