never enslaved, or misled, by whim, caprice, or fashion. It has been
said, but it seems too monstrous for belief, that, formerly, persons
were actually to be found so extremely indolent, or stupid, or timid, as
never to think for themselves; but who followed with the crowd, like a
swarm of bees, to the brazen tinkle of a mere name! Happily, the minds
of the present age are far too active, enlightened, independent, and
fearless, for degradation so unworthy. In our day, the professed wit
hopes not for the homage of a laugh, on his "only asking for the
mustard;" the artist no longer trusts to his signature on the canvas for
its being admired; no amount of previous authorship-celebrity preserves
a book from the trunkmaker; and the newspaper-writer cannot expect an
extensive sale, unless his leaders equal, at least, the frothy head of
"Barclay's porter," or possess the Attic salt of "Fortnum and Mason's
hams." At the same time, the proudest notable in literature can now no
longer swamp, or thrust aside, his obscurer peers; nor is the humblest
votive offering at the shrine of intellect, in danger, as formerly, from
the hoofs of spurious priests, alike insensible to receive, and impotent
to reflect or minister, light or warmth, from the sacred fire they
pretend to cherish. In short, such is the pleasant change which has come
over literary affairs, that, however apposite in past times, there is
not, in the present, any fitness in the exclamation, "Oh, that mine
enemy would write a book!"

With reference to the observation, made by more than one correspondent,
that the horse-shoe has not always proved an infallible charm against
the devil, the author, deferentially, begs to hazard an opinion that, in
every one of such cases, the supposed failure may have resulted from an
adoption of something else than the real shoe, as a protection. Once
upon a time, a witness very sensibly accounted for the plaintiff's horse
having broken down. "'Twasn't the hoss's fault," said he; "his plates