I would beg the critics to remember, that Horace owed his favour and his fortune to the character given of him by Virgil and Varus; that Fundamus and Pollio are still valued by what Horace says of them; and that, in their golden age, there was a good understanding among the ingenious; and those who were the most esteemed, were the best natured.

a.

b.

WENTWORTH DILLON (Earl of
Roscommon)-Preface to Horace's
Art of Poetry.

The press, the pulpit, and the stage,
Conspire to censure and expose our age.
WENTWORTH DILLON (Earl of
Roscommon)-Essay on Translated
Verse. Line 7.
It is much easier to be critical than to be
correct.
C.

DISRAELI (Earl of Beaconsfield)—
Speech in House of Commons.
Jan'y 24, 1860.

The most noble criticism is that in which the critic is not the antagonist so much as the rival of the author.

d. ISAAC DISRAELI-Curiosities of Literature. Literary Journals.

The talent of judging may exist separately from the power of execution.

e.

ISAAC DISRAELI-- Curiosities of Literature. Literary Dutch. Those who do not read criticism will rarely merit to be criticised.

f.

ISAAC DISRAELI-Literary Character of
Men of Genius. Ch. VI.

You'd scarce expect one of my age
To speak in public on the stage;
And if I chance to fall below

Demosthenes or Cicero,

Don't view me with a critic's eye,
But pass my imperfections by.
g. DAVID EVERETT-Lines written for a
School Declamation.

Reviewers are forever telling authors, they can't understand them. The author might often reply: Is that my fault?

J. C. and A. W. HARE-Guesses at Truth. The readers and the hearers like my books, But yet some writers cannot them digest; But what care I? for when I make a feast, I would my guests should praise it, not the cooks.

i. Sir JOHN HARRINGTON-Against Writers that Carp at other Men's Books.

Critics are sentinels in the grand army of letters, stationed at the corners of newspapers and reviews, to challenge every new author.

J. LONGFELLOW-Kavanagh. Ch. XIII. The strength of criticism lies only in the weakness of the thing criticised,

k.

LONGFELLOW-Kavanagh. Ch. XXX.

0.

Ah ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast,
Nor in the Critic let the Man be lost.
POPE--Essay on Criticism. Line 522.
And you, my Critics! in the chequer'd shade,
Admire new light thro' holes yourselves have
made.

p. POPE-Dunciad. Bk. IV. Line 125. A perfect Judge will read each work of Wit With the same spirit that its author writ: Survey the Whole, nor seek slight faults to find

Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind.

POPE-Essay on Criticism. Line 235. Be not the first by whom the new are tryd, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.

POPE-Essay on Criticism. Line 336.

I lose my patience, and I own it too,
When works are censur'd not as bad but new;
While if our Elders break all reason's laws,
These fools demand not pardon, but Ap-
plause.

8.

POPE-Second Book of Horace. Ep. I.

Line 115.

HOOD-Song of the Shirt.

The Puritans hated bearbaiting, not beit gave pain to the bear, but because it gave pleasure to the spectators.

i. MACAULAY-- History of England. Vol. I. Ch. III.

I have seen

A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract
Of inlaid ground, applying to his ear
The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell;
To which, in silence hushed, his very soul
Listened intensely.

v.

WORDSWORTH-The Excursion. Bk. 6.

A lump of death-a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent
depths;

Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,

And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp'd

They slept on the abyss without a surgeThe waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,

The Moon, their mistress, had expired before;

The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd! Darkness had no need

Of aid from them-She was the Universe!
f. BYRON-Darkness.

The prayer of Ajax was for light;
Through all that dark and desperate fight,
The blackness of that noonday night.

g. LONGFELLOW-The Goblet of Life. Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,

And ere a man had power to say,-Behold!
The jaws of darkness do devour it up.

h. Midsummer Night's Dream. Act I.

Sc. 1.

DAY.

Day is a snow-white Dove of heaven,
That from the east glad message brings:
Night is a stealthy, evil Raven,

Wrapt to the eyes in his black wings.
ALDRICH-Day and Night.

Slow fly the hours, fast the hours flee,
If thou art far from or art near to me:
If thou art far, the bird's tunes are no tunes;
If thou art near, the wintry days are Junes-
Darkness is light and sorrow cannot be.
Thou art my dream come true, and thou my
dream,

The air I breathe, the world wherein I dwell,
My journey's end thou art, and thou the way;
Thou art what I would be, yet only seem;
Thou art my heaven and thou art my hell;
Thou art my ever-living judgment day.
GILDER-The New Day. Pt. IV.
Sonnet VI

n.

Sweet day, so cool, so calm so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.

0.

HERBERT-The Temple. Virtue.

O sweet, delusive noon,

Which the morning climbs to find;

O moment sped too soon,

And morning left behind.

p.

HELEN HUNT-Verses. Noon.

0.

BACON--Essay. Of Death.

Death is the universal salt of states;
Blood is the base of all things-law and war.
p.
BAILEY-Festus. Sc. A Country Town.

The death-change comes,
Death is another life. We bow our heads
At going out, we think, and enter straight
Another golden chamber of the king's
Larger than this we leave, and lovelier.
And then in shadowy glimpses, disconnect,
The story, flower like, closes thus its leaves.
The will of God is all in all. He makes,
Destroys, remakes, for His own pleasure all.
q. BAILEY-Festus. Sc. Home.

On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses
are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
JAMES BEATTIE-The Hermit. St. 6.
Last lines.

Thy journey's end, thou hast the gulf in view!

That awful gulf no mortal e'er repass'd
To tell what's doing on the other side.
Nature runs back, and shudders at the sight,
And every life-string bleeds at thoughts at
parting;

For part they must: body and soul must part;

Fond couple! link'd more close than wedded pair.

This wings its way to its Almighty Source, The witness of its actions, now its judge; That drops into the dark and noisome grave, Like a disabled pitcher of no use.

u. BLAIR-The Grave. Line 334.

All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.

V.

BRYANT--Thanatopsis.