YOUNG REVIEWER, &c.
YOU are now about to enter on a Profession which has the means of doing
much good to society, and scarcely any temptation to do harm. You
may encourage Genius, you may chastise superficial Arrogance, expose
Falsehood, correct Error, and guide the Taste and Opinions of the Age
in no small degree by the books you praise and recommend. And this
too may be done without running the risk of making any enemies; or
subjecting yourself to be called to account for your criticism, however
severe. While your name is unknown, your person is invulnerable: at the
same time your aim is sure, for you may take it at your leisure; and
your blows fall heavier than those of any Writer whose name is given,
or who is simply anonymous. There is a mysterious authority in the
plural, _We_, which no single name, whatever may be its reputation,
can acquire; and, under the sanction of this imposing style, your
strictures, your praises, and your dogmas, will command universal
attention; and be received as the fruit of united talents, acting on
one common principle--as the judgments of a tribunal who decide only on
mature deliberation, and who protect the interests of Literature with
unceasing vigilance.
Such being the high importance of that Office, and such its
opportunities; I cannot bestow a few hours of leisure better than
in furnishing you with some hints for the more easy and effectual
discharge of it: hints which are, I confess, loosely thrown together;
but which are the result of long experience, and of frequent reflection
and comparison. And if anything should strike you, at first sight, as
rather equivocal in point of morality, or deficient in liberality and
feeling; I beg you will suppress all such scruples, and consider them
as the offspring of a contracted education and narrow way of thinking,
which a little intercourse with the World and sober reasoning will
speedily overcome.
* * * * *
Now as in the conduct of life nothing is more to be desired than some
Governing Principle of action, to which all other principles and
motives must be made subservient; so in the Art of Reviewing I would
lay down as a fundamental position, which you must never lose sight of,
and which must be the mainspring of all your criticisms--_Write what
will sell!_ To this Golden Rule every minor canon must be subordinate;
and must be either immediately deducible from it, or at least be made
consistent with it.
Be not staggered at the sound of a precept which, upon examination,
will be found as honest and virtuous as it is discreet. I have already
sketched out the great services which it is in your power to render
mankind; but all your efforts will be unavailing if men did not read
what you write. Your utility therefore, it is plain, depends upon your
popularity; and popularity cannot be attained without humouring the
taste and inclinations of men.
Be assured that, by a similar train of sound and judicious reasoning,
the consciences of thousands in public life are daily quieted. It is
better for the State that their Party should govern than any other.
The good which they can effect by the exercise of power is infinitely
greater than any which could arise from a rigid adherence to certain
subordinate moral precepts; which therefore should be violated without
scruple whenever they stand in the way of their leading purpose. He who
sticks at these can never act a great part in the World, and is not
fit to act it if he could. Such maxims may be very useful in ordinary
affairs, and for the guidance of ordinary men: but when we mount into
the sphere of public utility, we must adopt more enlarged principles;
and not suffer ourselves to be cramped and fettered by petty notions of
Right and Moral Duty.
* * * * *
When you have reconciled yourself to this liberal way of thinking; you
will find many inferior advantages resulting from it, which at first
did not enter into your consideration. In particular, it will greatly
lighten your labours, to _follow_ the public taste, instead of taking
upon you to _direct_ it. The task of Pleasing is at all times easier
than that of Instructing: at least it does not stand in need of painful
research and preparation; and may be effected in general by a little
vivacity of manner, and a dexterous morigeration [_compliance, or
obsequiousness_], as Lord BACON calls it, to the humours and
frailties of men. Your responsibility too is thereby much lessened.
Justice and Candour can only be required of you so far as they coincide
with this Main Principle: and a little experience will convince you
that these are not the happiest means of accomplishing your purpose.
It has been idly said, That a Reviewer acts in a judicial capacity, and
that his conduct should be regulated by the same rules by which the
Judge of a Civil Court is governed: that he should rid himself of every
bias; be patient, cautious, sedate, and rigidly impartial: that he
should not seek to shew off himself, and should check every disposition
to enter into the case as a partizan.
Such is the language of superficial thinkers; but in reality there is
no analogy between the two cases. A Judge is promoted to that office
by the authority of the State; a Reviewer by his own. The former is
independent of control, and may therefore freely follow the dictates
of his own conscience: the latter depends for his very bread upon the
breath of public opinion; the great law of self-preservation therefore
points out to him a different line of action. Besides, as we have
already observed, if he ceases to please, he is no longer read; and
consequently is no longer useful. In a Court of Justice, too, the
part of amusing the bystanders rests with the Counsel: in the case of
criticism, if the Reviewer himself does not undertake it, who will?
Instead of vainly aspiring to the gravity of a Magistrate; I would
advise him, when he sits down to write, to place himself in the
imaginary situation of a cross-examining Pleader. He may comment, in a
vain of agreeable irony, upon the profession, the manner of life, the
look, dress, or even the name, of the witness he is examining: when he
has raised a contemptuous opinion of him in the minds of the Court, he
may proceed to draw answers from him capable of a ludicrous turn; and
he may carve and garble these to his own liking.
This mode of proceeding you will find most practicable in Poetry,
where the boldness of the image or the delicacy of thought (for
which the Reader's mind was prepared in the original) will easily be
made to appear extravagant, or affected, if judiciously singled out,
and detached from the group to which it belongs. Again, since much
depends upon the rhythm and the terseness of expression (both of which
are sometimes destroyed by dropping a single word, or transposing a
phrase), I have known much advantage arise from _not_ quoting in the
form of a literal extract: but giving a brief summary in prose, of the
contents of a poetical passage; and interlarding your own language,
with occasional phrases of the Poem marked with inverted commas.
These, and a thousand other little expedients, by which the arts of
Quizzing and Banter flourish, practice will soon teach you. If it
should be necessary to transcribe a dull passage, not very fertile in
topics of humour and raillery; you may introduce it as a "favourable
specimen of the Author's manner."
* * * * *
Few people are aware of the powerful effects of what is philosophically
termed Association. Without any positive violation of truth, the whole
dignity of a passage may be undermined by contriving to raise some
vulgar and ridiculous notions in the mind of the reader: and language
teems with examples of words by which the same idea is expressed,
with the difference only that one excites a feeling of respect,
the other of contempt. Thus you may call a fit of melancholy, "the
sulks"; resentment, "a pet"; a steed, "a nag"; a feast, "a junketing";
sorrow and affliction, "whining and blubbering". By transferring the
terms peculiar to one state of society, to analogous situations and
characters in another, the same object is attained. "A Drill Serjeant"
or "a Cat and Nine Tails" in the Trojan War, "a Lesbos smack putting
into the Piræus," "the Penny Post of Jerusalem," and other combinations
of the like nature which, when you have a little indulged in that vein
of thought, will readily suggest themselves, never fail to raise a
smile, if not immediately at the expense of the Author, yet entirely
destructive of that frame of mind which his Poem requires in order to
be relished.
I have dwelt the longer on this branch of Literature, because you are
chiefly to look here for materials of fun and irony.
* * * * *
Voyages and Travels indeed are no barren ground; and you must seldom
let a Number of your _Review_ go abroad without an Article of this
description. The charm of this species of writing, so universally
felt, arises chiefly from its uniting Narrative with Information. The
interest we take in the story can only be kept alive by minute incident
and occasional detail; which puts us in possession of the traveller's
feelings, his hopes, his fears, his disappointments, and his pleasures.
At the same time the thirst for knowledge and love of novelty is
gratified by continual information respecting the people and countries
he visits.
If you wish therefore to run down the book, you have only to play off
these two parts against each other. When the Writer's object is to
satisfy the first inclination, you are to thank him for communicating
to the World such valuable facts as, whether he lost his way in the
night, or sprained his ankle, or had no appetite for his dinner.
If he is busied about describing the Mineralogy, Natural History,
Agriculture, Trade, etc. of a country: you may mention a hundred books
from whence the same information may be obtained; and deprecate the
practice of emptying old musty Folios into new Quartos, to gratify that
sickly taste for a smattering about everything which distinguishes the
present Age.
* * * * *
In Works of Science and recondite Learning, the task you have
undertaken will not be so difficult as you may imagine. Tables of
Contents and Indexes are blessed helps in the hands of a Reviewer; but,
more than all, the Preface is the field from which his richest harvest
is to be gathered.
In the Preface, the Author usually gives a summary of what has been
written on the same subject before; he acknowledges the assistance he
has received from different sources, and the reasons of his dissent
from former Writers; he confesses that certain parts have been less
attentively considered than others, and that information has come to
his hands too late to be made use of; he points out many things in the
composition of his Work which he thinks may provoke animadversion, and
endeavours to defend or palliate his own practice.
Here then is a fund of wealth for the Reviewer, lying upon the very
surface. If he knows anything of his business, he will turn all these
materials against the Author: carefully suppressing the source of his
information; and as if drawing from the stores of his own mind long ago
laid up for this very purpose. If the Author's references are correct,
a great point is gained; for by consulting a few passages of the
original Works, it will be easy to discuss the subject with the air of
having a previous knowledge of the whole.
Your chief vantage ground is, That you may fasten upon any position in
the book you are reviewing, and treat it as principal and essential;
when perhaps it is of little weight in the main argument: but, by
allotting a large share of your criticism to it, the reader will
naturally be led to give it a proportionate importance, and to consider
the merit of the Treatise at issue upon that single question.
If anybody complains that the greater and more valuable parts remain
unnoticed; your answer is, That it is impossible to pay attention to
all; and that your duty is rather to prevent the propagation of error,
than to lavish praises upon that which, if really excellent, will work
its way in the World without your help.
Indeed, if the plan of your _Review_ admits of selection, you had
better not meddle with Works of deep research and original speculation;
such as have already attracted much notice, and cannot be treated
superficially without fear of being found out. The time required for
making yourself thoroughly master of the subject is so great, that you
may depend upon it they will never pay for the reviewing. They are
generally the fruit of long study, and of talents concentrated in the
steady pursuit of one object: it is not likely therefore that you can
throw much new light on a question of this nature, or even plausibly
combat the Author's propositions; in the course of a few hours, which
is all you can well afford to devote to them. And without accomplishing
one or the other of these points; your _Review_ will gain no celebrity,
and of course no good will be done.
* * * * *
Enough has been said to give you some insight into the facilities
with which your new employment abounds. I will only mention one
more, because of its extensive and almost universal application to
all Branches of Literature; the topic, I mean, which by the old
Rhetoricians was called ἐξ ἐναντίων, That is, when a Work
excels in one quality; you may blame it for not having the opposite.
For instance, if the biographical sketch of a Literary Character is
minute and full of anecdote; you may enlarge on the advantages of
philosophical reflection, and the superior mind required to give a
judicious analysis of the Opinions and Works of deceased Authors.
On the contrary, if the latter method is pursued by the Biographer;
you can, with equal ease, extol the lively colouring, and truth, and
interest, of exact delineation and detail.
This topic, you will perceive, enters into Style as well as Matter;
where many virtues might be named _which are incompatible_: and
whichever the Author has preferred, it will be the signal for you to
launch forth on the praises of its opposite; and continually to hold
up that to your Reader as the model of excellence in this species of
Writing.
* * * * *
You will perhaps wonder why all my instructions are pointed towards the
Censure, and not the Praise, of Books; but many reasons might be given
why it should be so. The chief are, that this part is both easier, and
will sell better.
Let us hear the words of Mr BURKE on a subject not very
dissimilar:
"In such cases," says he, "the Writer has a certain fire and alacrity
inspired into him by a consciousness that (let it fare how it will with
the subject) his ingenuity will be sure of applause: and this alacrity
becomes much greater, if he acts upon the offensive; by the impetuosity
that always accompanies an attack, and the unfortunate propensity which
mankind have to finding and exaggerating faults." Pref., _Vindic. Nat.
Soc._, p. 6.
* * * * *
You will perceive that I have on no occasion sanctioned the baser
motives of private pique, envy, revenge, and love of detraction. At
least I have not recommended harsh treatment upon any of these grounds.
I have argued simply on the abstract moral principle which a Reviewer
should ever have present to his mind: but if any of these motives
insinuate themselves as secondary springs of action, I would not
condemn them. They may come in aid of the grand Leading Principle, and
powerfully second its operation.
* * * * *
But it is time to close these tedious precepts, and to furnish you
with, what speaks plainer than any precept, a Specimen of the Art
itself, in which several of them are embodied. It is hastily done: but
it exemplifies well enough what I have said of the Poetical department;
and exhibits most of those qualities which disappointed Authors are
fond of railing at, under the names of Flippancy, Arrogance, Conceit,
Misrepresentation, and Malevolence: reproaches which you will only
regard as so many acknowledgments of success in your undertaking; and
infallible tests of an established fame, and [a] rapidly increasing
circulation.
_L'Allegro._ A Poem.
By JOHN MILTON.
No Printer's name.
IT has become a practice of late with a certain description of
people, who have no visible means of subsistence, to string together
a few trite images of rural scenery, interspersed with vulgarisms in
dialect, and traits of vulgar manners; to dress up these materials in
a Sing-Song jingle; and to offer them for sale as a Poem. According
to the most approved recipes, something about the heathen gods and
goddesses; and the schoolboy topics of Styx and Cerberus, and Elysium;
are occasionally thrown in, and the composition is complete. The stock
in trade of these Adventurers is in general scanty enough; and their
Art therefore consists in disposing it to the best advantage. But if
such be the aim of the Writer, it is the Critic's business to detect
and defeat the imposture; to warn the public against the purchase
of shop-worn goods and tinsel wares; to protect the fair trader, by
exposing the tricks of needy Quacks and Mountebanks; and to chastise
that forward and noisy importunity with which they present themselves
to the public notice.
How far Mr. MILTON is amenable to this discipline, will best
appear from a brief analysis of the Poem before us.
In the very opening he assumes a tone of authority which might better
suit some veteran Bard than a raw candidate for the Delphic bays: for,
before he proceeds to the regular process of Invocation, he clears the
way, by driving from his presence (with sundry hard names; and bitter
reproaches on her father, mother, and all the family) a venerable
Personage, whose age at least and staid matron-like appearance, might
have entitled her to more civil language.
Hence, loathèd Melancholy!
Of CERBERUS and blackest Midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn, &c.
There is no giving rules, however, in these matters, without a
knowledge of the case. Perhaps the old lady had been frequently warned
off before; and provoked this violence by continuing still to lurk
about the Poet's dwelling. And, to say the truth, the Reader will have
but too good reason to remark, before he gets through the Poem, that it
is one thing to tell the Spirit of Dulness to depart; and another to
get rid of her in reality. Like GLENDOWER's Spirits, any one
may order them away; "but will they go, when you do order them?"
But let us suppose for a moment that the Parnassian decree is obeyed;
and, according to the letter of the _Order_ (which is as precise and
wordy as if Justice SHALLOW himself had drawn it) that the
obnoxious female is sent back to the place of her birth,
'Mongst horrid shapes, shrieks, sights, _&c._
At which we beg our fair readers not to be alarmed; for we can assure
them they are only words of course in all poetical Instruments of this
nature, and mean no more than the "force and arms" and "instigation of
the Devil" in a common Indictment.
* * * * *
This nuisance then being abated; we are left at liberty to contemplate
a character of a different complexion, "buxom, blithe, and debonair":
one who, although evidently a great favourite of the Poet's and
therefore to be received with all due courtesy, is notwithstanding
introduced under the suspicious description of an _alias_.
In heaven, ycleped EUPHROSYNE;
And by men, heart-easing Mirth.
Judging indeed from the light and easy deportment of this gay Nymph;
one might guess there were good reasons for a change of name as she
changed her residence.
* * * * *
But of all vices there is none we abhor more than that of slanderous
insinuation. We shall therefore confine our moral strictures to the
Nymph's mother; in whose defence the Poet has little to say himself.
Here too, as in the case of the _name_, there is some doubt. For the
uncertainty of descent on the Father's side having become trite to a
proverb; the Author, scorning that beaten track, has left us to choose
between two mothers for his favourite: and without much to guide our
choice; for, whichever we fix upon, it is plain she was no better than
she should be. As he seems however himself inclined to the latter of
the two, we will even suppose it so to be.
Or whether (as some sager say)
The frolic _wind that breathes the Spring_,
ZEPHYR with AURORA playing,
_As he met her once a Maying_;
There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, _&c._
Some dull people might imagine that _the wind_ was more like _the
breath of Spring_; than _Spring, the breath of the wind_: but we are
more disposed to question the Author's Ethics than his Physics; and
accordingly cannot dismiss these May gambols without some observations.
In the first place, Mr. M. seems to have higher notions of the
antiquity of the May Pole than we have been accustomed to attach to it.
Or perhaps he sought to shelter the equivocal nature of this affair
under that sanction. To us, however, who can hardly subscribe to the
doctrine that "Vice loses half its evil by losing all its grossness";
neither the remoteness of time, nor the gaiety of the season, furnishes
a sufficient palliation. "Violets blue" and "fresh-blown roses" are,
to be sure, more agreeable objects of the Imagination than a gin
shop in Wapping or a booth in Bartholomew Fair; but, in point of
morality, these are distinctions without a difference: or it may be
the cultivation of mind (which teaches us to reject and nauseate these
latter objects) aggravates the case, if our improvement in taste be not
accompanied by a proportionate improvement of morals.
If the Reader can reconcile himself to this latitude of principle, the
anachronism will not long stand in his way. Much indeed may be said
in favour of this union of ancient Mythology with modern notions and
manners. It is a sort of chronological metaphor--an artificial analogy,
by which ideas, widely remote and heterogeneous, are brought into
contact; and the mind is delighted by this unexpected assemblage, as it
is by the combinations of figurative language.
Thus in that elegant Interlude, which the pen of BEN JONSON has
transmitted to us, of the loves of HERO and LEANDER:
Gentles, that no longer your expectations may wander,
Behold our chief actor, amorous LEANDER!
With a great deal of cloth, lapped about him like a scarf:
For he yet serves his father, a Dyer in Puddle Wharf:
Which place we'll make bold with, to call it our Abydus;
As the Bankside is our Sestos, and _let it not be denied us_.
And far be it from us to deny the use of so reasonable a liberty;
especially if the request be backed (as it is in the case of Mr. M.) by
the craving and imperious necessities of rhyme. What man who has ever
bestrode Pegasus for an hour, will be insensible to such a claim?
_Haud ignara mali miseris succurrere disco._
* * * * *
We are next favoured with an enumeration of the Attendants of this
"debonair" Nymph, in all the minuteness of a German _Dramatis Personæ_,
or a Ropedancer's Handbill.
Haste thee, Nymph; and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles,
Such as hang on HEBE's cheek
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
The Author, to prove himself worthy of being admitted of the crew,
skips and capers about upon "the light fantastic toe," that there is
no following him. He scampers through all the Categories, in search
of his imaginary beings, from Substance to Quality, and back again;
from thence to Action, Passion, Habit, &c. with incredible celerity.
Who, for instance, would have expected _cranks_, _nods_, _becks_, and
_wreathèd smiles_ as part of a group in which Jest, Jollity, Sport,
and Laughter figure away as full-formed entire Personages? The family
likeness is certainly very strong in the two last; and if we had not
been told, we should perhaps have thought the act of _deriding_ as
appropriate to Laughter as to Sport.
But how are we to understand the stage directions?
_Come_, and trip it as you _go_.
Are the words used synonymously? Or is it meant that this airy gentry
shall come in a Minuet step, and go off in a Jig? The phenomenon of a
_tripping crank_ is indeed novel, and would doubtless attract numerous
spectators.
But it is difficult to guess to whom, among this jolly company, the
Poet addresses himself: for immediately after the Plural appellative
_you_, he proceeds,
And in _thy_ right hand lead with _thee_
The mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty.
No sooner is this fair damsel introduced; but Mr M., with most
unbecoming levity, falls in love with her: and makes a request of her
companion which is rather greedy, that he may live with both of them.
To live with her, and live with thee.
Even the gay libertine who sang "How happy could I be with either!" did
not go so far as this. But we have already had occasion to remark on
the laxity of Mr M.'s amatory notions.
* * * * *
The Poet, intoxicated with the charms of his Mistress, now rapidly runs
over the pleasures which he proposes to himself in the enjoyment of
her society. But though he has the advantage of being his own caterer,
either his palate is of a peculiar structure, or he has not made the
most judicious selection.
To begin the day well, he will have the _sky-lark_
to come _in spite of sorrow_
And at his window bid "Good Morrow!"
The sky-lark, if we know anything of the nature of that bird, must come
"in spite" of something else as well as "of sorrow," to the performance
of this office.
In the next image, the Natural History is better preserved; and, as
the thoughts are appropriate to the time of day, we will venture to
transcribe the passage, as a favourable specimen of the Author's manner:
While the Cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn door,
Stoutly struts his dames before;
Oft listening how the hounds and horns
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing still.
Is it not lamentable that, after all, whether it is the Cock, or
the Poet, that listens, should be left entirely to the Reader's
conjectures? Perhaps also his embarrassment may be increased by a
slight resemblance of character in these two illustrious Personages, at
least as far as relates to the extent and numbers of their seraglio.
* * * * *
After a _flaming_ description of sunrise, on which the clouds attend in
their very best liveries; the Bill of Fare for the day proceeds in the
usual manner. Whistling Ploughmen, singing Milkmaids, and sentimental
Shepherds are always to be had at a moment's notice; and, if well
grouped, serve to fill up the landscape agreeably enough.
On this part of the Poem we have only to remark, that if Mr JOHN
MILTON proposeth to make himself merry with
Russet lawns, and fallows grey
Where the nibbling flocks _do_ stray;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds _do_ often rest,
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide,
Towers and battlements, &c. &c. &c.
he will either find himself egregiously disappointed; or he must
possess a disposition to merriment which even DEMOCRITUS
himself might envy. To such a pitch indeed does this solemn indication
of joy sometimes rise, that we are inclined to give him credit for a
literal adherence to the Apostolic precept, "Is any merry, let him sing
Psalms!"
* * * * *
At length, however, he hies away at the sound of bell-ringing, and
seems for some time to enjoy the tippling and fiddling and dancing of
a village wake: but his fancy is soon haunted again by spectres and
goblins, a set of beings not, in general, esteemed the companions or
inspirers of mirth.
With stories told of many a feat,
How fairy MAB the junkets eat.
She was pinched, and pulled, she said:
And he, by friar's lanthern led,
Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat
To earn his cream-bowl duly set;
When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy Flail hath threshed the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end.
Then lies him down the lubbar Fiend;
And, stretched out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength:
And, crop-full, out of door he flings
Ere the first cock his Matins rings.
Mr. M. seems indeed to have a turn for this species of Nursery Tales
and prattling Lullabies; and, if he will studiously cultivate his
talent, he need not despair of figuring in a conspicuous corner of Mr
NEWBERY's shop window: unless indeed Mrs. TRIMMER should think fit to
proscribe those empty levities and idle superstitions, by which the
World has been too long abused.
* * * * *
From these rustic fictions, we are transported to another species of
_hum_.
Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men;
Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,
In woods of peace, high triumphs hold:
With _store of Ladies_, whose bright eyes
_Rain influence_, and judge the Prize
Of Wit or Arms; while both contend
To win her grace, whom all commend.
To talk of the bright eyes of Ladies judging the Prize of Wit is indeed
with the Poets a legitimate species of humming: but would not, we may
ask, the _rain_ from these Ladies' bright eyes rather tend to dim their
lustre? Or is there any quality in a shower of _influence_; which,
instead of deadening, serves only to brighten and exhilarate?
Whatever the case may be, we would advise Mr. M. by all means to keep
out of the way of these "Knights and Barons bold": for, if he has
nothing but his Wit to trust to, we will venture to predict that,
without a large share of most undue influence, he must be content to
see the Prize adjudged to his competitors.
Of the latter part of the Poem little need be said.
The Author does seem somewhat more at home when he gets among the
Actors and Musicians: though his head is still running upon ORPHEUS and
EURYDICE and PLUTO, and other sombre personages; who are ever thrusting
themselves in where we least expect them, and who chill every rising
emotion of mirth and gaiety.
He appears however to be so ravished with this sketch of festive
pleasures, or perhaps with himself for having sketched them so well,
that he closes with a couplet which would not have disgraced a
STERNHOLD.
These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I _mean_ to live.
Of Mr. M.'s good _intentions_ there can be no doubt; but we beg leave
to remind him that there are two opinions to be consulted. He presumes
perhaps upon the poetical powers he has displayed, and considers them
as irresistible: for every one must observe in how different a strain
he avows his attachment now, and at the opening of the Poem. Then it was
If I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew!
But having, it should seem, established his pretensions; he now thinks
it sufficient to give notice that he means to live with her, because he
likes her.
* * * * *
Upon the whole, Mr. MILTON seems to be possessed of some fancy and
talent for rhyming; two most dangerous endowments which often unfit men
for acting a useful part in life without qualifying them for that which
is great and brilliant. If it be true, as we have heard, that he has
declined advantageous prospects in business, for the sake of indulging
his poetical humour; we hope it is not yet too late to prevail upon him
to retract his resolution. With the help of COCKER and common industry,
he may become a respectable Scrivener: but it is not all the ZEPHYRS,
and AURORAS, And CORYDONS, and THYRSIS's; aye, nor his "junketing Queen
MAB" and "drudging Goblins," that will ever make him a Poet.