en know the word for
bread in Armenian. It knows bread well enough by name in English, and
frequently bread in England only by its name, but the truth is, that the
mighty _we_, with all its pretension, is in general a very sorry
creature, who, instead of saying nous disons, should rather say nous dis:
Porny in his "Guerre des Dieux," very profanely makes the three in one
say, Je faisons; now, Lavengro, who is anything but profane, would
suggest that critics, especially magazine and Sunday newspaper critics,
should commence with nous dis, as the first word would be significant of
the conceit and assumption of the critic, and the second of the extent of
the critic's information. The _we_ says its say, but when fawning
sycophancy or vulgar abuse are taken from that say, what remains? Why a
blank, a void like Ginnungagap.

As the writer, of his own accord, has exposed some of the blemishes of
his book--a task which a competent critic ought to have done--he will now
point out two or three of its merits, which any critic, not altogether
blinded with ignorance, might have done, or not replete with gall and
envy would have been glad to do. The book has the merit of communicating
a fact connected with physiology, which in all the pages of the multitude
of books was never previously mentioned--the mysterious practice of
touching objects to baffle the evil chance. The miserable detractor
will, of course, instantly begin to rave about such a habit being common:
well and good; but was it ever before described in print, or all
connected with it dissected? He may then vociferate something about
Johnson having touched:--the writer cares not whether Johnson--who, by-
the-bye, during the last twenty or thirty years, owing to people having
become ultra Tory mad from reading Scott's novels and the "Quarterly
Review," has been a mighty favourite, especially with some who were in
the habit of calling him a half crazy old fool--touched, or whether he
did not; but he asks where did Johnson ever describe the feelings which
induced him to perform the magic touch, even supposing that he did
perform it? Again, the history gives an account of a certain book called
the "Sleeping Bard," the most remarkable prose work of the most difficult
language but one, of modern Europe,--a book, for a notice of which, he
believes, one might turn over in vain the pages of any review printed in
England, or, indeed, elsewhere.--So here are two facts, one liter