In a recent number of _The Saturday Review_ I read a review of a book of
verse, which I need not particularise further, as I am not concerned to
affirm or to dispute the justice of the critic's estimate of it. I only
refer to it incidentally. The author, according to this reviewer,
possessed only the most elementary and commonplace notion with regard to
aptness of epithets or allusions. Instances were cited, and we were
further asked to believe that with this poet (I quote from the
_Saturday_) "the voluble thrush is a family man, and the bibulous bee is
a rover."
***
That sentence absolutely fascinated me. It continued to ring and ring in
my brain for hours afterwards. It became the refrain to everything I
read and everything I thought of. There was only one remedy. I promptly
applied it, made a copy of verses to suit the pursuing sentence, and was
cured of my ailment.
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