riods of
literature absolutely _taboo'd_, to use a South Sea phrase. It is, for
example, as much as a man's reputation is worth, in some circles, to
say a word in praise of any writers of the reign of Charles the Second,
or even of Queen Anne; they being all declared to be Frenchmen in
disguise."

"And pray, then," said I, "when am I to know that I am on safe grounds;
being totally unacquainted with the literary landmarks and the boundary
lines of fashionable taste?"

"Oh," replied he, there is fortunately one tract of literature that
forms a kind of neutral ground, on which all the literary world meet
amicably; lay down their weapons and even run riot in their excess of
good humor, and this is, the reigns of Elizabeth and James. Here you
may praise away at a venture; here it is 'cut and come again,' and the
more obscure the author, and the more quaint and crabbed his style, the
more your admiration will smack of the real relish of the connoisseur;
whose taste, like that of an epicure, is always for game that has an
antiquated flavor.

"But," continued he, "as you seem anxious to know something of literary
society I will take an opportunity to introduce you to some coterie,
where the talents of the day are assembled. I cannot promise you,
however, that they will be of the first order. Somehow or other, our
great geniuses are not gregarious, they do not go in flocks, but fly
singly in general society. They prefer mingling, like common men, with
the multitude; and are apt to carry nothing of the author about them
but the reputation. It is only the inferior orders that herd together,
acquire strength and importance by their confederacies, and bear all
the distinctive characteristics of their species."

A LITERARY DINNER.

A few days after this conversation with Mr. Buckthorne, he called upon
me, and took me with him to a regular literary dinner. It was given by
a great bookseller, or rather a company of booksellers, whose firm
surpassed in length even that of Shadrach, Meschach, and Abednego.

I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty guests assembled,
most of whom I had never seen before. Buckthorne explained this to me
by informing me that this was a "business dinner," or kind of field
day, which the house gave about twice a year to its authors. It is
true, they did occasionally give snug dinners to three or four literary
men at a time, but then these were generally select authors; favorites
of th