If such a one as Barry Lyndon, a man full of intellect, can be made thus to love and cherish his vice, and to believe in its beauty, how much more necessary is it to avoid the footsteps which lead to it?
But, as I have said above, there is no standard by which to judge of the excellence of the ludicrous as there is of the sublime, and even the realistic.
No writer ever had a stronger proclivity towards parody than Thackeray; and we may, I think, confess that there is no form of literary drollery more dangerous.

The parody will often mar the gem of which it coarsely reproduces the outward semblance.

The word "damaged," used instead of "damask," has destroyed to my ear for ever the music of one of the sweetest passages in Shakespeare.

But it must be acknowledged of Thackeray that, fond as he is of this branch of humour, he has done little or no injury by his parodies.

They run over with fun, but are so contrived that they do not lessen the flavour of the original.