"'No hostility between nations affects the arts:' so said the old maxim, but it has rarely been found a truism. They who feel it, feel also the virtue which dictated the aphorism. Men whose object is to enlighten the nations or exalt the judgment or (the least ambition) to refine the tastes of others--men who feel that this object is dearer to them than a petty and vain ambition--feel also that all who labor in the same cause are united with them in a friendship which exists in one climate as in another--in a I republic or in a despotism: these are the best cosmopolites, the truest citizens of the world." The foregoing extracts will make it obvious that Mr. Bulwer was at that time sore at the treatment he had received at the hands of certain of his critics, who were by no means unanimous in their estimation of his genius. He was very sensitive at all times of adverse comment upon his writings. Thackeray wounded him woefully when he made "Chawls Yellowplush" review him characteristically in _Punch_. These most amusing papers ought to have been included in Thackeray's published miscellaneous writings, but they were not, although Bulwer is humorously travestied in _Punch's_ "Prize Novelists," together with Lover, Ainsworth, and Disraeli. The subjoined will show the style of the "littery" footman, who, as a critic, "sumtimes gave kissis, sumtimes kix": "One may objeck to an immence deal of your writings, witch, betwigst you and me, contain more sham sentiment, sham morallaty and sham potry than you'd like to own; but in spite of this, there's the _stuf_ you; you've a kind and loyal heart in your buzm, bar'net--a trifle deboshed, praps: a keen i, igspecially for what is comick (as for your tragady, it's mighty flatchulent), and a ready pleasn't pen. The man who says you're an As, is an As himself. Dont b'lieve him, bar'net: not that I suppose you will; for, if I've formed a correck opinion of you from your wuck, you think your small beear as good as most men's. Every man does--and wy not? We brew, and we love our own tap--amen; but the pint betwigst us is this steupid, absudd way of crying out because the public don't like it too. Wy _should_ they, my dear bar'net? You may vow that they are fools, or that the critix are your enemies, or that the world should judge your poams by _your_ critikle rules, and not by their own. You may beat your brest, and vow that you are a martyr, but you won't mend the matter." After these general remarks, the critic-footman takes up the subject of style, and argues with a good deal of ingenuity and force in favor of simplicity and terseness, especially in his performance of _The Sea-Captain_: