Those imperfections of human intellect to which, as the articles of the Church tell us, even general councils are subject, may possibly be found even in the Royal Society of Literature.

The French academy, as I have already said, was the most illustrious assembly of the kind, and numbered among its associates men much more distinguished than ever will assemble at Mr Hatchard's to rummage the box of the English Society.

Yet this famous body gave a poetical prize, for which Voltaire was a candidate, to a fellow who wrote some verses about THE FROZEN AND THE BURNING POLE.
Yet, granting that the prizes were always awarded to the best composition, that composition, I say without hesitation, will always be bad.

A prize poem is like a prize sheep.

The object of the competitor for the agricultural premium is to produce an animal fit, not to be eaten, but to be weighed.