I want to state, initially, that the effort of writing you this letter was not a result of my own volition, but rather one of necessity with the purpose of acting as a sensible, and balancing, voice in the sublime field of literary criticism, of, to be precise, counterbalancing the celebration of total success on your part expressed by the author of the letter published in your September issue, blatantly showing himself guilty of ornate over-simplification and utter narrow-mindedness, as well as putting forth a defence against unjust insinuations and a tasteless, underhanded, and, although lacking in any sort of finesse, cunning personal attack. It is quite remarkable, I must add, how, in your second distributed edition (no later indeed!), you have not only agreed to publish a lavish out-pouring of highly unprofessional praise, liking, for all I understand, your situation to that of the Gods of Olympus, giving humanity now, via your “scandalous and magnificent” literary effort, a direct link, as it were, to the divine, but also, and this especially caused me a fit of seldom before experienced apoplexy, a direct assault on my widely appreciated dinner parties!

The author, posturing with a very silly name I might add (and I will subsequently return to this particular farce), of afore mentioned letter does your endeavour a significant disservice. By tackling the results of your (first?) lofty-aspiring publication so unprofessionally, entirely lacking nuance or any form of complexity, not a word of critique in fact (did you notice?), he, as one may put it, puts himself in the rôle of Marie-Antoinette who, instead of, as was the case, employs an executioner for the task, herself works the mechanics of the guillotine to her own silly doom (shooting himself in the foot might have been a more accessibly graspable fashion to portray my meaning but it would have made for less extravagant and grotesquely violent a tableau, and the purpose was to portray extravagant and grotesque ignorance), and in consequence invites (should I say forces?) sensible and righteous people to the task of moderating and layering the thoughts he, in vulgar and tasteless bliss, puts forth. Upon the reading of his letter, I felt called to the task.       

Although it bodily sickens me to do so, I simply must agree with the author of the, now infamous, letter, the existence of which I hoped in this paragraph not to be obliged to refer to (that endeavour has now clearly failed), when he extols the genuine splendour of the outward appearances of Popplepress Magazine. Clearly this aestheticism is something with which the artful creators, with Roderick Popplestone as their guiding star, have put an immense effort in, and well done! As I now once again let my eyes wander across his name, and the names of the various other Lords, I am struck with the unfamiliarity of them. Before the release of your first edition I am quite sure I have never heard of them ever before. Nor, as I search my memory, can I find there one recollection of meeting someone who has actually lain eyes upon, let alone engaged in colloquy with, your Lordships. Call me queer but if a seed of suspicion was not then aroused within me. However the case might be in that direction, one thing, after partaking of the various literary products, stands clear: the contributors to this magazine are young and, although not lacking a certain, unpronounced gift for the craft of writing, inexperienced, in life as well as craft. As a man of adequate age, I myself have acquired the depth which inexorably interconnects with artistic sensibility. Age, however, is by no means the statuesque guaranty for the genius of the humble artist. One must have sustained scraps, wounds, scars, wondrous love and sun-scorched happiness, abundance in action and deepest lethargy; that my friends are the contents of a full life and I must accentuate the impression of inexperience implicit in your literature. One should not make a long-distance call before one has invented the telephone I seem to want to state. One final remonstrance, perhaps, but, mark you, not without importance: One should not, in a serious literary endeavour, invite Ladies to indulge in activities which strain their capacities. This is, ultimately, most unfavourable for themselves, as they have no conception of how they flaunt their sex’s most elementary inadequacies. Dear Lords, what we do not need in this society is to degrade art and make it into a commonplace circus of hysterical females, would you not agree?  
 
Lastly, let me return to the person that is the author of the letter that caused me so much frustration and disbelief, and also his choice of pseudonym. There is no question that (dare I repeat it?) Lord “Put-Your-Pants-Straight” (what utter nonsense!) is a fictional, and a very silly, name. I do not have any respect whatsoever for the usage of pseudonyms; no, I must say I much prefer the sincerity with which authors with manly chestnuts are able to straightforwardly declare their names of birth (or aristocracy). This insincere, dubious technique has for me had the further inconvenience of not being able do identify my rival, and I therefore cannot be certain whom to exclude, in future, from my acclaimed dinner parties, which are always grand and spectacular. Someone not being of this opinion is for me an impossibility and surely must be a consequence of the most disgraceful jealousy. To call my salón commonplace is, in my view, only slightly better than witnessing God in his creation, separating earth from sky, producing all the beauty of nature, sculpturing the supreme being that is man, then on the seventh day spit Him in the face.If I should, my principles withstanding in this hypothetical case, make use of a pseudonym myself in signing this letter, it would, fitting the opposition I have clearly outlined against the previous mentioned Lord, perhaps be something like, oh, let us say, Lord Wear-Your-Pants-Any-Which-Way-You-Like. However, I am not of a silly disposition and I can easily make away with this small temptation. Lord You-Know-Who (or you are an imbecile at this point) has shown himself very ridiculous and I will not, as I have shown in this letter, in any way follow his lead. In the face of absurd nonsense the sensible will prevail, always!

Sincerely (and thus, as it seems, in minority within these circles),