But
what of that? I had made him my judge by my
own election; and I have often observed that an
idea of declining such a reference, on account of
his own consciousness of incompetency, is, as it
perhaps 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.
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