the most superior; and thus it was that he never had the want of candour
to deceive himself as to his own talents. Paul's wish therefore was no
sooner expressed than a vague but golden scheme of future profit
illumined the brain of MacGrawler,--in a word, he resolved that Paul
should henceforward share the labour of his critiques; and that he,
MacGrawler, should receive the whole profits in return for the honour
thereby conferred on his coadjutor.

Looking therefore at our hero with a benignant air, Mr. MacGrawler thus
continued:--

"Yes, I repeat,--great ends have come from less beginnings! Rome was not
built in a day; and I, Paul, I myself was not always the editor of 'The
Asinaeum.' You say wisely, criticism is a great science, a very great
science; and it maybe divided into three branches,--namely, 'to tickle,
to slash, and to plaster.' In each of these three I believe without
vanity I am a profound adept! I will initiate you into all. Your
labours shall begin this very evening. I have three works on my table;
they must be despatched by tomorrow night. I will take the most arduous;
I abandon to you the others. The three consist of a Romance, an Epic in
twelve books, and an Inquiry into the Human Mind, in three volumes. I,
Paul, will tickle the Romance; you this very evening shall plaster the
Epic, and slash the Inquiry!"

"Heavens, Mr. MacGrawler!" cried Paul, in consternation, "what do you
mean? I should never be able to read an epic in twelve books, and I
should fall asleep in the first page of the Inquiry. No, no, leave me
the Romance, and take the other two under your own protection!"

Although great genius is always benevolent, Mr. MacGrawler could not