manufacture, we adhere pertinaciously to our original blindly conceived idea, and thus often find ourselves involved in the gross paradox of liking a stupid book the better, because, sure enough, its stupidity is American.[1] [Footnote 1: This charge of indiscriminate puffing will, of course, only apply to the _general_ character of our criticism--there are some noble exceptions. We wish also especially to discriminate between those _notices_ of new works which are intended merely to call public attention to them, and deliberate criticism on the works themselves.] Deeply lamenting this unjustifiable state of public {327} feeling, it has been our constant endeavor, since assuming the Editorial duties of this Journal, to stem, with what little abilities we possess, a current so disastrously undermining the health and prosperity of our literature. We have seen our efforts applauded by men whose applauses we value. From all quarters we have received abundant private as well as public testimonials in favor of our _Critical Notices_, and, until very lately, have heard from no respectable source one word impugning their integrity or candor. In looking over, however, a number of the New York Commercial Advertiser, we meet with the following paragraph. The last number of the Southern Literary Messenger is very readable and respectable. The contributions to the Messenger are much better than the original matter. The critical department of this work--much as it would seem to boast itself of impartiality and discernment,--is in our opinion decidedly _quacky_. There is in it a great assumption of acumen, which is completely unsustained. Many a work has been slashingly condemned therein, of which the critic himself could not write a page, were he to die for it. This affectation of eccentric sternness in criticism, without the power to back one's suit withal, so far from deserving praise, as some suppose, merits the strongest reprehension.--[_Philadelphia Gazette_.