it is rather an odd objection to a work that it is made up entirely of
'brilliant passages'--at least it is a fault that can be found with few
works, and the book might be pardoned for its singularity. The censure
might indeed seem like adroit flattery, if it were not passed on an
author whom any objection is sufficient to render unpopular and
ridiculous. I grant it is best to unite solidity with show, general
information with particular ingenuity. This is the pattern of a perfect
style; but I myself do not pretend to be a perfect writer. In fine, we
do not banish light French wines from our tables, or refuse to taste
sparkling Champagne when we can get it because it has not the body of
Old Port. Besides, I do not know that dulness is strength, or that an
observation is slight because it is striking. Mediocrity, insipidity,
want of character is the great fault.

Mediocribus esse poetis
Non Dii, non homines, non concessere columnae.

Neither is this privilege allowed to prose-writers in our time any more
than to poets formerly.

It is not then acuteness of organs or extent of capacity that
constitutes rare genius or produces the most exquisite models of art,
but an intense sympathy with some one beauty or distinguishing
characteristic in nature. Irritability alone, or the interest taken in
certain things, may supply the place of genius in weak and otherwise
ordinary minds. As there are certain instruments fitted to perform
certain kinds of labour, there are certain minds so framed as to produce
certain _chef-d'oeuvres_ in art and literature, which is surely the best
use they can be put to. If a man had all sorts of instruments in his
shop and wanted one, he would rather have that one than be supplied with