ature that mellows and softens the distance, and brings out
sharply the lights and shadows of the foreground, and the artist must
follow her if he would succeed. It is nature who warbles softly in the
love notes of the bird, and who elevates the soul by the roar of the
cataract and the pealing of the thunder. To her the musician and the
poet listen, and imitate the great teacher. It is nature who, in the
structure of the leaf or in the avenue of the lofty limes, teaches the
architect how to adorn his designs with the most graceful of
embellishments, to rear the lofty column or display the lengthening vista
of the cathedral aisle. It is nature who is teaching us all to be
tender, loving, and true, and to love and worship God, and to admire all
His works. Let us then in our criticism refer everything first of all to
nature. Is the work natural? Does it follow nature? Secondly, does it
follow the rules of art? If it passes the first test, it is well worth
the courteous attention of the critic. If it passes both tests, it is
perfect. But if only the second test is passed, it may please a few
pedants, but it is worthless, and cannot live.

6. _Criticisms should be bona fide_.

You will be rather alarmed at a lawyer beginning this topic, and will
expect to hear pages of "Starkie on Libel," or to have all the
perorations of Erskine's speeches recited to you. For one terrible
moment I feel I have you in my power; but I scorn to take advantage of
the position. I don't mean to talk about libel at all, or, at least, not
more than I can help. I have been endeavouring to show what good
criticism should be like. If criticism is so base that there is a
question to be left to a jury as to what damages ought to be paid for the
speaking or writing of it, one may say at once that it is unworthy of the
name of criticism at all. Slander is not criticism. But there is a
great deal of criticism which may be called not _bona fide_, which is yet
not malicious. It is biassed perhaps, even from some charitable motive,
perhaps from some sordid motive, perhaps from indolence, from a desire to
be thought learned or clever, or what not--in fact, from one or other of
those thousand things which prevent persons from speaking fairly and
straightforwardly. When you take up the _Athenaeum_ or the _Spectator_,
and read from those very able reviews an account of the last new novel,
do you think the writer has written simply what he truly