"But you reply, grace irresistible Our creed admits not. I am sorry for't. Enough, or not enough, to bind the free will, Grace must be. Not enough? The dose falls short. This is of _cause_ the prime condition still That it be _operative_. Yet divines exhort Us to deem grace _sole source_ of all salvation, And if we're damned, blame _but its application_." But divinity of this kind, it may be said, though well calculated to display "the power of discriminating and distinguishing, carried to a pitch almost of painfulness," is not exactly favourable to flowing verse. Here is a specimen where a lady is the subject, and the verse should be smooth then, if ever. "I well remember her years, five-and-twenty, (Ah! now my muse is got into a gallop,) Longer perhaps! But time sufficient, plenty Of treasured offices of love to call up. She was then, as I recollect, quite dainty, And delicate, and seemed a fair envelope Of virgin sweetness and angelic goodness; That fate should treat her with such reckless rudeness!" The poor man seems to have had not the least appreciation of the power of language, so as to distinguish between the ludicrous and the pathetic. He must have read "Hudibras" with tears, _not_ of laughter, in his eyes, and hence drawn his notion of tenderness of diction as well as harmony of verse. The most surprising thing about Lloyd is, that such a man should have chosen for his literary task to translate--Alfieri! And although he has performed the task very far from well, he has accomplished it in a manner that could not have been anticipated from his original compositions. After this specimen of Mr Talfourd's laudatory criticism, we need not be astonished at any amount of eulogy he bestows on such names as Hazlitt and others, which really have a certain claim on the respect of all men. And yet, even after this, we felt some slight surprise at hearing Mr Talfourd speak of "the splendid reputation" of Mr Harrison Ainsworth! Would Mr Talfourd _have_ such a reputation, if it were offered him? Would he not rather have remained in complete obscurity than be distinguished by such "splendours" as the authorship of _Jack Sheppard_ would have invested him with? Why should he throw about this indiscriminate praise, and make his good word of no possible value? Splendid reputation! Can trash be anything but trash, because a multitude of the idle and the ignorant, whom it exactly suits, read and admire? By-and-by they grow ashamed of their idol, when they find they have him all to themselves, and that sensible people are smiling at their enthusiasm; they then discard him for some new, untried, and _unconvicted_ favourite. Such is the natural history of these splendid reputations.