We have read these volumes with the highest pleasure. They embrace all of the known minor writings of Bulwer, with the exception of his shorter fictions; and we recognize in the collection several very excellent articles which had arrested our attention and excited our curiosity while their authorship was undivulged. Mr. Bulwer is _never_ lucid, and seldom profound. His intellect seems to be rather well balanced than lofty—rather comprehensive than penetrative. His taste is exquisite. His style, in its involution and obscurity, partakes of the involution of his thoughts. Apart from his mere intellect, however,—or rather as a portion of that intellect—we recognize in his every written word the keenest appreciation of the right, the beautiful, and the true. Thus he is a man worthy of all reverence, and we do not hesitate to say that we look upon the charges of immoral tendency which have been so pertinaciously adduced against his fictions, as absurdly _little_ and untenable, in the mass. The volumes now before us are plain evidence of the noble spirit which has constantly actuated him. The papers here published were written at various epochs of his life. We look through them in vain for anything false, as a whole, or unchivalrous, or impure, or weak, or tasteless, or ignoble. Were we addicted _jurare in verba magistri_, there lives no man upon whose faith we would more confidently rely than upon that of Bulwer—no man whose opinion upon any point involving a question of truth, or justice, or taste, we would be more willing to adopt unexamined. We have been especially pleased with an article (in the volumes now before us) entitled “Literature Considered as a Profession,” and with another “Upon the Spirit of True Criticism.” Some remarks in the latter paper are quite as applicable to our own country as to Great Britain.