thoughts (and Shakespeare must often have sighed over this truth), as they are most naturally and most fitly conceived in solitude, so can they not be brought forth in the midst of plaudits without some violation of their sanctity.  Go to a silent exhibition of the productions of the sister Art, and be convinced that the qualities which dazzle at first sight, and kindle the admiration of the multitude, are essentially different from those by which permanent influence is secured.  Let us not shrink from following up these principles as far as they will carry us, and conclude with observing—­that there never has been a period, and perhaps never will be, in which vicious poetry, of some kind or other, has not excited more zealous admiration, and been far more generally read, than good; but this advantage attends the good, that the individual, as well as the species, survives from age to age; whereas, of the depraved, though the species be immortal, the individual quickly perishes; the object of present admiration vanishes, being supplanted by some other as easily produced; which, though no better, brings with it at least the irritation of novelty,—­with adaptation, more or less skilful, to the changing humours of the majority of those who are most at leisure to regard poetical works when they first solicit their attention.

Is it the result of the whole, that, in the opinion of the Writer, the judgement of the People is not to be respected?  The thought is most injurious; and, could the charge be brought against him, he would repel it with indignation.  The People have already been justified, and their eulogium pronounced by implication, when it was said, above—­that, of good poetry, the individual, as well as the species, survives.  And how does it survive but through the People?  What preserves it but their intellect and their wisdom?

—­Past and future, are the wings On whose support, harmoniously conjoined, Moves the great Spirit of human knowledge—­ MS.

The voice that issues from this Spirit is that Vox Populi which the Deity inspires.  Foolish must he be who can mistake for this a local acclamation, or a transitory out-cry—­transitory though it be for years, local though from a Nation.  Still more lamentable is his error who can believe that there is anything of divine infallibility in the clamour of that small though loud portion of the community, ever governed by factitious influence, which, under the name of the PUBLIC, passes itself, upon the unthinking, for the PEOPLE.  Towards the Public, the Writer hopes that he feels as much deference as it is entitled to:  but to the People, philosophically characterized, and to the embodied spirit of their knowledge, so far as it exists and moves, at the present, faithfully supported by its two wings, the past and the future, his devout respect, his reverence, is due.  He offers it willingly and readily; and, this done,