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it may be reasonably affirmed, will demur to the judgment which assigns to Mr. Washington Irving the most distinguished place in American literature. Meaning thereby, not the distinction of incomparable genius in general, nor of pre-eminent superiority in any special department of authorship; but—without present reference to his personal or intrinsic claims, however great—the distinction of extrinsic, popular renown, the external evidence of long-established and worldwide recognition. Wherever America is known to have a literature at all, she is known to rejoice in one Geoffrey Crayon, Gent, as its representative? If an unreading alderman presiding at a public dinner wished to couple with a toast in honour of that literature the name of its most distinguished scion, Washington Irving's, we presume, is the name he would fix on; not, perhaps, that the alderman may have read that author much, but that he has read his brother authors less, or not at all, and, in short, proposes the toast in an easy, conventional, matter-of-fact way, as paying a compliment the legitimacy of which will be impeached by no compotator at the civic board. The alderman's private opinion, he being "no great things" as a student and critic in the belles lettres, may be valued at zero; but his post-prandial proposition, as the mouthpiece of public opinion, as the symbol or exponent by which society rates a name now to be toasted with all the honours, is of prime significance. There may be American writers who, either in the range, or the depth, of literary power, or in both combined, are actually the superiors of the author of "Rip Van Winkle" and the "History of New York." He may yield in picturesque reality to Fenimore Cooper—in dramatic animation to Brockden Brown—in meditative calmness to Cullen Bryant—to Longfellow in philosophic aspiration—to Holmes in epigrammatic ease—to Emerson in independent thought—to Melville in graphic intensity—to Edgar Poe in witching fancy—to Mayo in lively eccentricity—to Presoott in accurate erudition—to Hawthorne in subtle insight—to Mitchell in tender sentiment. He may, or he may not, do all this, or part of it. But, notwithstanding, his position remains, either way, at the top of the tree. Thitherwards he was elevated years ago, by popular acclamation, when as yet he stood almost alone in transatlantic literature; and thence there has been little disposition to thrust him down, in favour of the many rivals who have since sprung up, and multiplied, and covered the land. Mrs. Beecher Stowe is of course infinitely more popular for the nonce, or, indeed,but, recurring to that distinction which is traditional, conventional, and thus far "well-ordered in all things and sure," Washington Irving holds it in possession, and that is nine points of the law.

In effect, he is already installed on the shelf as a classic. His sweet, smooth, translucent style, makes him worthy to be known, and pleasant