should tell the public whether
to read the book or not. He should do so in an entertaining manner.

Now the way this end is achieved in America often excites the derision
of the literary foreigner; for although most American reviews are
readable enough, they often lack the critical emphasis and literary
scope and color so conspicuous in the literary criticism of the
British and Continental reviews. But the foreigner overlooks the fact
that American reviewers usually have something to say about every
publication which claims to appeal to a reading public, and that many
of these would be absolutely ignored by foreign critics, who are
possibly right--when we consider their readers--in selecting only what
they deem worthy of their knowledge and critical acumen. The foreign
man-of-letters' idea of what should constitute the functions of the
critic I find most admirably laid down in Mr. Arthur Symons's
introduction to a new edition of Coleridge's "Biographia Literaria" in
Everyman's Library. Mr. Symons writes:--

The aim of criticism is to distinguish what is essential in
the work of a writer; and in order to do this, its first
business must be to find out where he is different from all
other writers. It is the delight of the critic to praise;
but praise is scarcely a part of his duty. He may often seem
to find himself obliged to condemn; yet condemnation is
hardly a necessary part of his office. What we ask of him
is, that he should find out for us more than we can find out
for ourselves: trace what in us is a whim or leaning to its
remote home or centre of gravity, and explain why we are
affected in this way or that way by this or that writer. He
studies origins in effects, and must know himself, and be
able to allow for his own mental and emotional variations,
if he is to do more than give us the records of his likes
and dislikes. He must have the passion of the lover, and be
enamored of every form of beauty; and, like the lover, not
of all equally, but with a general allowance of those least
to his liking. He will do well to be not without a touch of
intolerance: that intolerance which, in the lover of the
best, is an act of justice against the second-rate. The
second-rate may perhaps have some reason for existence: that
is doubtful; but the danger of the second-rate, if it is
accepted "on its own merits,"