ought to be, the last which occurs to the referee himself. He that has a
literary work subjected to his judgment by the author, immediately
throws his mind into a critical attitude, though the subject be one
which he never before thought of. No doubt the author is well qualified
to select his own judge, and why should the arbiter whom he has chosen
doubt his own talents for condemnation or acquittal, since he has been
doubtless picked out by his friend, from his indubitable reliance on
their competence? Surely, the man who wrote the production is likely to
know the person best qualified to judge of it.

Whilst these thoughts crossed my brain, I kept my eyes fixed on my good
friend, whose motions appeared unusually tardy to me, while he ordered a
bottle of particular claret, decanted it with scrupulous accuracy with
his own hand, caused his old domestic to bring a saucer of olives, and
chips of toasted bread, and thus, on hospitable thoughts intent, seemed
to me to adjourn the discussion which I longed to bring on, yet feared
to precipitate.

"He is dissatisfied," thought I, "and is ashamed to show it, afraid
doubtless of hurting my feelings. What had I to do to talk to him about
any thing save charters and sasines?--Stay, he is going to begin."

"We are old fellows now, Mr. Croftangry," said my landlord; "scarcely so
fit to take a poor quart of claret between us, as we would have been in
better days to take a pint, in the old Scottish liberal acceptation of
the phrase. Maybe you would have liked me to have kept James to help us.
But if it is not a holyday or so, I think it is best he should observe
office hours."

Here the discourse was about to fall. I relieved it by saying, Mr. James