At the outset, however, let it be understood that the purpose of this essay is not to establish Mr. Ward's supremacy as a poet. Classifications of this kind in literature and elsewhere are generally unsatisfactory and often invidious, for excellencies that vary greatly in kind are not to be measured in degree. Some would doubtless accord pre-eminence to Irwin Russell for his humorous, sympathetic pictures of the quaintly sage and irrepressibly happy old-time plantation negro. Others would as likely claim this honor for James D. Lynch of West Point, who, against over two hundred poets of America, won for himself and his State, by unanimous vote of the committee of awards, the proud distinction of welcoming the nations of the world to the great Columbian Exposition, and afterward of having his salutation ode adopted as the Press Poem of America. Of him and his works more will be said on another occasion. Other classes in attempts at gradation would prefer this one or that one for reasons as different as the peculiar merits of the poet or the tastes of the admirers. Panegyric cannot perpetuate a reputation. If so, Tupper, whose fame was predicted, would live as long as the language, would now be more than a name. Joanna Baillie, too, whom even Sir Walter Scott describes as sweeping her harp Till Avon's swans-- Awakening at the inspired strain, Deemed their own Shakespeare lived again, --where is she? Mindful of the futility of claiming for an author more than is warranted, no eulogy will be offered, extravaganza will be avoided. On the contrary, that criticism will be eschewed which "damns with faint praise" what is cordially admired, fearful lest others may not assent. William Ward and his poems shall speak largely for themselves; knowledge of the man and his work being sufficient, it is believed, to justify the claim that he is a poet entitled to distinction.