It has happened to the writer that two, or three, or ten, or twenty gentlewomen have asked him--and asked in various notes of wonder, pity, and reproof - There are subjects that seem like rain drops to fall upon a man's head, the head itself having nothing to do with the matter. The result of no train of thought, there is the picture, the statue, the book, wafted, like the smallest seed, into the brain to feed upon the soil, such as it may be, and grow there. And this was, no doubt, the accidental cause of the literary sowing and expansion--unfolding like a night-flower--of MRS. CAUDLE.…
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