ubstantiating the age at which each was written.--LORD
BROUGHAM in _Edinburgh Review_.

KEATS'S "ENDYMION"

The author is a copyist of Mr. Hunt, but ten times more
tiresome than his prototype; his nonsense is gratuitous, he
writes it for its own sake, and more than rivals the insanity
of his master. He writes at random the suggestions of his
rhyme without having hardly a complete couplet to endorse a
complete idea in the book. If any one should be bold enough to
purchase it, and patient enough to get beyond the first book
and find any meaning, we entreat him to make us acquainted
with his success; we shall then return to the task which we
now abandon in despair.--_Quarterly Review._

WORDSWORTH

The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay
As soft as evening in his favorite May;
Who warns his friend "to shake off toil and trouble,
And quit his books, for fear of growing double";
Who, both by precept and example, shows
That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose;
Convincing all, by demonstration plain,
Poetic souls delight in prose insane,
And Christmas stories, tortured into rhyme,
Contain the essence of the true sublime;
Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy,
The idiot mother of "an idiot boy,"
A moon-struck silly lad who lost his way,
And, like his bard, confounded night with day;
So close on each pathetic part he dwells,
And each adventure so sublimely tells,
That all who view the "idiot in his glory,"
Conceive the bard the hero of the story.
BYRON in "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers."

CROKER'S EDITION OF BOSWELL'S LIFE OF JOHNSON

This work has greatly disappointed us. Whatever faults we may
have been prepared to find in it, we fully expected that it
would be a valuable addition to English literature; that it
would contain many curious facts, and many judicious remarks;
that the style of the notes would be neat, clear, and precise;
and that the typographical execution would be, as in new
editions of classical works it ought to be, almost faultless.
We are sorry to be obliged to say that the merits of Mr.
Croker's performance are on a par with those of a certain leg
of mutton on which Dr. Johnson dined, while travelling from
London to Oxford, and which he, with characteristic energ