the criticism, and not the critic. We may like very well, in our
individual capacity, to partake of the delicacies prepared by our
hostess's _chef_, we may not be averse to _paté_ and myriad _objets de
goût_, and if you caught us in a corner at the next ball, putting away a
fair share of _dinde aux truffes_, we know you would have at us in a
tone of great moral indignation, and wish to know why we sneaked into
great houses, eating good suppers, and drinking choice wines, and then
went away with an indigestion, to write dyspeptic disgusts at society.

We might reply that it is necessary to know something of a subject
before writing about it, and that if a man wished to describe the habits
of South Sea Islanders, it is useless to go to Greenland; we might also
confess a partiality for _paté_, and a tenderness for _truffes_, and
acknowledge that, considering our single absence would not put down
extravagant, pompous parties, we were not strong enough to let the
morsels drop into unappreciating mouths; or we might say, that if a man
invited us to see his new house, it would not be ungracious nor
insulting to his hospitality, to point out whatever weak parts we might
detect in it, nor to declare our candid conviction, that it was built
upon wrong principles and could not stand. He might believe us, if we
had been in the house, but he certainly would not, if we had never seen
it. Nor would it be a very wise reply upon his part, that we might build
a better if we didn't like that. We are not fond of David's pictures,
but we certainly could never paint half so well; nor of Pope's poetry,
but posterity will never hear of our verses. Criticism is not
construction, it is observation. If we could surpass in its own way
everything which displeased us, we should make short work of it, and
instead of showing what fatal blemishes deform our present society, we
should present a specimen of perfection, directly.