ll only, in reference to this last
subject, observe that the singularly germinal character of Hazlitt's
work is noticeable here also; for no one who reads the essay on Nicolas
Poussin will fail to add Mr. Ruskin to Hazlitt's fair herd of literary
children.

His criticism is scattered through all the volumes of general essays;
but is found by itself in the series of lectures, or essays (they are
rather the latter than the former), on the characters of Shakespeare, on
Elizabethan Literature, on the English Poets, and on the English Comic
Writers. I cannot myself help thinking that in these four Hazlitt is at
his best; though there may be nothing so attractive to the general, and
few such brilliant passages as may be found in the "Farewell to
Essay-writing," in the paper on Poussin, in "Going to a Fight," in
"Going a Journey," and others of the same class. The reason of the
preference is by no means a greater interest in the subject of one
class, than in the subject of another. It is that, from the very nature
of the case, Hazlitt's unlucky prejudices interfere much more seldom
with his literary work. They interfere sometimes, as in the case of
Sidney, as in some remarks about Coleridge and Wordsworth, and
elsewhere; but these instances are rare indeed compared with those that
occur in the other division. On the other hand, there are always present
Hazlitt's enthusiastic appreciation of what is good in letters, his
combination of gusto with sound theory as to what is excellent in prose
and verse, his felicitous method of expression, and the acuteness that
kept him from that excessive and paradoxical admiration which both Lamb
and Coleridge affected, and which has gained many more pupils than his
own moderation. Nothing better has ever been written as a general view
of the subject than his introduction to his Lectures on Elizabethan
Literature; and almost all the faults to be found in it are due merely
to occasional deficiency of information, not to error of judgment. He is
a little paradoxical on Jonson; but not many critics could furnish a
happier contrast than his enthusiastic praise of certain passages of
Beaumont and Fletcher, and his cool toning down of Lamb's extravagant
eulogy on Ford. He is a little unfair to the Caroline poets; but here
the great disturbing influence comes in. If his comparison of ancient
and modern literature is rather weak, that is because Hazlitt was
anything but widely acquainted with either;