all. Who on earth gave you that notion? Simply a lovely face and figure, angelic disposition, beautiful mind, staunch heart, noble character. Why, there must have. been nearly a dozen such girls born into the world since its creation. You would be only wasting your time loving her."
They criticised the birds for their hackneyed style of singing, and the flowers for their hackneyed scents and colours. They complained of the weather that it lacked originality—(true, they had not lived out an English spring)—and found fault with the Sun because of the sameness of his methods.
They criticised the babies. When a fresh infant was published in a house, the critics would call in a body to pass their judgment upon it, and the young mother would bring it down for them to sample.
"Did you ever see a child anything like that in this world before?" she would say, holding it out to them.
"Isn't it a wonderful baby? You never saw a child with legs like that, I know. Nurse says he's the most extraordinary baby she ever attended. Bless him!"
But the critics did not think anything of it.
"Tut, tut," they would reply, "there is nothing extraordinary about that child—no originality whatever. Why, it's exactly like every other baby—bald head, red face, big mouth, and stumpy nose. Why, that's only a weak imitation of the baby next door. It's a plagiarism, that's what that child is. You've been wasting your time, madam. If you can't do anything more original than that, we should advise you to give up the business altogether."
That was the end of criticism in that strange land.
"Oh! look here, we've had enough of you and your
