Londonderry, Sir Edward himself--they write the French language with a
luxurious elegance and ease which sets them far above their continental
rivals, of whom not one (except Paul de Kock) knows a word of English.

And what Briton can read without enjoyment the works of James, so
admirable for terseness; and the playful humour and dazzling offhand
lightness of Ainsworth? Among other humourists, one might glance at a
Jerrold, the chivalrous advocate of Toryism and Church and State; an a
Beckett, with a lightsome pen, but a savage earnestness of purpose;
a Jeames, whose pure style, and wit unmingled with buffoonery, was
relished by a congenial public.

Speaking of critics, perhaps there never was a review that has done so
much for literature as the admirable QUARTERLY. It has its prejudices,
to be sure, as which of us has not? It goes out of its way to abuse
a great man, or lays mercilessly on to such pretenders as Keats and
Tennyson; but, on the other hand, it is the friend of all young authors,
and has marked and nurtured all the rising talent of the country. It is
loved by everybody. There, again, is BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE--conspicuous
for modest elegance and amiable satire; that review never passes the
bounds of politeness in a joke. It is the arbiter of manners; and, while
gently exposing the foibles of Londoners (for whom the BEAUX ESPRITS of
Edinburgh entertain a justifiable contempt), it is never coarse in its
fun. The fiery enthusiasm of the ATHENAEUM is well known: and the bitter
wit of the too difficult LITERARY GAZETTE. The EXAMINER is perhaps too
timid, and the SPECTATOR too boisterous in its praise--but who can carp
at these minor faults? No, no; the critics of England and the authors of
England are unrivalled as a body; and hence it becomes impossible for us
to find fault with them.