I'm sick to death of novels with an earnest purpose.

I'm sick to death of outbursts of eloquence, and large-minded philanthropy, and graphic descriptions, and unsparing anatomy of the human heart, and all that sort of thing.

Good gracious me! isn't it the original intention or purpose, or whatever you call it, of a work of fiction, to set out distinctly by telling a story?
And how many of these books, I should like to know, do that?
Why, so far as telling a story is concerned, the greater part of them might as well be sermons as novels.

Oh, dear me! what I want is something that seizes hold of my interest, and makes me forget when it is time to dress for dinner--something that keeps me reading, reading, reading, in a breathless state to find out the end.

You know what I mean--at least you ought.