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TO 
 
 EDWARD I-YTTON BULWER, 
 ^ laatriot, 
 
 AND 
 
 A MAN OF GENIUS, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE INSCRIBED. 
 
EXPOSITION 
 
 '' ^ J^^/ryy/^yy^- ^'^'^^ 
 
 .THE FALSE MEDIUM* 
 
 anir • Barriers 
 
 • EXCLUDING MEN OF GENIUS' 
 
 FROM THE PUBLIC. 
 
 d 
 
 l-^-- ■• ^<J 
 
 Orn^ 
 
 '* What centuries of unjust deeds are here '"' 
 
 ^\orE L/a^^^ 
 
 r^ OF THE ^P\ 
 
 IIVERSITY 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 EFFINGHAM WILSON, ROYAL EXCHANGE, 
 
 1833. 
 
BRADBURY AND EVANS, WHITKFRIAR5. 
 (late T. DAVISON.) 
 
PM ISO 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 STATEMENT OF FACTS. 
 
 I. Exordium ...... 
 
 II. Of Epic Poets and Philosophers 
 III. Of Authors in general 
 IV. Disappointed Authors 
 V. Of Dramatic Authors .... 
 
 ^T. Of Composers^ and instrumental Per 
 
 F0R31ERS ...... 
 
 VH. Of Actors and Singers 
 Vm. Of Novelists, asb how to write a success- 
 ful Novel ..... 
 IX. Of Painters and Sculptors 
 X. Men of Science, and original Projectors 
 AND Inventors .... 
 XI. The ?.Iarch of Intellect 
 
 1 
 5 
 
 12 
 35 
 41 
 
 48 
 56 
 
 65 
 
 7.3 
 
 84 
 104 
 
 EXPOSITION OF CAUSES. 
 
 I. General View 
 II. Defence of the Higher Orders 
 
 III. Our own Times 
 
 IV. Anatomy of false Oracles . 
 
 105 
 117 
 126 
 133 
 
 103939 
 
n CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOE 
 
 V. The British Drama and Theatres . . 184 
 
 VI. The Royal Academy . . ... . 224 
 
 VII. Science, Learning, and Colleges . . 234 
 
 VIII. Of Publishers . . . . . . 24i 
 
 IX. Of Private and Public Judgment . . 252 
 
 THE REMEDY 276 
 
 Exhortation ..... . 306 
 
^ Of THE ^^^ 
 
 STATExMENT OF FACTS. 
 I. 
 
 Exordium. — A common stone meets with more 
 ready patronage than a man of genius. It may be 
 said to have its social home and proper place of 
 refuge in some Society, expressly established for its 
 discovery, polishing, classification, preservation, 
 &c., and all its numerous claims to notice and 
 learned consideration, are admitted instantly ; but 
 Genius is " sui generis," and a homeless outcast by 
 general consent, during the full term of its natural 
 life. Driven through the inhospitable desert of 
 mortality, or tossed upon its bleak and stormy 
 seas, the man of genius finds at length a haven 
 in posterity ; and there, after the due course of 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 precedence has fulfilled its progressive order, 1l\s 
 claim also is gradually admitted; the tenacious world 
 tbeing quite sure that he is dead "as any stone." 
 
 If the complex laws which direct and govern the 
 intricate workings of the human mind, could but 
 for a given period admit of a 'practical continuity 
 to the feelings which are excited in most men"'s 
 natures upon reading accounts of the long-suffer- 
 ing, fortitude, and desolate death-bed of all those 
 whose wisdom, virtue, and extraordinary intellect 
 have made posterity their eternal debtors; would 
 not the whole mass of humanity rise up, as with 
 one accord, to establish a community by whose 
 steady arrangements such ungrateful and mon- 
 strous results should be at once superseded, and 
 the barbarous anomaly made human for ever after ? 
 It seems, however, we are otherwise constituted ; 
 since nothing beyond an admission of the wrong, 
 and the relief of our feelings in giving vent to 
 indignant expressions, has ever yet transpired ; 
 although the same wretched fate has always pur- 
 sued and attended men of genius, since the wan- 
 dering days of Homer. 
 
In vain, as relates to his own advantage^ has 
 a man made tlie most important discoveries in 
 Science : on the contrary, his reward has always 
 been profusely paid in persecution, and the current 
 coin of calumny, or ridicule. "We have seen this 
 conduct pursued towards the greatest Astronomers; 
 we have seen a similar patronage bestowed upon 
 the chief promoters of original knowledge in 
 Natural History ; in Medicine ; in Chemistry ; in 
 ^Mechanics, &c. ; and if this has been the case 
 with sciences that depend upon demonstrable phy- 
 sical facts, what wonder that it should have been 
 the same with Philosophy or Metaphysics ? The 
 more important the truth, the more opposition it 
 has met with, and every distress {that lay in the 
 woj^ld's power) has been accumulated round its 
 advocate in return, with a promptitude that we 
 very rarely see manifested in a good cause of any 
 kind. Error always has its armed hosts, and 
 in all great discoveries prevails over the few oppo- 
 nent voices longer than the average period, even of 
 an imperturbed human life. Posterity is then said 
 
 B 2 
 
to do men justice ! What! with a forced admis- 
 sion and acknowledgment of the value of their 
 life's labour, after that life has been extinguished 
 amidst penury, neglect, and oppression ! 
 
 " Look at the Biography of Authors ! Except 
 the Newgate Calendar, it is the most sickening 
 chapter in the history of man." And these are the 
 beings to whom the world is intrinsically indebted 
 for the highest good: not to the vain-glorious crowd 
 whose multitudinous names, deeds, and powers, 
 throng with destruction through the panoramic 
 generations of the past. 
 
 Poetry, Ethics, History, the Fine Arts, and 
 Science in every department, how highly are they 
 applauded and encouraged ! But the me/i, who are 
 their Creators, are left to shift for themselves, and die 
 how they may. The comprehensive motto is, ' Do 
 all you can for mankind : mankind have established 
 a rule to do nothing for you ! ' What is the creative 
 principle of the present march of intellect ? Is it not 
 solely to be attributed to men of genius and ability ? 
 If the above heartless conduct is continued, the 
 March of Intellect becomes a Universal Type 
 
of the innate ingratitude and meanness of our 
 human nature ! 
 
 But the present Exposition is not merely intended 
 as a recapitulation of the distressing lives and fates 
 of those, whose lofty names in Martyrdom the world 
 bow down to, without blushing for themselves ; it is 
 not only a Choephoras in its libations to their hal- 
 lowed tombs, but a retribution upon the oppres- 
 sors' heads ; both past and present ; an analysis 
 and elucidation of the causes of these evils ; and 
 a condensed appeal to the collected 9ioza of ages, 
 in the hope of calling a fresh and startled atten- 
 tion to the vast heap of gigantic facts that stag- 
 nate and choke up the struggling current of 
 long-enduring humanity. 
 
 II. 
 
 Of Epic Poets and Philosophers. — " Know 
 thyself,"" said the Greek sage ; and he was worthy 
 of being called wise, if he had never uttered any- 
 thing beside that laconic volume. 
 
" Seven cities claim the birth of Homer dead, 
 Tliro' which the living Homer begg'd his bread." 
 
 Dante was imprisoned, banished, and sentence 
 of death passed upon him if he ever returned to 
 his country. Had Shakspeare been an epic poet, 
 we should have been almost induced to believe that 
 his banishment had been more especiall}'^ effected 
 to prove the consistency of Ignorance with respect 
 to writers of that class. As it is, however, we have 
 to conclude that he was outlawed, merely to make 
 good the Charter by virtue of which the highest 
 genius is held, and as though to show that the 
 world's accustomed rule of conduct towards its 
 most extraordinary benefactors, could admit of no 
 exception. If Milton had depended for his bread 
 upon the emolument to be derived from Paradise 
 Lost, or any of his other poems, it is quite clear 
 that he would have starved. His lono^ life of 
 literary labour, whether in keeping a day-school, or 
 in the exercise of his sublime intellect, never pro- 
 duced for him anything beyond the ordinary means 
 of existence. Chaucer was obliged to fly the 
 country, owing to a political disturbance, and 
 
directly he ventured to return, was thrown into 
 prison. Spencer'^s poverty and ruined hopes, 
 form a long and melancholy story. 
 
 We shall speak of ancients and moderns, indis- 
 criminately, because men of genius belong to all 
 times and countries, 
 
 Socrates, Seneca, Longinus, Boetius, &c. were all 
 murdered with barbarous, systematic cruelty ; their 
 only crimes being their wisdom and virtue. Their 
 fortitude measured the baseness of their execu- 
 tioners with a smile. These unnatural tragedies, 
 however well known, cannot be too often mentioned. 
 Would that they could be invariably written upon 
 the sky at noonday ! Anaxagoras was condemned to 
 die ; his chief offence being an attempt to promulgate 
 a higher conception of the Divine Mind than hea- 
 thenism tolerated. This was considered as impiety. 
 He, however, treated his sentence of death as a 
 puerility, saying, " it had been pronounced upon 
 him by Nature long ago." When asked if he would 
 have his remains conveyed to his own country, he 
 declined the favour, remarking " that it would not 
 shorten the distance to the other side of the fj-rave." 
 
8 
 
 i^robablj this high stoicism had quite as much 
 effect as the eloquent pleading of Pericles ; and he 
 was banished instead *. Zeno, the Eleatic, appears 
 to have been put to the torture, and to have endured 
 it with unshaken resolution ; and Aristotle, after 
 long persecution, (his life being often in danger) 
 according to Suidas, took poison. Julius Canius -j- 
 for his superior wisdom was condemned and suf- 
 fered death— which he met with equal superiority. 
 
 We shall not pause to enumerate the host of 
 great names that rise to our memory, having men- 
 tioned the greatest ; yet with respect to Poets, we 
 cannot refrain from alluding to the persecution, 
 imprisonment, and sufferings of many more — nearly 
 all the rest, we might have said — nor to the Italian 
 captain of banditti who kissed the hand of Tasso 
 when he had fallen into his power, after being 
 driven into exile by the Prince. 
 
 Camoens, after passing a life of dangerous vicis- 
 situdes, and meeting with no reward, either for his 
 
 * Diogenes Laertius. Pint, in Nicia, 8zc. 
 t Seneca, De Tranquil, c. 14. 
 
9 
 
 acknowledged poetical genius, or for his military 
 services and wounds, was supported during his 
 latter days by the begging of a slave who had pre- 
 viously saved him from shipwreck, and who con- 
 tinued faithful to him amidst hunger and misery. 
 Camoens died of penury and disease in an alms- 
 house*. 
 
 His epitaph conveys a severe reproach, which we 
 ought all of us to feel, for there is no saying how 
 near our own times may '' turn out" to resemble 
 his. " Here lies Louis de Camoens. He excelled 
 all the poets of his time. He lived poor and 
 miserable, and he died so."" A few years after- 
 wards, a high-sounding inscription was engraved 
 upon the same tomb ! This was an example of 
 the utter absence of conscience and shame ! There 
 are many similar instances. The epitaph upon the 
 Persian poet Ferdausi, who met the usual fate, is 
 more definitely pointed. " When the great Sultan 
 died, all his power and glory departed from him ; 
 
 * This is disputed by some biographers, who affirm that 
 he died in " his own miserable hovel close to the church." 
 See Sirangford's Life of Camoens. 
 
 b3 
 
10 
 
 and nothing remained whereby he could be recol- 
 lected, except this single historical fact — that he 
 knew not the worth of Ferdausi ! " 
 
 We were about to observe, however, that the 
 writers of epic poems are a class distinct from all 
 other authors ; although part of what follows will 
 equally aj3ply to great Moralists and Metaphy- 
 sicians. They devote themselves to a sublime 
 application of the result of profound feeling and 
 knowledge, and a severe examination of their own 
 power ; their fame, even as their inspiration, is 
 more lofty and apart from their human condition 
 with all its contingencies, and they do not hunger 
 for the vain-glory of immediate applause. They 
 " know themselves,"" and do not seek to be ad- 
 mired by the million of the day. They must be 
 content to wait in the tomb for the secure reward 
 of leaden-footed posterity. 
 
 The reflections that arise from the above view 
 of the heirs of immortality, must excite a melan- 
 choly sense of the innate grandeur of the chosen of 
 Humanity, in those readers whose imagination and 
 sensibility can sympathise with the picture in all 
 
11 
 
 its vital bearings. They cannot but see that the 
 highest gifts of intellect, only lead to a martyrdom 
 from the meanest causes — stones instead of bread. 
 The reflection should make us scorn the setting up 
 of the posthumous monument, viewing it as a mere 
 epitome of mankind^s imbecility, and a selfish salvo 
 to the conscience of Ingratitude. 
 
 But setting aside this marble-hearted love — to 
 men capable of erecting stupendous idealisms of 
 moral power, we can only give a solemn warning in 
 the tremendous language of Shelley in his address 
 to Time : 
 
 Unfathomable sea ! whose waves are years ; 
 Ocean of Time ! whose waters of deep woe 
 
 Are brackish with the salt of human tears ! 
 
 Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow 
 
 Claspest the limits of MortaHty I 
 
 And sick of prey, yet howling on for more, 
 Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore, 
 Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm. 
 Who shall put forth on thee. 
 Unfathomable sea ? 
 
\i} 
 
 III. 
 
 Of Authors in ge:neiial. — In the fresh spring 
 time of our existence ; when the eagle wing of sun- 
 ward hope is strenuous in the glorious dawn, and 
 the rich and rosy dews fall heavy on the opening 
 flower that begems the path over which, with 
 swelling bosom and unbaffled energies, we bound 
 with feet that feel not the earth beneath them, while 
 the voice is uplifted in full enjoyment of Nature'^s 
 free and heartfelt presence — it is a good thing to be 
 a ploughman. But to become an Author, is to 
 poison the sacred draught of heaven, and to bring 
 down Olympus in desolate ruins over the highway 
 of life ! Under what stupendous dreams are all 
 his hopes buried for ever ! To till the whole- 
 some earth;, and reap the tawny harvest of the 
 year, is a somewhat sturdy task " in the eye of 
 Phoebus," and often felt to be a heavy manual toil : 
 but it hath no certain heart-aches for its reward ; 
 and is a blythe and jocund labour, compared with 
 
13 
 
 his, who through the painful day, and dead en- 
 during night, struggles and yearns towards the goal 
 of Immortality. The energies of his heart, are as 
 the horses of the sun — his course around the vast 
 empyrean, is at length accomphshed — his reward, is 
 squalid human misery ; with giant despair striding 
 forwards in the clearing distance ! 
 
 The labours of an Author are far more grievous 
 than those attending the humblest occupations of 
 mankind. The manufacturer, who sits at his Ixion- 
 like task, from twelve to sixteen hours a day, never 
 began with the hopes of an Author ; never had such 
 prospects as his imagination has often shown him 
 was his forthcoming reward. But fresh moun- 
 tains rise at every eminence he has surmounted ; he 
 finds that his capability, both natural and hard- 
 earned, is a thing apart from ' the nick of time,' 
 which gives success ; and beset with hydra-headed 
 difficulties and opponents (besides being made the 
 bye-word of all his acquaintance) the object ever 
 seen, never reached, he thus grows grey and infirm. 
 Such is his life ; he dies in penury and wretched- 
 ness ; and it is well if his wife and children do not 
 
14 
 
 have the horror of seeing his corpse seized by his 
 matter-of-fact, lawful, respectable creditors, ' who 
 have been too patient with him all along, or they 
 would not have been placed in such a disagreeable 
 situation ! ' 
 
 The above is a bitter literal picture; and the 
 trampled feelings and profound thoughts that may 
 be said to constitute the foreground, are only com- 
 pensated in the abstract, by the glorious edifice 
 dimly seen in the hazy distance, with the possible 
 apotheosis of its human architect. Humanity drops 
 tears of blood over the obscure and lonely grave, 
 where intellectual Passion lies cold and consumed 
 away ; while slow in the ascendant majesty of time, 
 the mighty Promethean shadow begins its resurrec- 
 tion towards sublime futurity ! 
 
 An Author devotes the incessant efforts of his 
 whole life, and amidst every worldly difficulty; either 
 of which, commonly induces bodily sickness and 
 premature infirmity ; in order to produce works of 
 which the world reaps the benefit. The world's 
 reply in return for this, is concise and conclusive — 
 * Starve — rot — and we will feast upon your Re- 
 mains ! ' 
 
15 
 
 To be banished or imprisoned, is among the 
 h'ghter part of the hardships to which genius has 
 ever been subject. Demosthenes, Cicero, Ovid, 
 &c. were banished. The former was eventually 
 driven to poison himself. How painful are the letters 
 of Cicero to his family ! There is a passage in 
 one of them, where he says, " I wish for nothing 
 but to see you, and to expire in your arms, since 
 both gods and men are equally insensible, and 
 overlook all our services ; the former disregarding 
 the purity of our reverence and adoration, the 
 latter forgetting all that I have done for my 
 country and fellow-citizens." — " I know not what 
 condition you may be in ; whether you have any 
 means left, or are stript of everything * ! " He 
 was finally condemned to death, and slaughtered 
 while endeavouring to eifect his escape. The 
 above writers, however, more particularly Ovid, 
 betrayed great weakness of character under their 
 sufferings, and we would far rather allude to the 
 towering conduct of Dante ; who, when proposi- 
 
 * Letter to his wife Terentia, to Tullia and Cicero, his 
 children. 
 
16 
 
 tions were made for his return, with every worldly 
 advantage, provided he would compromise his 
 principles, disdainfully refused, sternly concluding 
 his answer, with the hope that " in the mean time 
 he should not want for bread." 
 
 " Plautus, the comic poet, lived by turning a 
 mill-wheel. Xelander sold, for a little broth, his 
 Commentary upon Dion Cassius. Aldus Manu- 
 tius was so poor that he was rendered insolvent, 
 merely by the small sum he borrowed to enable 
 him to transport his library from Venice to Rome. 
 Sigismund Galenius, John Bodinus, Lelio Giraldo, 
 Ludovico Castelvetro, Archbishop Usher, and a 
 multitude of other learned men, died in poverty. 
 And how melancholy is it to see Cardinal Benti- 
 voglio, the ornament of Italy and the belles lettres, 
 and the benefactor of the poor, after so many 
 important services rendered to the public by his 
 embassies and his writings, languishing in poverty 
 in his old age, selling his palace to pay his 
 debts, and dying without leaving wherewithal to 
 bury him * ! " 
 
 * Vigneul Marvilliana. Constab. Miscel., vol. x. 
 
17 
 
 We have presumed to honour our pages by 
 placing this nobleman's head in the frontispiece. 
 
 Voltaire was imprisoned in the Eastile, where 
 he wrote the greater part of the Henriade. Being- 
 rich by his own private property, something more 
 efficient than neglect or ridicule was requisite for 
 his many persecutions. Although Corneille met 
 with considerable reward for his writings, he died 
 in distress. Rousseau fared much worse ; and 
 Vaugelas, the elegant scholar, left his corpse to 
 be dissected, for the benefit of his creditors ! In 
 Spain, there has been abundance of cruel instances. 
 It is true we cannot include Garcilaso, or Ancillia 
 — both noblemen ; nor Lopez de Vega — a man of 
 rank; nor Calderon — why not? — he possessed 
 some fine church Hvings. All the principal historians 
 &c., were Jesuits ; and most of them ' padres mais- 
 tres.*' In modern times, the patronage of the 
 ' literates ' is chiefly confined to the ecclesiastics. 
 As to Germany, we shall content ourselves with 
 quoting Weisser's epigram. On the suppression of 
 Mendicity. Literally rendered thus : 
 
 A 
 
18 
 
 How cruel it is of thee, Germany, 
 
 To forbid begging among thy people : 
 
 Thus thou surely takest away from thy best heads, 
 
 The last means of obtaining food * ! 
 
 Yet, although there are but too many instances 
 in France during its earlier period of literature, 
 they may almost be suffered to pass as melancholy 
 exceptions, when compared with the undeviating 
 rule that has been observed in England ! Oh, 
 favoured island of intellectual glory, to whom have 
 you chiefly owed your superiority over other 
 nations ? — and how has your gratitude been mani- 
 fested ? What has been the life and death of your 
 greatest men ? 
 
 Stowe, the learned antiquary and chronicler, 
 after passing a life of extraordinary labour amidst 
 worldly privations, when in his eightieth year, 
 petitioned James the First for a licence to collect 
 alms. He received a grant, giving him permis- 
 sion to do so during one twelvemonth ! The 
 unfortunate old man gained so trifling a sum, that 
 he obtained an extension of the period to a second 
 
 * Wie grausam ist's von dir Germanien, &c. 
 
19 
 
 twelvemonth ! In the first grant, the King may 
 be taxed with cruel meanness, or brute insensibi- 
 lity ; but the second, looks like *' malice prepense ! " 
 De Lolme's fine work on the English Constitution 
 found no encouragement, either from booksellers, 
 or, when it was eventually printed, from the public. 
 Its author was frequently imprisoned for debt. 
 The same neglect attended Djayton's Polyolbion. 
 Raleigh's History of the World was written during 
 his many years of confinement. Bunyan wrote his 
 Pilgrim's Progress in a similar situation. De Foe 
 was imprisoned in Newgate for some political 
 treatise. Rushworth, after receiving the thanks 
 of the King, on his restoration, died of a broken 
 heart in the King's Bench, " having neglected his 
 own affairs for his Historical Collections." 
 
 " Evil is the condition," says Ockley, the orien- 
 talist, while imprisoned for debt, " of that historian 
 who undertakes to write the lives of others before 
 he knows how to live himself ! " Ockley bore his 
 hard lot, however, with noble philosophy. He died 
 in debt, and left his family in great distress. Yet 
 this was the man whose fine enthusiasm was such, 
 
that, speaking of the Persian language, he exclaims, 
 " How often have I endeavoured to perfect myself 
 in that language, but my malignant and envious 
 stars still frustrated my attempts ; but they shall 
 sooner alter their courses than extinguish my reso- 
 lution of quenching that thirst, which the little I 
 have had of it hath already excited ! " A senti- 
 ment that must have made the soul of Zoroaster 
 yearn to rise from the womb of ages to assist him. 
 
 A detailed account of nearly all the above bene- 
 factors of our ungrateful England will be found in 
 Mr. Disraeli's '* Calamities of Authors *."" Two 
 entire volumes are filled with these histories of 
 undeserved wretchedness, and all of modern times, 
 and in our own country ! He might have filled 
 more than double that number, with the same 
 limitations of time and place; nor would the in- 
 stances and information be very difficult to obtain ; 
 but how many volumes would it occupy if we could 
 give an account, however brief, of all those whose 
 sufferings have never come to light ? 
 
 * A fresh edition of this work is greatly wanted, as it has 
 become scarce, and difficult to be puichased. 
 
21 
 
 We extract this harrowing letter from the same 
 work. It is enough to appal any young poet who 
 has not quite lost his reason in his rhymes. It was 
 written by a young gentleman named Pattison. 
 
 "Sir, 
 
 '*If you were ever touched with a sense 
 
 of humanity, consider my condition ; what I am, 
 
 my proposals will inform you ; what I have heeii, 
 
 Sydney College in Cambridge can witness ; but 
 
 what I slicdl be some few hours hence, I tremble 
 
 to think — spare my blushes — I have not enjoyed 
 
 the common necessaries of life for these two days, 
 
 and can hardly hold to subscribe myself, 
 
 " Yours, Sec.*'" 
 
 Not enjoyed the common necessaries of life ! 
 
 The following extracts are taken at random 
 from the Index ; the whole of which ought to 
 be engraved on a brazen obelisk, and set up in 
 Westminster Abbey, by way of antithesis to the 
 monuments ! 
 
 * D'lsraeli. The Despair of Young Poe^s. 
 
*' Collins^ publishes Iiis Odes without success, 
 and afterwards indignantly burns the edition. — 
 Cowley^ his remarkable lamentation for having 
 written poetry. — Dri/den, in his old age, com- 
 plains of dying of over-study ; regrets he was 
 born among Englishmen. — Grainger's complaint 
 of not receiving half the pay of a scavenger! — 
 Hume, his literary life how mortified with disap- 
 pointments; wished to change his name, and his 
 country. — Logan, the history of his literary disap- 
 pointments ; dies broken-hearted. — Milton, more 
 esteemed''*' (in the first instance) " by foreigners 
 than at home. — P?'ior, felicitated himself that his 
 natural inclination for poetry had been checked. — 
 Sale, the learned, often wanted a meal while 
 translating the Koran. — Seiden, compelled to re- 
 cant his opinions, and not suffered to reply to his 
 calumniators. — Smollet, confesses the incredible 
 labour and chagrin he had endured as an author ! 
 — Stoice, the chronicler, petitions to be a licensed 
 beggar ! &c. &c." 
 
 Independent of the crowd of melancholy chroni- 
 cles, there are few persons who have had a general 
 
 / 
 
23 
 
 literary acquaintance, under whose actual observa- 
 vation, various instances must not have come but too 
 palpably. We once called upon an Author, a scholar 
 and a man of science, (one who has been of much 
 
 service to Sir R. P ,) who was busily employed, 
 
 in translating a Greek work in one room, while his 
 wife was equally so at the washing-tub, in the 
 other. The door was half open, and it was impos- 
 sible to affect unconsciousness. " You see,''"' said 
 he with a smile, that was only of the features, and 
 without any illumination from the heart ; " you see 
 what it is to be an Author ! Fortunate are those 
 who never feel ' a call' — so very few are chosen." 
 This is true enough ; and would be right enough 
 also, did we not know that merit has nothing to do 
 with the choice, until you are chosen ; that is ^' in 
 vogue." We once knew an author, whose genius 
 has since been admitted by the " fit few,*" who being 
 unable to afford pens, had recourse to a substi- 
 tute too painfully ridiculous to be mentioned, and 
 '' manufactured,'"* as he said, " half a dozen very 
 decent tools!" He was not, however, quite so 
 wretchedly circumstanced as poor Savage, who 
 
24 
 
 wrote at intervals the greater part of his play of 
 " Sir Thomas Overbury," when he was without 
 lodgings, wandering about the streets, picking up 
 bits of blank paper, and then stepping into some 
 shop to beg the use of a pen and ink, to write down 
 the last speech he had composed. This we learn 
 from Dr. Johnson, who was personally intimate 
 with him : and the Doctor himself, always poor, 
 had once been in circumstances almost as distress- 
 ing ; for we find that they often wandered together 
 whole nights about the streets, having no money to 
 procure lodgings * ! 
 
 The brief and obscure life pf Richard Ayton, 
 author of " Essays and Sketches of Character, &c.,'" 
 (Taylor and Hessey, 1825,) is one of those things 
 which comes over the mind with the same feeling as 
 a pathetic private recollection. He died in Warren- 
 Street, Tottenham Court Road, in great distress, 
 at the age of thirty-seven. Those who read the 
 above Essays, which possess all the irresistible 
 charm of the amiable Goldsmith, with a far deeper 
 
 * Biographia Dramatica. 
 
25 
 
 understanding, and an original vein of wit, higlily 
 graphic, yet luminous to the subject, must be inte- 
 rested in the man as much as they are delighted 
 with the book ; the surest sign of the goodness of 
 the writer''s heart. And when we consider the pain- 
 ful circumstances of his life, and premature descent, 
 into the cold and lonely grave, with the unjust 
 oblivion to which the world has consigned him, we 
 cannot but revert to his character as to that of some 
 dear com.panion of former years, whose familiar 
 intercourse had been a charm, and is now a loss 
 never to be supplied, and drop a tear to the memory 
 of Richard Ay ton. 
 
 The instances have become so multiplied, nay, 
 universal, that they cease, in most cases, to have a 
 legitimate effect upon the hearers. The imagina* 
 tion is forestalled by the literal, common-place facts, 
 and the sympathy turns by reaction to disgust, 
 from provocation at the reiterated, never-satisfied 
 tax upon sensibility. The sum-total seem.s '' ad 
 infinitum," and we are quite tired of the story. 
 Upon any fresh instance coming to light, folks now 
 say with a peevish sigh, ' They have all met with 
 
 c 
 
26 
 
 the same f or reply to the tale of woe, with a con- 
 clusive reasoning, like that we use when a child 
 hurts itself, who was repeatedly " warned not to do 
 so," — ' Then they should not have been Authors."* 
 In other words, ' if they cannot bear to be flayed 
 alive, they should not be eels. It was what they 
 had to expect, and there is no help for it, but their 
 getting used to it !' 
 
 This is sorry jesting ; and, what is worse, it 
 seems all that is left us. The evil has continued for 
 generations. But it is not a necessary one ; and a 
 strenuous perseverance in efforts directed to a prac- 
 tical result, may not be altogether fruitless. 
 
 Let us enter more fully into the facts of the 
 subject. 
 
 There is scarcely a " stock-book**' in the libra- 
 ries of all the booksellers, thai, was not refused in 
 the first instance by the Publishers ! This fate has 
 continually attended every great work, and every 
 original one ; except the author possessed a previous 
 reputation, much wealth, or extraordinary interest. 
 All really great works have been looked upon as 
 unintelligible lumber, and after performing a painful 
 
27 
 
 campaign, have returned to tlie author's hands to 
 await the advent of the uncertain "hour ;" and with 
 really original ones, the immediate antipathy lias 
 manifested itself to a degree approaching the ludi- 
 crous. The wittiest and most entertaining books, 
 whose moral tendency is as sound and beneficial, as 
 their humour is rich and refreshins: to the dull 
 monotony of every-day occurrences, were in the 
 first instance, kicked out of every publisher''s shop 
 in town, as though they (the books) had been 
 impertinencies ; while those of an impassioned cha- 
 racter have always been " packed ofF'"* with a pre- 
 cipitation resembling that of firemen getting com- 
 bustibles out of a warehouse. The eloquent Burke 
 obtained no fame by any of his fine works^ till he 
 chanced to take up a popular topic on the right side 
 of court patronage . Notwithstanding the genius of 
 Byron, seconded by the far more advantageous 
 introduction of rank and fortune, his success w^as not 
 gained without a violent struggle. How would his 
 Lordship have fared as an obscure individual ? If 
 Constable had not been an exception to the race of 
 publishers, Scott's novels would probably have run 
 
 c 2 
 
28 
 
 the gauntlet through all the trade. A contingency 
 may give speedy popularity to a man of genius, who 
 otherwise might have found a premature grave, 
 after the melancholy manner of Otway, Chatterton, 
 Burns, Logan, Pattison, Carey, White, Keats, 
 Ayton, Fletcher, &c. &c. &c. 
 
 The most amiable and entertaining works, full 
 of talent and beauty, and '' void of offence," have 
 shared the common lot. It must be a regular I'ule: 
 if not, what else could have occasioned the invari- 
 able rejection of such charming books as Robinson 
 Crusoe, the Vicar of Wakefield, &c. Surely it 
 could not have been stupidity ; or if so, there is at 
 least the merit of its being the very perfection of 
 that rare quality in bibliopolists. Bloomfield's 
 Poems were sent from door to door, in the same 
 manner. 
 
 Every body remembers the prodigious success of 
 the " Rejected Addresses," and they also were, with- 
 terror, rejected ; so was Beresford's " Miseries of 
 Human Life," which sold, as they say in the trade, 
 *' like wildfire,'"* directly it appeared. We could 
 give a list of rejected works, now popular to the 
 
29 
 
 highest degree, that, with a very brief accompa- 
 nying explanation or comment, would probably fill 
 half the pages of the present Exposition. In fact, 
 with few exceptions, it would be giving a ** black 
 list " of all the best works our literature possesses. 
 
 Independent however, of this proved blindness, 
 there is also a curious system now adopted by 
 publishers, even when the case is reduced to one of 
 a palpable, business-like advantage. AVe will give 
 a unique instance, not very easy of solution. 
 
 A gentleman about a twelvemonth since, having 
 written what he conceived an original work, offered 
 it to a publisher of respectability and capital, toge- 
 ther with one hundred guineas — not as an advance, 
 or with any view to its being refunded — but purely 
 as a compliment to qualify his own want of sufficient 
 literary reputation to justify the presumption of 
 producing an original work. After due and minute 
 consideration, the publisher ; admitting quite as 
 much merit and originality as the writer cared to 
 hear from him ; declined the offer. The author 
 requested to know if there were any objections in a 
 political, moral, or religious point of view; as he 
 
30 
 
 was not aware of it himself? Was the title unfa- 
 vourable, for if so, he would change it? "Nothing 
 of the kind : the great objection was the style, which 
 was not like that of any other writer !" " The very 
 thing,""* said the author, *' which, if it had not come 
 naturally to me, I should have taken pains to pro- 
 duce. The public are literally gasping for some- 
 thing new, and for excitement. Besides, style is 
 to matter, only what the frame is to the picture, or 
 the contents of a box to the wood-work."" The 
 publisher admitted this : still, it was not the " taste 
 of the day — it ought to be re-written." '' It is not 
 the defunct taste of the day," represented the 
 author ; " and that what you advocate is defunct, 
 is manifest by the present indifference of the public 
 to works of a similar description, compared with 
 their extraordinary request a few years since. It is 
 novelty that is wanted, and craved for at all times — 
 now especially — yet all novelties, no matter by what 
 merit supported, have been refused at first by every 
 purveyor to the public. It is prudence to act 
 according to a set rule ; it is a point of wisdom to 
 know when to make a judgmatic exception.'' The 
 
SI 
 
 publisher admitted all this, and a great deal more. 
 The author challenged him to name a " stock-book" 
 of importance, which, as a first work, had not been 
 rejected by all the publishers ? " He did not know 
 that he could : — but the subject in question was 
 only a manuscript ! " 
 
 The above individual, having formed himself in 
 solitude upon his own models and reflections, with- 
 out any mechanical imitation of others, or identi- 
 fying himself with any particular * school ; ' and 
 having been a steady and searching self-examiner 
 for years, thought he might venture to send his 
 work to a second publisher. 
 
 He did so, with the same pecuniary offer. The 
 money was declined before the MS. was seen ; 
 " the publisher not requiring anything of the kind, 
 if he liked the work," (verbatim) and the latter 
 was returned very soon after, the objection being 
 doubtless of the same kind as before. It ought 
 not to be omitted, that the first publisher to whom 
 he made the offer, declined the money also, before 
 the MS. was sent, and in nearly the same words. 
 
 The gentleman stared a little; and if he was 
 
82 
 
 surprised at the second rejection of his work, he 
 Avas no less so, at the unhesitating generosity with 
 which his pecuniary offer was politely waved in both 
 instances. Thinking it however, a somewhat hard 
 case that his manuscript, possessing, as he believed, 
 some merit and originality, should be " shelfed " 
 without a hearing, chiefly on account of its style 
 {which, upon a fresh examination and comparison 
 with that of others, he really could not find to be 
 so uncouth and outre, as the antipathy manifested 
 against it had almost led him to fear) he deter- 
 mined to supersede the difficulty without further 
 delay, by making the sum adequate to the whole 
 expense of print and paper. He accordingly 
 
 .offered the work to Mr. M together with two 
 
 hundred guineas, in a most unqualified manner; to 
 be given on the instant, and without any after- 
 consideration whatever. 
 
 The offer was politely declined, the work never 
 having been seen. It onlv remains to add, that 
 there was no personal prejudice on the part of any 
 of these gentlemen, against the writer : on the 
 contrary perhaps. 
 
83 
 
 The above story is one of those which ought to 
 end in some good joke. This is not impossible ; 
 but at present the only joke to be made of it, is 
 that of the MS. which the author — simple man — 
 had fancied rather a lofty affair, being laid at full 
 length among the cobwebs. The sum offered with 
 it, would have met all the most important expenses; 
 there was no essential objection to the work, as 
 disagreeably involving author, publisher, and 
 public ; and the connection alone of all these pub- 
 lishers, especially the last, would have ensured 
 their gain, probably to the same extent as the 
 author had secured them against loss. The 
 anecdote is merely given as a curiosity in the 
 annals of the publishing business. 
 
 "" Aye," quoth some persevering man of "letters," 
 
 bearino' a sins^ular resemblance to Mr. 's 
 
 Delphic oracle ; " but ought we not to have some 
 authority for such a story ? " 
 
 "• It can be given beyond doubt." 
 
 " Then, we shrewdly suspect who the person 
 alluded to, must be." 
 
 " We plead guilty." 
 
 " Well, sir ; and where is the proof of your 
 c3 
 
34 
 
 work being worth publishing, eitlier as regards 
 pubUsher, or pubhc; the respective interests of 
 whom, are not necessarily identified. It is a 
 pleasant jest to hear you assume that the merit 
 and originality of your book, should supersede the 
 palpable objection of its non-conformity with the 
 express style adopted at the present moment in 
 modern literature." 
 
 " We apologise for being alive."''' 
 
 " This is mere talk: the chances are, at the very 
 least, ten to one, sir, that your work was some trash 
 that would only injure a publisher's reputation .'"' 
 
 " True ; they have suffered." 
 
 " That it was some book of vague, vamped-up 
 theories, as dull as fustian and the total absence of 
 all genuine novelty could make it." 
 
 '' Mr said its novelty was its only sin."'' 
 
 " Ah, a polite excuse, with no more meaning 
 than * Farewell — God bless you."* The taste of 
 the day, sir, is an imperative requisition, even if 
 your production really contained anything to 
 entitle it to notice ; but I can see no reason at 
 present, why I should not think you a fool."'^ 
 
 " Granted." 
 
d5 
 
 IV. 
 
 Disappointed Authoes. — All Authors are 
 disappointed, more or less, and where there happens 
 to be an " extraordinary" exception, it looks like a 
 mistake ! — every body speaks of it with astonish- 
 ment, as though they wondered what the world 
 could have been about ? What ! shall a man of 
 genius " steal a march'** upon us — and live? 
 
 D'Israeli, in his Calamities of Authors, afteK 
 giving a painful account of the difficulties and 
 mortifications of the philosopher Hume, thus con- 
 tinues. 
 
 ''It was after preparing a second edition of 
 Virgil, that the great Dryden, who had lived, and 
 was to die in harness, found himself still obliged to 
 seek his daily bread. Scarcely relieved from one 
 heavy task, he was compelled to hasten to another ; 
 and his efforts were now stimulated by a domestic 
 feeling ; the expected return of his son in ill- 
 health from Rome. In a letter to his bookseller he 
 
36 
 
 pathetically writes, ' if it please God that I must die 
 of' over-studij, I cannot spend my life better than 
 in preserving his.' He was at this time on the 
 verge of his seventieth year*." 
 
 The same author informs us, that the celebrated 
 works of Prideaux, &c. were a long time before they 
 could find publishers, ''and much longer before they 
 found readers. It is said that Sir Walter Raleigh 
 burnt the second volume of his History, from the 
 ill success, the first had met with." — Farneworth's 
 elaborate translation, with notes and dissertations, 
 of Machiavel's works, was hawked about the toivn — 
 " After other laborious works of this kind, he left 
 his family in distressed circumstances. Observe, 
 this excellent book now bears a high price." A 
 similar fate attended the authors of the Biographia 
 Britannica -f- . 
 
 * jMiseries of Successful Authors. 
 
 f '' 1 shall just mention here, that we have had many 
 highly valuable works suspended for their want of public 
 patronage, to the utter disappointment, and sometimes" {com- 
 monli), except they were independent of the world) " i\\e ruin 
 of their authors ; such as Oldys's ' British Librarian,' Mor- 
 
87 
 
 How many authors besides, Swift, Collins, Cow- 
 ley, &c. have gone melancholy or raging mad, 
 from the incessant action and re-action of hope, 
 mortification, and penury, over-exciting that pecu- 
 liar nervous system which so fatally appertains to 
 intellectual men. How innumerable a mass might 
 exclaim with Cowley, " This I do affirm, that from 
 all which I have written, I never received the least 
 benefit, or the least advantage ! "" 
 
 To what a long, melancholy list of justly admired 
 writers, like Mr. Banim, will the words of the poet 
 apply. 
 
 The laurels he had won, were withering fast ; 
 Lean "\Vant pluck'd at them— and abortive liopes^ 
 Shaped into more than human misery. 
 The circle sentinell'd where'er he moved* !" 
 
 Nor is this all ; for where the sympatliy of the 
 
 gan's ' Phoenix Britannicus/ Dr. Berkenhout's ' Biographia 
 Literaria,' Professor Martyn's and Dr. Lettice's 'Antiquities 
 of Herculaneum :' all these are fi?'st volumes, there are no 
 seconds ! They are now rare, curious and high priced !" 
 
 * From a poem entitled Albert, or the Fatalist; evidently 
 by a young author, though we know not who he is. It is 
 full of fine passages, and fell " still born" from the press. 
 
as 
 
 public is denied to any author, of whatever merit, 
 and his writings are attacked and calumniated, that 
 denial extends also to any defence he may make. 
 
 When a writer has laboured, perhaps for years, 
 to obtain a given success and station with the 
 public, whereby he might gain a moderate compe- 
 tence, or livelihood — hard-earned in any case — and 
 finds all his productions, either treated with neglect, 
 or denied to possess any merit by other authors, 
 critics, or men in place ; if he sends forth a 'retort' 
 upon those by whom he is ' written down ' or coun- 
 teracted, it is quite common for uninterested per- 
 sons to turn aside the force of his reply, and evade 
 the sally from his besieged hope, with easy levity, 
 and the acutely trite observation, "• Aye, aye, we 
 see — a Disappointed Author ! " Now, without 
 entering into the question, of whether a disap- 
 pointed author can, by possibility, or cannot, 
 possess any sterling capability, which the public 
 and other censors have denied, or overlooked (as 
 the above way of treating the matter is q^uite apart 
 from the troublesome consideration) we would 
 merely hint, that truth is by no means incom- 
 
^9 
 
 patible with personal experience ; and where suf- 
 fering does not drive the mind into egotism and 
 extravagance, it is very likely to make a man 
 master of his subject. Disappointment is expe- 
 rience ; and to those who possess fortitude, it adds 
 practical powei', which is the right application of 
 experience. 
 
 Disappointment is the step -mother and provoca- 
 tive of true power, as deep suffering is its nurse 
 and increase. Any author of modern times, pos- 
 sessing one atom of real genius, whom incessant 
 disappointment cannot kill or disable, is sure 
 eventually to succeed, if he pledges to himself his 
 human will. But if he has a wife and family, the 
 world may have ' the laugh ' against him as long 
 as he lives* ! 
 
 Yet we ought to explain, that by the term ' suc- 
 
 * " If the letters of the widows and children of many 
 of our eminent authors were collected, they would demon- 
 strate the great fact, that the vian who is a husband and a 
 father ought not to be an author. They might weary with a 
 monotonous cry, and usually would be dated from the guol 
 or the garret." — D'Israeli. 
 
40 
 
 cess,' we mean the admission of his merit by the 
 world; not that this by any means necessarily 
 includes competency. For a certain period after 
 his coming into notice, an author may gain a suffi- 
 ciency for his comfort ; but it is scarcely ever 
 permanent, and be the eclat with which he first 
 appears, what it may, he generally dies in the same 
 distress as if he had never been known. [With the 
 exception of not more thaii half a dozen indivi- 
 duals (and those of present times would make but 
 a small addition if included, though they cannot be 
 adduced as proofs without the fiat of the future *) 
 we are persuaded that no author, out of the thousands 
 and tens of thousands who have lived in England, 
 ever gained a respectable permanent maintenance 
 exclusively by his writings — unless those writings 
 were such as posterity dismisses to oblivion ! The 
 
 * The literature of Germany, rich as it is, is also of too 
 modern a date to be included. It only commenced with 
 Klopstock, about eighty years since. A. G. De Schlegel, 
 Characteristik der Deutschen Litc}^atuj\ 
 
 Perhaps this note was not very necessary after Weisser's 
 epigram. 
 
41 
 
 greatest abstract merit finds scarcely any reward : 
 and of all the authors who have ever Kved in the ^^ 
 world (omitting France) we defy anybody to adduce 
 twenty good instances to the contrary ! \ 
 
 After all that has been previously advanced how- 
 ever, we have now to deprecate a too hasty accusa- 
 tion of eccentricity, when we affirm that the neglect, 
 disappointment, and sufferings of authors, and men 
 of genius in general, are not half so much to be 
 attributed to the publishers or other purveyors — to 
 their own erratic conduct — nor even, in a direct 
 sense, to the public — as we have been hitherto led 
 to believe. This will be made manifest when we 
 come to analyze the cause. 
 
 V. 
 
 Of Dramatic Authors. — It is either an isno- 
 rant or a cruel falsehood, to assert that dramatic 
 genius is extinct in England. It is equally an 
 unjust and stupid reproach, to say that the public 
 
42 
 
 give it no encouragement. The public have not the 
 opportunity. It is the medium, that is false and 
 unfavourable ; and without a proper atmosphere, 
 how should we receive heat or light from the sun ? 
 It is not a dramatic age, we grant; but upon the 
 same principlcj we might argue inversely, that it 
 was not an age of famine among the working 
 classes, because there was an abundance of agricul- ^^ 
 turists and manufacturers ready to produce to any 
 extent. The dramatic power exists, though the 
 efforts are not advantageously manifested. We see 
 the spirit without the form, in many works. Who 
 will undertake to deny that the author of " Joseph 
 and his Brethren," (Whittaker, 1824) and " Stories 
 after Nature,"" (Allman, 1822) could write a ge- 
 nuine fine tragedy ? or to prove that th^ author of 
 Hecatompylos (Athenaeum, Vol. i. No. 23.) has no 
 dramatic power ? or, if we mention a writer of high 
 and admitted reputation, that the author of Paul 
 ChfFord could not produce a sterling comedy, in 
 which the philosophy, wit, and humour, could only 
 be surpassed by its sound and beneficial moral ten- 
 dency ? There are many individuals, whose names 
 
43 
 
 are quite unknown to the public, in whom the true 
 
 dramatic power, though dormant, is very far from 
 
 "extinct;"" yet who will believe it without the 
 
 entire proof? The world is only credulous vhere 
 / 
 ' calumny is concerned : of all wit, wisdom, virtue, 
 
 genius, a severe ordeal is exacted ; and well for the 
 unfortunate possessor, if he can then surmount the 
 cautious, evil-eyed, mechanical scrutiny. 
 
 It is not generally understood that the intellec- 
 tual passion which stimulates, and can alone pro- 
 duce a fine tragedy — perfect in the elements upon 
 which it is founded ; in the torrent-like momentum 
 of its action ; and in its uncompromised results — ■ 
 must naturally in almost all cases, be attended with 
 a commensurate pride in the possession and indepen- 
 dent exercise of its power. Perhaps it is only 
 understood by the few who possess, or who appre- 
 ciate the value of real pride. Such men may write 
 an occasional tragedy for their own satisfaction, or 
 that of a friend, but they do not deign to offer them 
 to the be-devilled bear-garden of the royal patent 
 theatres ! They prefer retiring into the wilds of 
 Yorkshire, Cumberland, or North Wales; and 
 
not unfrequently seek a precarious existence in 
 voluntary exile to some far distant country. It is 
 not improbable however, that amidst the five or six 
 hundred pieces annually offered to the theatres, 
 there may be one or two instances of a fine tragedy 
 sent by some unknown author, impelled by stress 
 of circumstances, and at the same time not being 
 sufficiently aware of the futihty. Of course it 
 never appears. 
 
 The extraordinary measures and practices of the 
 managerial purveyors of both the large houses, have 
 been such as to ruin themselves, and — which is far 
 more important — the stage. Their blindness and 
 obstinate folly, are truly wonderful ; and notwith- 
 standing the public mind has long been opening 
 to a conviction of their erroneous proceedings, to 
 iudge only by its effects ; the mischievous system is 
 to a much greater extent than generally imagined, 
 as the writer of the present Exposition has had many 
 opportunities of knowing, although he has never 
 offered any piece to any theatre. In order to pre- 
 vent mistaken impressions in the perusal of the 
 ensuing pages, he would merely state, that his few 
 
4 
 
 K 
 
 accidental trifles which others have thought worth 
 publishing, have always been favourably received, 
 and he begs leave to inform those connected with 
 the managers, publishers &c. (with a bow !) that he 
 is not a Disappointed Author. 
 
 Since the age of Elizabeth we have only liad 
 three or four reading tragedies; and all these 
 within little more than the last hundred years. 
 Cato; which wants passion, and is very heavy in 
 progression (it died with John Kemble) ; and the 
 Cenci ; which is too powerful and true a picture of 
 the unnatural. The tlnrd and fourth are left to 
 the Reader. Byron''s dramas are full of fine passages, 
 but are quite undramatic as 'wholes. Of acting trage- 
 dies — and action is essential to real tragedy, since the 
 above distant period scarcely any worth the name 
 have come to light; though it is not impossible but 
 some may have been '* shelfed '" or destroyed by 
 the theatrical readers, from whom, till within these 
 last few years, a rejected or neglected play could 
 scarcely ever be obtained by its author. Of 
 " Douglas " we would wish to speak well (not- 
 withstanding its want of force and grandeur, both 
 in thought and style ; the latter being poor as a 
 
4(5 
 
 prize poem) because Home was persecuted by the 
 Scotch clergy for writing "a stage-play." The 
 author of K-unnimede was stigmatised in a similar 
 manner. It appears however, that we have had 
 but one fine specimen since the time of Elizabeth : 
 Ot way's " Venice Preserved." The rest are made 
 by the actor. Brutus, Bertram, Sir Edward Mor- 
 timer (the Falkland of Godwin) and the tragi- 
 comedy of Sir Giles Overreach, will probably all 
 die with Kean. The secret of their success with 
 him ; for no one else wisely attempts them ; is be- 
 cause, however deficient in strength and elevation of 
 lano-uao-e and in general execution, they contain 
 some of the elementary principles of tragedy, which 
 lie onl}^ can feel and pourtray*. It is the same with 
 Pasta, when she fills up with substantial life and 
 passion the unformed operatic phantoms of Medea, 
 Semiramide, Anna Boleyn, &c. She is an inexpres- 
 
 * Since writing the above, the great tragedian is no more : 
 but he can never be dead, so long as those live who have once 
 awoke from ordinary existence to appreciate him. A deep, 
 continuous feeling, is worth all your tombs ; for no capricious 
 moral multitude, can destroy, or even disturb, its sacred 
 isolation. We sincerely hope he will never be laid in 
 Westminster Abbey. 
 
47 
 
 sible loss to the British drama. To have written a 
 tragedy for such a spirit, would be sufficient reward 
 to any author; because the saturating impression 
 would lift him through life with full sense of dignity, 
 and the consummation of intellectual passion, and 
 crown his death-bed with immortal memories ! 
 
 The public have been so long without any fresh 
 effort of dramatic genius, that they do not seem to 
 know wherein its essence consists — and the critics do 
 not tell them. They quietly tolerate the audacious 
 and ignorant stage-mutilation of Shakspeare's great- 
 est tragedy ; and with equivocal indifference, see 
 King Lear end, after all, in a respectable old gen- 
 tleman, who retires into the country, " and in 
 meditation — &c." A tragedy — and that one, Shaks- 
 peare'*s — ending in meditation ! Yet the quickness 
 with which the public take up any thing that is put 
 forth, especially if "crammed down," with a high- 
 flown ostentatious show of tragedy, proves at all 
 events, their wish to encourage, and contradicts the 
 false assertions of the managers. "Werner*" has a 
 host of admirers. It is a bad tragedy, because it 
 has nothing lofty in good or evil, in its foundation. 
 A disinherited nobleman steals some money — and 
 
48 
 
 his applauded son, is discovered to be an anoma- 
 lous cut-throat ! The play ends in a general evasion 
 of result. As to style, it is not poor or negative, 
 like the generality of these modern mistakes ; but 
 inexcusably bad throughout. " Francis the First " 
 is an abortive attempt, because its chief character 
 commences with the greatest pretensions of inherent 
 power, and ends with the weakest compromise — and 
 at the fourth act ! Surely so stupendous a person- 
 age as the Queen ]\Iother, might liave '' held out " 
 were it only for the sake of appearances, till the end 
 of her child's play, before she suffered the boy to 
 send her into a nunnery ? It was a weak subject, 
 weakly treated, and passed through fourteen editions 
 in a short time. 
 
 . VI. 
 
 Of Composers, and Instrumental Perfor- 
 mers. — It is no particular compliment to genius, 
 to assert that England contains many Composers, 
 whose names are at present little known, who are 
 
49 
 
 very superior to those who have been for a long 
 period most influential in our feudal patent theatres. 
 
 " Sir Knight, thy glory clarioneth the heavens/' 
 And, at the other house, there was no great effort, 
 either of genius or honour, in the Director adapting 
 foreign compositions, with shameful liberties and 
 interpolations, and putting them forth with the 
 flourish of his own patronising name. It is too like 
 an ecclesiastic robbing the sanctuary of faith and 
 hope, and calling the deed ' charity ! "* 
 
 Let an Opera possess the highest genius and 
 science — it will either be refused, delayed, or 
 mutilated beyond bearing ; and if it appear — 
 whether thus capriciously deprived of its merit 
 and best chances, or not — there is little likelihood 
 of its success. The justly celebrated, and high- 
 wrought Overture to Der Freyschutz, was per- 
 formed at an Oratorio before it became known to 
 the public, and was received with such negative 
 indifference that the forth-coming Opera itself was 
 withdrawn, and did not appear at the theatres till 
 about three years afterwards. This was not the 
 fault of the Public ; they are only learners. It was 
 
 D 
 
50 
 
 eventually brought out at the English Opera, 
 through Mr. Braham's resolute influence (not the 
 desire of the Manager) after having been refused 
 by the large theatres — the Managers liking the plot, 
 but the Directors disliking the music, and insisting 
 that it would not succeed. Mr. Bishop modestly 
 offered to put music of his own instead i Admitting 
 that the ears of these worthies could not appreciate 
 the original melodies, where was their science that 
 did not perceive the original harmonies ? The 
 emoluments were subsequently so enormous, though 
 the Composer reaped scarcely any benefit, that Weber, 
 on first hearing the estimate, forgetting his fame 
 (and probably thinking of his family =^) exclaimed, 
 " Would I had been a music-seller ! " The recep- 
 tion of that beautiful and equally original pro- 
 duction, " Oberon," at which he presided himself, 
 was such as to give a final blow to his weak 
 frame, and already over-excited sensibilities — not 
 being aware of the chief cause, which might, or 
 ought to have made, all the difference in the effect 
 upon him. He died a few days after ; and the 
 
 * They are living at present, and in distressed circumstances. 
 
51 
 
 Public were especially informed that the climate 
 killed him ! No sooner however is he dead, than 
 the most imbecile quack that was ever at the top of 
 his profession — a Director who never had a firm 
 opinion of his own — gets the portrait of Weber 
 painted, with the exact fallen expression, and 
 cadaverous complexion, to which the then great 
 man was reduced by sad mortality's last debt — even 
 to the very look of the glazed eye, by express 
 order ; and hanging it up in his private room of 
 office, called upon every fresh comer-in, to sympa- 
 thise with him in admiration of Weber''s genius, &c. 
 But mark the unconscious movements of innate 
 weakness : he could not face his living look, even 
 in a picture ! 
 
 Weber's contemporary, Beethoven, whose high 
 fame was universally established, was compelled 
 in his latter years, when infirm and deaf, to write 
 pieces for his maintenance. The Philharmonic 
 Society generously sent over to the most scientific 
 of countries, one hundred pounds for his relief; 
 under the impression that he was starving — which 
 however, his industry had superseded. He was 
 
 d2 
 
52 
 
 dead when the money arrived there. Instead of 
 the amount being gratefully returned, it was seized 
 upon by some graceless heir at law, and the 
 Society have been ridiculed as fools, by those 
 sort of gentry who would starve a man of genius 
 a second time, if they had the chance. 
 
 We omit the names of a great many other Com- 
 posers who have lived and died in poverty. After 
 mentioning the treatment of Gay and Carey, we will 
 confine ourselves to present times. 
 
 Perhaps no piece was ever offered to a theatr 
 which was so immediately and permanently success- 
 ful as the " Beggar's Opera ; *" but it was rejected 
 according to custom, by the goose " in place,"" and 
 only brought out in consequence of the determined 
 resistance of its author to the ignorant or selfish 
 impertinence of his opponents. How many other 
 pieces, which would have proved admirable addi- 
 tions to our miserable stock of English Operas, 
 have been treated in a similar way, and then 
 consigned to oblivion, by the shameless stupidity, 
 self-interest, or idle prejudices of those who stand as 
 Barriers between men of ability and the public. 
 
5S 
 
 At the very time that Carey; Author of the words 
 and music of " God Save the King," &c. &c., to 
 whose memory no one has done justice but Mr. 
 D'IsraeU ; " could neither walk the streets, nor be 
 seated at the convivial board, without Ustening to 
 his own songs, and his own music — for in truth the 
 whole nation was echoing his verse, and crowded 
 theatres were clapping to his wit and humour — while 
 this very man himself, urged by his strong huma- 
 nity, had founded a" Fund for decayed musicians" — 
 at this very moment was poor Carey himself so 
 broken-hearted, and his own common comforts so 
 utterly neglected, that in despair, not waiting for 
 Nature to relieve him from the burthen of existence, 
 he laid violent hands on himself; and when found 
 dead, had only a halfpenny in his pocket ! *" 
 
 We have those among us, little known to the 
 public, who can compose songs and instrumental 
 pieces of the highest order. If the deep and pathetic 
 Ballad, entitled " A Last Remembrance," and the 
 beautiful song of " Our own Fire-side," had been the 
 production of one of the "craft '"* it would have had 
 as great a success as many we could mention ; and 
 Jar better deserved : neither are the sweet and ori- 
 
54 
 
 ginal melodies of Linley sufficiently appreciated; and 
 how much less so, the pathos of sentiment, and fine 
 combination of sensibility and science, in those of 
 Roberts. His " Maid of Athens '^ will live as long 
 as Byron's poetry. While the legerdemain of 
 Henri Herz and Moschelles is " executed " by half 
 the town, how little is Dr. Crotch valued beyond the 
 audience of the " few." But admitting that a highly 
 gifted composer of songs or instrumental pieces, 
 whom we will suppose quite unknow^n — a thing 
 possible — can get fairly before the public ; which is 
 exceedingly difficult from various causes ; how 
 meagre is his doubtful emolument ; or if moderately 
 satisfactory, there must be a circumscription of the 
 number of his productions, or a surfeit is the 
 consequence. Such an individual cannot by the 
 exercise of his best abilities, maintain himself and 
 family with respectability, or perhaps procure the 
 necessaries of life, during any length of time. He 
 is therefore compelled to seel: the precarious 
 drudgery of giving lessons in music. Who does 
 not commiserate (to what end ?) the melancholy 
 death of the author of the Witches' Glee ? 
 
 Of ir.strumental performers, we have some of the 
 
55 
 
 first in the world. The emolument they derive 
 from the exercise of that talent which has cost them 
 a life of labour, and perhaps the destruction of 
 their constitution, is trivial compared with that 
 of the most wretched tenor singer on the stage — 
 though the superlative may be difficult to name. 
 To speak generally, the solo performers are of the 
 highest talent; the male singers, of the meanest. 
 The instrumentalists are wondrously "applauded" 
 whenever they perform ; but their maintenance is 
 entirely by teaching; and this is found so very 
 inadequate, that nearly all of them are compelled 
 to give instructions in other instruments besides, or 
 in preference to those upon which they are pre- 
 eminent in excellence. How few, except those con- 
 nected with the profession, ever learn the trumpet, 
 clarionet, or violoncello? — yet Harper, Willman, 
 and Lindley surpass every one else, of whatever 
 country. Puzzi performs wonders on the French 
 horn, and is obliged to teach the piano. The harp; 
 to meet the question on the contrary ; is very 
 much in request ; yet Chatterton, Sen.^ who has as 
 much execution as Bochsa in his best days, and as 
 
56 
 
 all those who have ever heard him at private par- 
 ties — the best test of any performer — are of opinion, 
 is unequalled in taste and beauty of expression, 
 found it requisite, till very lately, to teach the 
 piano also. Huerta, whose instrument, heard in a 
 private room, realises all our poetical ideas of the 
 lute, and far surpasses anticipation in the force and 
 variety of his effects, found it impossible to earn a 
 maintenance here. He went over to France, and a 
 pension was given him almost immediately. 
 
 The mechanical and the subservient; the false 
 in taste, and the futile in result, are the only things 
 that pay ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Of Actors and Singers. — Mrs. Siddons on 
 obtaining her first engagement at Drury Lane, was 
 kept almost entirely to the second-rate parts ; and 
 at the end of the season, was politely informed that 
 her services would not again be needed. She was 
 
57 
 
 obliged to return into the country where she Ve- 
 nnained seven years before she again ventured to 
 offer her services to the ignorant Thebans. This 
 is the one isolated great exception to the ordinary 
 influence of managerial ignorance, Mrs. Siddons 
 having been shelfed in consequence of the alarmed 
 jealousy of Garrick. He ought to have had a 
 deep sympathy with her situation ; especially as he 
 had been rejected himself. The supercilious and 
 tasteful Mr. Rich, (who, as Gait informs us, kept 
 about a dozen pet cats I) then manager of one of the 
 great theatres, treated him as a mere stroller from 
 the country ; and Mr. Fleetwood, the other block- 
 head, being no doubt of a very similar opinion, 
 Garrick was eventually obliged to make his 
 " debut""* at a minor theatre in Goodman's Fields ! 
 Before John Kemble could obtain a Metropolitan 
 engagement at one of the great theatres, he was 
 obliged, during nearly ten years, to work his 
 painful way through almost all the provincials. 
 While in Dublin, after six or seven years' strollino- 
 had procured him considerable fame, the proprie- 
 tors of Covent Garden havino- heard that there 
 
58 
 
 was a brother of Mrs. Siddons who was " very 
 great," engaged his fat brother Stephen by mis- 
 take* ! We may take this as a fair general criterion, 
 of the palpable grossness of a ]\Ianager^s judgment. 
 It was probably owing to this ludicrously ignorant 
 blunder, that John Kemble did not get an engage- 
 ment in London till three years afterwards. While 
 acting in Liverpool, he and Mrs. Siddons were 
 both hooted from the stage, and the walls of the 
 city covered with doggrels expressive of contempt 
 and derision f. 
 
 When Mrs. Jordan first appeared at Drury 
 Lane, with the paltry salary of four pounds per 
 week (which was raised to thirty, directly she 
 applied to Sheridan, who was the subsequent 
 manager) she was expressly engaged to play 
 tragedjj, the seconds to Mrs. Siddons ; the mana- 
 gers not having the least idea that her talent lay 
 in the very opposite line — till she had succeeded to 
 a surprising degree ! 
 
 * Oxberry's Dramatic Biography, 
 ■f Kemble's Letter to Mrs. Inchbald. 
 
59 
 
 The thorough purblindness of the Operatic au- 
 thorities to the inherent capabilities of Madame 
 Pasta, which ought to have been evident to them 
 in every trifling part she was permitted to perform, 
 is one of the most characteristic enormities. The 
 neglect was carried, as usual, through the whole 
 of the '' corps Operatique," and manifested by every 
 worm in office. Even the wardrobe- women used to 
 send her the refuse dresses, saying with ' noncha- 
 lance,' that " anything would do Jbr Pasta ! " It 
 is more generally known (though the public have 
 not yet troubled themselves to draw any inference 
 from these gigantic instances) that Kean was only 
 brought out at Drury Lane by way of an experi- 
 ment to fill the house for one night at least, as the 
 theatre was close upon its downfall ; and if possi- 
 ble to create some " disturbance " about him for a 
 short time ! It was considered hy those in the 
 secret, as a feasible /fo«<r ,• and that such was their 
 opinion, is well known to most of the individuals 
 who were present at his rehearsal, or who are 
 acquainted with the memorable circumstances of 
 that rehearsal, and the previous sufferances of the 
 4: ' 
 
60 
 
 " debutant*.'' The greatest tragedian that ever 
 ascended the dramatic throne, was made the finger- 
 mark and low jest of the principals in every "line 
 of business" — and thence downwards to the scene- 
 shifters and door-keepers ; as will be particularly 
 remembered by Messrs. Rae, Wrench, and that 
 
 prince of perverse Loggerheads, Mr. . If any 
 
 one of the establishment appreciated him, it was 
 Mr. Arnold — who was reprimanded for it by the 
 Committee. Kean rose speedily to the pinnacle of 
 success ; and although he met with considerable 
 opposition, especially from the press, it only served 
 to make him further noised abroad. He, whose 
 provincial pantomime had commonly been preferred 
 to his tragedy, saved the Patent Theatre from utter 
 
 * We are not singular in the above statement. A writer 
 after telling us that Mr. Grenfell saw that Drury Lane would 
 be beaten out of the field by the other house " if chance did 
 not work a very material change &c." gives us some of the 
 expressions of the Committee uttered to Kean's face ; as 
 " God bless me ! what a poor looking thing !"_« He'll destroy 
 the concern !" said oxvo^hex.— Morning Chronicle, May 16th. 
 
 See also his shameful treatment by the Treasury, and his 
 waiting- an hour npon the landing-place, for the explanation 
 which was refused. How would- the feelings of sich a man 
 fill up an hour under such circumstances! What could re- 
 pay it ? 
 
61 
 
 ruin the moment he first appeared upon the stage ; 
 and the giants of " heavy tragedy," according to 
 tlieir own apt technicahty, like cowering tyrants, 
 turned and fled, 
 
 " When insupportably his foot advanc'd ! " 
 
 The managers looked wise at one another ! Had 
 the hoax succeeded dangerously well? — or was it a 
 real " hit," by aiccident ? — or how ? 
 
 In like manner, Miss 0''\eill was brought out 
 at Coven t Garden, as a mere experiment to find 
 some novelty that would enable them to stand 
 against the extraordinary effect produced by Kean 
 at the other house. They first made overtures to a 
 Mrs. Pitt, who however declined to take the first 
 tragic parts. They next thought of a ]Miss Wal- 
 stein, who was then acting with much repute in 
 Dublin ; but her terms were too high, especially as 
 she was sure not to quit a good engagement without 
 the offer of a permanent one in London, which did 
 not fall in with their " experiment." Miss O'Neill 
 was therefore brought out at a low salary ; the 
 managers knowing nothing of the extent of her 
 ability, and being, as usual, in owlish doubt even 
 as to her success 
 
62 
 
 Before Braham was permitted to rise, lie met 
 with much discouragement, and it was insisted by 
 most professionals of the day, that his voice was 
 quite artificial, and his singing " all a trick." It 
 was so incessantly repeated, that he has confessed 
 he at last began to believe it himself. If any one 
 now (after upwards of forty years' "wear and tear,") 
 was to intimate such a thing ; i. e., that his voice 
 was literally reduced to not more than three fine 
 notes, and that his singing was entirely an old 
 stager's art in introducing and sustaining them, it 
 would be considered little short of profanity. To 
 speak the truth at first, is always to stand alone 
 amidst a host ; and in questions including the decay 
 of human faculties, to speak it at last, is exactly 
 the same. Mr. Kean^s acting was an exception to 
 this. Although, from his loss of bodily strength, he 
 was fast upon the wane with the vulgar, to whom 
 gross external power is indispensable, his acting had 
 the same soul of passion to the last, and perhaps 
 was still finer wrought in the subtler manifestations 
 of inward workings, from being compelled to de- 
 pend so much more upon " the spirit" than " the 
 letter.'* But to return to Mr. Braham : if he 
 
6 
 
 o 
 
 possessed less compass ; not to mention style, and 
 method of execution ; than Donzelli, who is con- 
 sidered, in the profession, to have the finest voice 
 ever known, that of Braham was originally the 
 richest-toned tenor that can be imagined ; and in 
 Sacred Music, he never was, and perhaps never 
 will be, equalled. He is now a wonderful old man, 
 and the public cannot be too grateful for his long 
 services, however they may be disinclined to see 
 him enact six different characters in one piece ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood, then Miss Paton, after a long and 
 expensive course of musical education, superadded 
 to her natural vocal capabilities, was obliged to 
 come out at a minor theatre, and for a " benefit." 
 We could add a crowd of similar instances ; in 
 fact, the possession of pre-eminent superiority 
 always ensures the same fate before the first step 
 can be made, unless the individual has some 
 " means" of overcoming the conflicting private 
 interests, or the dull perception of avaricious stu- 
 pidity. The last of the manifold tale of bitter 
 aggravation, that has come under our knowledge, 
 is the treatment of Mr. Lenox, who (tftet^ long and 
 arduous study, was endeavouring during the last 
 
64 
 
 four years, to make his appearance at one of the 
 large houses, for which the extraordinary volume 
 of his voice and the energy of his acting, were more 
 especially calculated— and in vain. He gave several 
 stage proofs at rehearsals in both houses during the 
 interval, but the knight and the bishop could not 
 see, or else would not act, without the medium of a 
 pawn. He came out some months since, as Arta- 
 banes, and although he gave a greater effect than 
 any one else, to the ungainly part — not to place 
 him in unfair competition with a reputation of 
 forty or tifty years'' standing — which was also 
 immediately recognised by almost every news- 
 paper; from some unaccountable cause he has 
 never again appeared. We shall " account" for 
 it very easily, however, by the old system. It 
 was fully anticipated throughout the whole corps 
 dramatique, except Laporte, that he would fail 
 as utterl}^ as H. Phillips did in the same part, 
 though he is the best singer on our stage — and 
 they were all bitterly disappointed. 
 
 Mr. Sapio was a gentleman who possessed a fine 
 voice, a pleasing style, and correct method. He was 
 highly accomplished in his profession, being able to 
 
65 
 
 sustain parts in English, French, and Italian, with 
 equal facility. What has become of Mr. Sapio? 
 He was a favourite with the Public, and a deserving 
 one, but nobody ever inquires after him, or seems 
 to care whether he be alive or dead. Was it that 
 Mr. Sapio behaved like a man of spirit who resists 
 the querulous overbearing impertinence of a quack 
 knight who happens to be placed above him ; or by 
 what other injustice, or cabal, has he been thrown 
 out of all engagement in London for so long a 
 period ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 S Of Novelists, and how to w^rtte a Suc- 
 cessful Novel. — It has been publicly asserted 
 from several quarters, that the novel of Waverley 
 was refused at first by all the publishers. This is 
 not true. We have previously stated that Consta- 
 ble was an exception to the fraternity, being a man 
 of spirit and discrimination ; hence his introduction 
 of a series of works that have produced a more 
 
66 
 
 extensive fame and a larger fortune than were ever 
 acquired before by any living author, or ever will 
 be again. Yet there is rational philosophy in the 
 above statement, though, as a matter of fact, it is 
 quite incorrect. The principle is but too well 
 founded upon experience. Would any other pub- 
 lisher in Scotland, or in London, have ventured 
 into such a ' speculation ' as they call it ? The 
 impression of Scott himself must have been similar 
 to ours, or what could have occasioned his keeping 
 the MS. many years in his desk without offering 
 it* ? Obtuseness or obliquity of judgment in pub- 
 lishers, is a fact of old date. The admirable novel 
 of Tom Jones (among others too numerous even 
 to mention) was refused by every publisher, al- 
 though the distressed author offered the copyright 
 for twenty, or five and twenty pounds ! Swift, 
 Sterne, Goldsmith, Maturin, &c. were treated no 
 better : let us also call to mind the extreme distress 
 and wretchedness of Smollett, (while " booksellers 
 were receiving incomes from his works ! '") and the 
 persecution, ruin and long imprisonment of De Foe. 
 
 * Quaere: might not this have induced the title? 
 
67 
 
 Tlie poverty of the amiable and magnanimous 
 Mrs. Inchbald, is rendered doubly pathetic by the 
 sweetness of her resignation to the harsh and heavy 
 contingencies of an intellectual life. She appears to 
 have gained very little by her writings. J Brockden 
 Brown was also an original genius, and we need 
 say no more. The sapient publishers, however, 
 have not yet found out that Nature and Art, and 
 the novel of Wieland, are far superior to the 
 Simple Story, and Edgar Huntley, by the same 
 authors. 
 
 It may be imagined that in giving a recipe for 
 the construction of a Successful Novel for the present 
 ',' taste of the day," we intend merely a burlesque, or a 
 satirical caricature. Such is not our purpose ; indeed 
 it would be a very difficult task, as the goodness of 
 a caricature depends upon the original subject pos- 
 sessing some inherent great qualities, or a high con- 
 ventional importance, so that it may be effective by 
 force of contrast. This, however, the minor thea- 
 tres have produced (intending to be serious) in 
 adapting certain novels and tales, which are great 
 exceptions to the present style of what is called 
 " works of fiction" — a desio-nation orioinatmg in, 
 
68 
 
 and unconsciously used to convey a sense of their 
 being founded upon false instead of natural prin- 
 ciples — a mere fiction ! But who ever called Ro- 
 binson Crusoe, a work of "fiction,'' or Nature 
 and Art ? We also draw a very determinate line 
 between these exceptions, and such intellectual 
 efforts as are not Novels, though compelled to 
 assume that form, to suit the perverted exclusive- 
 ness of " the day." 
 
 And first, for a Romantic novel — select from some 
 sources little known, if you cannot invent, a story 
 which possesses interest from its admitting of tole- 
 rably striking situations to the external eye ; and 
 place the scene where you are well acquainted, by 
 books or from actual observation, with the localities, 
 which you will find an excellent neutral ground, 
 whenever at fault. If you commit errors in all the 
 passions you attempt to bring into play ; or work 
 up nonentities to a high point, till at last they are 
 obliged to confess themselves by ending in an eva- 
 sion, or a mistake; it is of no consequence — pro- 
 vided you make a picturesque opening, where the 
 reader can stand, and cry out — "the scenery! — 
 the scenery ! — and what romantic decorations ! '' Y\\\ 
 
69 
 
 up the plot with incidents made important by their 
 mystery and minuteness of detail. As many crimes 
 as may be thought effective, can be committed 
 throughout ; wasting no time about the mere 
 subtleties of consistency, or in making invisible 
 references to the secret workings of nature, and 
 such unintelligible stuff (of which we are made) 
 but carefully avoid all serious Jinal results of 
 passion. For example ; if you have portrayed 
 your hero as a powerful character, let him act up to 
 it in progress as much as possible ; see, however, 
 that he compromise it in the end, or else evade the 
 final point and question altogether. This is neces- 
 sary, or your novel will certainly find no publisher. 
 In short, let it be interesting in progress, highly 
 finished in literary execution ; touching the finesse 
 of present style; and without anything essentially 
 traffic in its conclusion. If the writer be a man 
 of genius, he can hardly bring himself to concede 
 the last point : there is " for a' that," one method, 
 which, though attended with an awkward embargo, 
 would perhaps obviate the necessity of marring an 
 impassioned story with an impotent result. Let 
 
70 
 
 him draw out a skeleton of the whole, with an 
 abstract of the progressive contents of each chapter, 
 and then give it to some friend or ally, of talent 
 only, to fill up. Let the title (which all publishers 
 of such works consider as half the battle) be roman- 
 tically striking; elucidating in laconics what young 
 ladies from boarding schools feel on first seeing 
 Wallack in the Brigand ; or any other stage hero 
 who can play the head Turk in the afterpiece; 
 such as, The Bandit's Home, or Won and Worn, 
 &c. If it be not, however, a story of love entirely, 
 and that much damage is done, and a number of 
 lives lost about other matters, let something despe- 
 rate and dreadful be expressed in the shape of a 
 warning, or else followed by a weak, or a trite 
 conventional moral. 
 
 For a Fashionable novel, the title is by far the 
 most important part of the business. This may 
 appear rather like a sarcasm — but the fact may be 
 depended upon. A concise epigram or antithesis 
 upon some prevalent topic, which has just started 
 as you have finished your last volume, is the best 
 general rule ; and the insertion of a fresh scene or 
 
71 
 
 two, and a few sentences here and there, will quite 
 suffice to bear you out. A striking popular proverb 
 or saying, is generally a " trump card " for a title 
 in all cases ; whether for a modern novel, or a song. 
 As to the novel itself, choose a series of amusing 
 incidents, applicable to characters of the present 
 day ; not omitting an occasional high sauce of 
 scandal or flattery, and full of allusion to prevailing- 
 topics; the scene being laid in London, Paris, or 
 some place in the country distinguished by the 
 patronage of the " haut ton." Then, with a polished 
 jaunty style, and as much brilliant water-colour 
 piquancy, as you can give ; with a little occasional 
 sentiment by way of back-ground ; amble gracefully 
 through three volumes, and perorate {pirouette) 
 with a winning aii revoir to the Reader. 
 
 But will this, it may be asked, be highly suc- 
 cessful with the Public, and continue so ? Certainly 
 not. It requires the master-spirit throughout, both in 
 whole and in detail, to gain an extensive circulation, 
 with a prolonged life ; but works, or rather pas- 
 times, written upon the principles we have laid 
 down, will immediately find a publisher (as also ,^ 
 
72 
 
 will a second, and third, in consequence) and be 
 sufficiently well received by the public during the 
 season ; which is quite as much as the generality 
 obtain. Such a thing as a second edition, is never 
 contemplated, by the publisher, nor even perhaps 
 by the author ; nay, the first is apt occasionally to 
 " hang fire,"** where the article happens to be one 
 of the worst specimens of the worst method of 
 book-making, that the annals of our literature can 
 produce. What is become of the immense cargo 
 published by Messrs. Colburn and Bentley during 
 the last few years ? The fate of some of them we 
 know, and may guess that of the rest. At the 
 dissolution of partnership, one bookseller, Mr. Tegg, 
 bought from the dead stock of recent fashionable 
 novels, about £3000 worth, at the rate of half-a- 
 crown each set! — and Mr. C.,the veteran, at the 
 present time is disposing of " the vast remainder," 
 at the reasonable price of e'lghtpence per vol. ; with 
 the " proviso," that they are to be shipped off to 
 foreign lands ! This seems like reversing the story 
 of Scylla and Charybdis. Mr. Bentley has become 
 his successor. 
 
73 
 
 IX. 
 
 Of Painters and Sculptors. — It is foreio;n 
 to our present purpose to enter into any discussion 
 of the comparative merits of ancient and modern 
 Art*, Yet it must be acknowledged, however our 
 national vanity may be provoked upon the occasion, 
 that we are not a painting or sculpturing people. 
 It is not owY Jbrte : it is not the genius of the age. 
 Twenty years ago, how meagre was our appre- 
 ciation of Music ! Bald and antiquated airs, like 
 musty proverbs, were considered the height of 
 perfection by those who passed for ' musical ; "* and 
 even at the present time, how far are we behind 
 our continental neighbours ? There is no need 
 that we should be vexed at this latter fact, espe- 
 cially as the public taste is improving so fast ; but 
 
 * The old masters, many of whom were men of inde- 
 pendent property, were highly patronised by the church, 
 from motives of rehgious zeal and self-interest, rather than 
 comprehension or admiration. Yet Carravaggio died in a 
 ditch ; the great Salvator was banished, &c. Instances 
 among the moderns are too numerous to enter upon. 
 
 E 
 
74 
 
 in Painting we are much less advanced ; our ideas 
 want forming and directing ; and as to Sculpture, we, 
 as a people, are only one remove from passive density. 
 The next remove will be that of impertinence : after 
 which, we may begin to understand a little. To the 
 public, the Elgin marbles are a dead language. 
 We have now possessed them some years ; but we 
 have no intellectual or pleasurable acquaintance 
 with them, whatever. It is all to come. On their 
 first arrival, their merits were doubted and contested 
 by some of our highest professors and popular 
 critics in the fine arts, and they are now only 
 appreciated by a very select few. There is no 
 serious charge of stupidity connected with this; 
 for they require the study of the most intellectual 
 men, before their beauty and grandeur can become 
 sufficiently apparent. But with the public, even 
 the admiration afforded to the more effective and 
 ostensible perfection of the Apollo, Venus, Laocoon, 
 &c. is merely verbal, and because it would look 
 unclassical not to praise them : there is no faith or 
 feeling in the matter. The public mind must be 
 educated to these things, and it cannot be done 
 
75 
 
 hastily. The names of RafFaelle and Titian, are 
 mentioned with respect and admiration by all people 
 of education and taste, and our writers of critiques 
 upon the fine arts, speak with vague applause of 
 the expression of the one, and the colouring of the 
 other; but it is very seldom that a writer, like 
 Mr. Hazlitt, draws out for us and elucidates their 
 definite force and object, their unostentatious points 
 of beauty, and the depth of sentiment, intelligence, 
 or passion, that constitutes the chief subject and 
 highest aim of their principal works. It appears 
 that such things are scarcely ever attempted by any 
 of our modern painters; yet one cannot help think- 
 ing that some of the Royal Academicians (those 
 who can afford it) ought to answer Lamb's essays 
 " On the total absence of the quality of imagination 
 in the works of modern artists !" — not by verbal 
 arguments, but by painting a picture in refutation ? 
 The infinite labour of mechanical excellence ab- 
 sorbs the generality of modern artists ; they see so 
 much in the means, that they defeat, and at last 
 lose sight of, the end. The ideal and impassioned 
 seem to be extinct ; at all events, we find nothing 
 
 e2 
 
76 
 
 of the kind in the works of the all-admired Law- 
 rence, and those of his school. To have reached 
 a perfection in polite taste, in refined harmony of 
 colouring, and elegance of style, was much to have 
 accomplished ; had it not been the means of lead- 
 ing the public mind away from all powerful com- 
 position, till a degree of antipathy has resulted, 
 which has rendered us too effeminate even to endure 
 the sight. Perhaps the pictures of Northcote (not 
 his latter ones) contain m.ore genuine force of style, 
 and intellectuality of purpose, than those of any 
 of his contemporaries. His picture from the play 
 of Richard the Third, is very superior to the 
 numerous lords and ladies " made the most of" by 
 the late courtly President of the Royal Academy. 
 Jackson''s portrait of Flaxman, was also a very 
 different thing; while the "Cain "by Noble, was 
 of that kind of dangerous power, which to the 
 admirers of our present delicate and evanescent 
 style, must have been fearfully offensive. Other 
 pictures have also been occasionally exhibited, which 
 were not in the bad " taste of the day," the artists 
 happening to be too much in advance of their 
 
77 
 
 age, or period, and were consequently either unno- 
 ticed, or mistaken for barbarity. Extremes meet, 
 both in fact and fallacy. 
 
 With respect to Sculpture, it is evidently con- 
 fined at present, to the appreciation of " the 
 few." Compare Lady Damer's fine bust of Nelson ; 
 which has been the object of so much impertinent 
 criticism ; with the numerous portraits bearing his 
 name, that resemble a forlorn hair-dresser ! Has 
 Baily's " Eve '' been appreciated by dull John 
 Bull ! — or his beautiful figure of " Sleep ? '^ — 
 Oh professional critics ! We shall see whether 
 Rossi's statue of the poet Thomson, in the pre- 
 sent exhibition, will be understood; and whai 
 will be said of two or three other fine figures and 
 designs. The intellectual classes of the fine arts, 
 are most unprofitable professions, and the patron- 
 age of Sculpture may be placed at zero, though we 
 have several modern artists whose works are as 
 worthy of praise for their merit as for their personal 
 heroism in making designs that are generally 
 neglected in proportion to such merit. The public 
 liked Tarn O'Shanter and Souter Johnny much 
 
78 
 
 better. We have a free-stone exhibition of a 
 more presumptive kind, now open in Bond-street. 
 And is this misplaced patronage to be wondered at, 
 when we find t]ie public — critics and all — tolerate 
 busts in wigs ! — and marble effigies of gentlemen 
 dressed in fashionable coats, " cut to the quick," the 
 collar, sharp-crossed lapelles, and style of which, 
 are literally given in the stone, as though it were 
 only meant to last a few months ! This is con- 
 founding the high and ideal in sentiment and time, 
 with the very tailoring of the practical hour. 
 These busts, nevertheless, have a claim upon the 
 acquaintance of Posterity ; for we have certainly 
 derived much benefit from the permanent adoption 
 of the excellent paving system of M^ Adam, and 
 through his medium a proper introduction may no 
 doubt be effected. 
 
 The higher walks of Painting and Sculpture are 
 now so discouraged, that those who are capable 
 of any efforts in the great style, will be wise not 
 to waste their labour and their hopes, except they 
 possess sufficient competence to save them from the 
 distress and penury to which their genius will be 
 
79 
 
 certain to reduce them. We have no great reason 
 however, to accuse them of this want of reasonable 
 conviction, as the recent Exhibitions at Somerset 
 House are a sufficient testimony. They are httle 
 better than Exposures^ and contemptible, (and in 
 some cases contemptuous!) reflections of the public 
 taste. All enthusiasm for fine historical subjects, is 
 now merged in a bloated personal vanity ; rendered 
 doubly ridiculous by the individuals being chiefly 
 those who have done nothing in the world to qualify 
 their impertinent supposition of its interest, and 
 also that their '' fac-similes " are destitute of all real 
 beauty, energy, expression, or fine character. Look 
 at the faces that display themselves upon the v^alls 
 of Somerset House ! They are the signs of the 
 times ! 
 
 The above common-place, money-getting "leather 
 and prunella" exhibition of stupid heads, is now 
 justly superseded in popularity by the Water-colour 
 paintings, which are admirable. Wright's picture 
 from Tom Jones, in the exhibition of last year, was 
 one of the most perfect and clever productions we 
 ever saw. Hunt's figures from rustic life are all 
 
80 
 
 inimitable, and his studies of " heads " in the"pre- 
 sent exhibition, are such as might make the Royal 
 Academy shrink abashed. Compare these, and his 
 '' Mendicant," with the innumerable awkward blocks 
 now '' shown up " at Somerset House ! In histori- 
 cal composition also, the water colourists are ad- 
 vancing with rapid steps, as shown in the produc- 
 tions of Stone, Varley, Sharpe, Chisholm, &c. — the 
 landscapes and sea-pieces of G. F. Robson, Turner, 
 Finch, Evans, C. Fielding, Barret, &c. are all 
 exquisite ; and some of them possess a beauty and 
 grandeur of effect, from which the invidious accu- 
 sation of their being worked up with '' body- 
 colour," does not in the least detract, even if it was 
 used to the extent supposed ; which is by no means 
 the case. 
 
 Of what good is the Royal Academy ? As an 
 Exhibition it has become almost worthless ; and as 
 a national institution for the education and encour- 
 agement of native talent, it is no better *. " The 
 
 * See the New Monthly, May 1st. The Royal Academy 
 Exposed. 
 
81 
 
 walls are loaded with trash ! cry the public. True 
 — but trashy portraits; and every fool who has had 
 his likeness taken, sends twenty more fools, at a 
 shilling a-piece, to stare at it!"'"' As to its value 
 as a school for art, how few important names can 
 it boast, when we know that Opie, Stanfield, Mar- 
 tin, Turner, "W^ilkie, Varley, Danby, with Flaxman, 
 Gibson, Chantrey, &c. owe nothing to its instruc- 
 tions. Wilkie remained for a long time " un- 
 noticed and unknown, till his native talent dis- 
 played in a shop window at Charing Cross, fixed 
 the attention of the public — the public approved, 
 and then the Academy found merit in his works * f 
 Sir Thomas Lawrence, in his youth, received pre- 
 miums from the Society of Arts ; but when he 
 became a probationer for admission to the schools 
 of the Royal Academy, his claim was not allowed, 
 and he withdrew to seek eminence without their 
 instructions ! " 
 
 In the present exhibition at Somerset House, 
 
 • We do not think this latter statement is strictly correct. 
 Before his first picture was exhibited at Somerset House, 
 his productions sold at very' low prices. 
 
 e3 
 
S2 
 
 one thing must startle every beholder with sudden 
 admiration. We mean, the extraordinary splen- 
 dour of the fra7nes ! It is scarcely possible to form 
 an estimate of the gross value of tliem all, because 
 one frame-maker will charge almost double the sum 
 of another ; but of this we are convinced — that if 
 all the frames were sold by auction, the amount 
 produced, would equal that of the paintings. This 
 singular coiftcidence will strike every uninterested 
 observer who knows anything of frames and pic- 
 tures. 
 
 The Royal Academy is now in the same con- 
 dition as the rest of our large establishments ; 
 whether of the great Government itself, or the 
 smaller ones of Theatres, Publishers, &c. They 
 have all had vast means, and strong men : the first 
 they have foolishly or knavishly squandered, and 
 the outcast and ruin of the latter is now the conse- 
 quence. With them must fall the whole machine 
 they alone could properly sustain with lasting 
 honour. The only means of salvation lies in giving 
 fair play and fair reward to men of genius, and 
 men of ability and integrity. 
 
8S 
 
 There is no class so tenacious upon the score 
 of criticism as that of artists ; and if they regard 
 the mere ephemeral impertinences of those who 
 attack their works, without perhaps having seen 
 them, and often, as is evident from the remarks, 
 only from a cursory glance — as criticism, they 
 are so far both right and wrong : but it is their 
 indignation that any individual who is not a pro- 
 fessional artist, with the same diploma in his pocket 
 that they hold, should presume to question the 
 applauded merits of one, or the propriety of 
 neglecting another, that makes them very unrea- 
 sonable, and not unfrequently as ridiculous. To 
 write about the anatomy in a picture, it is necessary 
 that we should understand anatomy, but not that 
 we should be able to draw correctly ourselves ; to 
 write about colouring, it is requisite that we should 
 have studied it well, both in nature and in art ; but 
 not that we should be able, either to mix it for the 
 pallet, lay it on, or know all the chemical experi- 
 ments connected with it, for temporary effects, or 
 for lasting ones ; to write about expression of intel- 
 lect, or passion, however, we presume it is only 
 
84 
 
 necessary to refer to our own natures, and accord- 
 ing to the extent of those quahties in us, so far 
 our right of criticism extends — and we might add, 
 their right of being Painters ! 
 
 Nevertheless, we do not doubt but we have 
 already said enough to provoke many of the Royal 
 Academicians to bestow upon us the very ancient 
 diploma of blockhead and fool ; and this we accept 
 without offence, seeing none in it, in fact, because 
 we are all fools ; the only difference is in the gra 
 dations. 
 
 X. 
 
 Men of Science, and original Projectors 
 AND Inventors. — The most dano-erous moral 
 position that a human being can be placed in, is 
 to be wiser or better than the rest of mankind. 
 Roger Bacon — may we be permitted to mention 
 his name ? — was the father of more original dis- 
 coveries than any other man of his time ; darkened 
 as it was by ignorance and monkish superstitions ; 
 
85 
 
 or perhaps than any other who preceded him. But 
 there is scarcely one for which he is now honoured, 
 even by remote inference, (except the discovery of 
 the telescope and gunpowder — which are ques- 
 tioned,) and the whole gratitude of posterity is 
 merged in the general idea of an extravagant 
 impostor, who set up a brazen head, and a mere 
 mountebank magician*. His works on alchemy, 
 astrology, &c., which were the scientific " taste of 
 the day," and the cleverest curiosities of the kind 
 — or he would not have been imprisoned by order 
 of the pope, and half starved-f — have ruined his 
 fame for ever. He went too far beyond " the 
 day ; " he knew too much ; he was a great experi- 
 mentalist ; and was imprisoned a second time, for 
 ten years ! His posthumous fate is a melancholy 
 and recoiling comment upon the vulgar notion of 
 the brazen head. Time, indeed, is past ! — and 
 Now, Then, and void Oblivion, is the sole portion of 
 all men ; but where an individual has a claim upon 
 
 * Bale, de Script. lU. p. 114. Jebb, Pref. to Bacon's Opus 
 MajuSj &c. 
 t Bacon, Epist. ad Clem. IV. 
 
86 
 
 tlie gratitude of after years, it is hard to have the 
 latter accelerated beyond others. There is a vulgar 
 prejudice in ages, as well as in life's brief day ; 
 and for some men of genius there is no justice, 
 even in posterity. The practical ground work of 
 the philosophy of Epicurus, is moderation ; and he 
 is always quoted as the type and advocate of excess. 
 Nor has the lofty morality and fortitude of Zeno, 
 by being confounded with stocks and stones, been 
 much better treated. 
 
 The real sense of ^'Epicurus' sty" 
 Is, that posterity agree to lie : 
 Cant, bigotry, vice, weakness, reign 
 O'er Zeno's virtue of disdain ! 
 
 We believe there is little hope of justice for 
 such men, though there ma}^ be some danger 
 to those who put in a word for their defence. 
 Some poets and philosophers are over-rated, and 
 others, perhaps their superiors, are little spoken of, 
 and less read ; as Hobbes, of whom Locke is the 
 unacknov/ledged creditor; the old English dra- 
 matists, Decker, Marlowe, Webster, Chapman, — 
 the spiritual translator of Homer, — and others. So 
 
87 
 
 much for the perverse inequalities of fame : let us 
 now look at its highest posthumous justice, and 
 how insubstantial and inadequate is the reward of 
 labour, disappointment and wrongs — incessant as 
 inevitable — how entirely abstracted from the in- 
 dividual's actual human sufferings ! Copernicus 
 refused to publish his astronomical theory — the 
 work of a lono- life — till he was almost on his 
 death-bed. He died a few hours after the first 
 printed copy was sent to him — and escaped. 
 What recompense is it to the profound and 
 accomplished Galileo, who boldly stood forth to 
 argue and prove its truth to the Florentines, that 
 his name is now used to "point a moral?" He 
 was poor and old when Milton visited him in 
 prison ; and at length became blind. 
 
 Where, however, a man happens in future ages 
 to receive his due meed of fame affixed to his life's 
 poor renmant — his name ; it is clear that scarcely 
 any original inventor ever reaps the least benefit 
 from his discovery, valuable as it may be, during his 
 human existence. The mind and body must both 
 draw their nourishment from imagination — that is, 
 
88 
 
 from an ideal contemplation of the '' grass that is 
 growing/"' The original projector, after being 
 ridiculed and opposed, or utterly neglected, dies 
 in distress ; since, being sure of the truth or prac- 
 ticability of that which he has so long and deeply 
 digested, if he chance to possess any pecuniary 
 means of forwarding his project, he speedily ruins 
 himself — and is left alone with his discovery ! The 
 next person who takes it up, and improves upon it, 
 is the one w^ho reaps all the advantage ; and per- 
 haps without possessing any real claim, even upon 
 the score of labour and perseverance, not to men- 
 tion the endurance of all the scoffs and jeers of 
 folly and pretension, personal interest, or perverse 
 ignorance *. 
 
 How many an unfortunate mechanist or chemist, 
 has passed a life of voluntary seclusion and inces- 
 sant labour ; patient under repeated failure, and of 
 inexhaustible perseverance amidst the pressure of 
 immediate distress; in order to perfect some ori- 
 
 * Great travellers have generally been ridiculed and abused 
 during the greater part of their lives, as was the case with 
 Bruce and others. 
 
89 
 
 ginal invention, or render practical some important 
 discovery : 
 
 Like a Prometheus chained by his own will*. 
 
 By him the progress of time, with all its con- 
 tingencies, has been little noted ; the light of day, 
 perhaps, exchanged for the noxious vapour and the 
 sullen lamp, and scarce distinguished from the 
 night. Amidst this one unbroken, changeless 
 round, with eye for ever bent upon his sole object, 
 he pauses at times perchance to think of his human 
 state — looks at the close, dismal walls, and low 
 oppressive ceiling, that entomb his lone form — 
 obscure, neglected, squalid, and without a friend — 
 gazes with fixed eye, while his chin drops upon his 
 raised hand, at the only companion of his toil — 
 that wasting lamp — and thinks of his own existence 
 — of his boyhood, his past years — his wrecked 
 hopes, affections, passions — of far-off deliverance — 
 of present want — of suicide — and futurity ! (We 
 will not suppose him to have a wife and children. 
 It is impossible. If he ever had, they must have 
 
 * Albertj or the Fatalist. 
 
90 
 
 died long since ! ) With a deep, desponding sigh, 
 he returns to his toil, and thus continues till sick- 
 ness or premature decay has brought him to the 
 threshold of the grave. He beholds his task 
 accomplished, and knows that future times will be 
 greatly benefitted by it ; he seeks to make it known, 
 so that he may now reap the reward of his pro- 
 longed labour and hard endurances, in a sufficient 
 maintenance or employment for the poor residue of 
 his existence. Will a possible medal or small pre- 
 mium effect this ? There is nought beyond ; but 
 the far greater chances are, that he only meets 
 with entire disappointment, and the more certain, 
 gross, and reiterated, in proportion to the value of 
 his discovery or invention. His task being done, 
 his fortitude is now "pushed out of date" — he 
 has not the ideal, sustaining hopes and imaginings 
 of an Author — he depends more upon the practical 
 and immediate — a deep sinking of the heart and 
 all his faculties, quickly ensues; and he drops a 
 willing, worn-out victim, into the ready grave. 
 
 All this is very well known. There may be 
 some, among those who have never experienced 
 
91 
 
 aught of the vicissitudes of life, and the absence 
 of its necessary requisitions, who may glance over 
 the picture with an easy eye ; by the generality, 
 however, we believe, its truth will be instantly 
 admitted ; or knowledge of facts and humane 
 sympathy, can occupy but a small space in their 
 heads and hearts. There are many also, to whom 
 it will *' come home " bitterly close. 
 
 The greater the man, the greater his difficulties. 
 We do not think a general reader will easily guess 
 from whose Biography we extract the following ? 
 
 *' While yet a boy, he seems to have been fonder 
 of rambling about the fields, and perusing the 
 great book of Nature, than the folios of ihe schools; 
 for so little satisfaction does he seem to have given 
 his first teachers, that his father, dissatisfied with 
 the reports of his progress, contemplated binding 
 him to the trade of a shoemaker ! The inter- 
 vention of friends, and his own earnest entreaties, 
 however, at last persuaded his parent to permit 
 him to study the profession of medicine. At the 
 university we find him rising into distinction even 
 in the midst of extreme poverty — in want of books 
 
92 
 
 — in want of clothes — in want of b?'ead to eat — 
 and even patching up old shoes with the bark of 
 trees*, to enable him to wander into the fields in 
 prosecution of his favourite study of botany." 
 
 This was the great Linnaeus — the enthusiastic 
 master of every subject he attempted. 
 
 " While yet a mere youth, he was pitciied upon 
 by the Academy of Sciences of Upsal, to explore 
 the dreary regions of Lapland, and to ascertain 
 what natural productions they contained ; and we 
 find him embarking with ardour in this laborious 
 and solitary undertaking, with a pittance barely 
 sufiicient to defray the expenses of his journey. 
 After his return from this scientific expedition, he 
 commenced a course of public lectures on botany 
 and mineralogy in the University of Upsal f : he 
 was full of the subject, and the novelty and 
 
 * This singular coincidence, in the only possible way, of 
 the ruling passion of Linnapus, with his father's idea of what 
 he was fit for, has a keeping in it, at once romantic and 
 melancholy. 
 
 f After his death a statue was erected to his memory in 
 the gardens of this very place; and a king pronounced an 
 eulogy over the genius of three kingdoms. 
 
93 
 
 originality of his discourses immediately drew 
 around him a crowded audience : but envy, which 
 too often is the malignant concomitant of rising 
 talent, soon blasted his fair prosperity. It was 
 discovered, that, by a law of the university, no 
 person w^as entitled to give public lectures unless 
 he had previously taken ' a degree.^ Linnseus un- 
 fortunately had obtained no ' academic honours ;' 
 and Dr. Rosen, the Professor of Medicine, accused 
 him before the Senate, and insisted that the Sta- 
 tutes should be put in force. What must have been 
 the feelings of the youthful, ardent, and aspiring 
 botanist, at this harsh and oppressive measure ! 
 Conscious of superior talents, full of hope, and 
 flushed with the success of his first effort, he was 
 by this ungenerous proceeding excited to mad- 
 ness ; "" (meaning, passion;) "and goaded on to 
 the extremity of desperation, he drew his sword 
 upon Rosen at the door of the senate-house, and 
 attempted to stab him.'*'' 
 
 Linnaeus remained in distressed circumstances 
 for some years after this event, and only overcame 
 them at length, by one of those " lucky chances 
 
94 
 
 which do more for a physician than all his learn- 
 ing and industry*." 
 
 All this might have occurred in England; 
 and under similar circumstances, there can be no 
 doubt of it. Dr. Rosens are to be found in abun- 
 dance among us : it is such men as Linnaeus that 
 are the rarities. When these extraordinary in- 
 dividuals have appeared, we have always received 
 them in a similar m anner. Was not Priestley 
 driven from his native town, just escaping with 
 life, after his library and instruments had been 
 destroyed, and his house burned; the clergy 
 shouting on the rabble to charge the hosts of the 
 impious ! 
 
 Whether in physics or metaphysics, — astronomy, 
 geology, medicine, surgery, agriculture, &c. &c. 
 all have fared the same. *' There is no doubt 
 that if a person two hundred years ago, had 
 foreseen and attempted to put in practice the 
 most approved and successful methods of culti- 
 vation now in use, it would have been a death- 
 
 * Vide Chambers' Edinburgh Journal, No. 56. 
 
95 
 
 blow to his credit and fortune*." This needs 
 no written comment. Kant declares, in speaking 
 of Kepler, "that he would not have exchanged 
 one of his discoveries for a principality .f" A just 
 estimate : but our lower world founded an excellent 
 argument upon this, for the propriety of letting 
 him die of want J." Harvey's discovery of the 
 circulation of the blood, which, without the aid 
 of any professional knowledge, one w^ould have 
 thought must at least have struck the common 
 sense of people as a very feasible thing; not to 
 detract anything from the originality of the first 
 conception ; was strongly disputed, by all the great 
 practitioners of the day. The admission would 
 have been far from a reproach to any of these 
 Rosens, and they might have made the best of it. 
 His house was subsequently set on fire, and his 
 library, with manuscripts, the product of many 
 years, was entirely burned. The opinion of an 
 eminent anatomist of the present day, that this 
 
 * Hazlitt on Thought and Action. 
 
 t Kant's Lectures. 
 
 "^ See Kastner's Epigram ; So hoch war noch kein, &c 
 
96 
 
 monstrous outrage was not so much upon account 
 of his being a Royahst, as from the ignorant 
 Puritans considering his writings as a kind of 
 " black art," is no doubt the bitter secret of the 
 transaction. We know that all the great chemists 
 of early times, were looked upon as necromancers 
 and dealers with the devil ; all great philosophers, 
 as impious blasphemers ; and all great mechanists, 
 dating from Archimedes, as madmen ! 
 
 Even Newton, long since the true oracle of 
 science, Avas so worried and grieved by the inva- 
 riable opposition that was raised to all his new 
 discoveries, especially by his persevering harpy, 
 Hooke, that, worn out with the annoyance, he 
 eventually solicited the secretary of the Royal So- 
 ciety to suppress any cavilling, philosophical com- 
 munications, as much as possible*. This naivete 
 is at once amusing, and illustrative of the integral 
 simplicity of a man's feeling, who quietly "knows 
 
 * The public are made acquainted with this fact, and with 
 similar cases of many others, which we cannot spare room to 
 mention, in the Biogi-aphical Sketches contained in the 
 Penny IMagazine, Chambers' Edinburgh Journal, &c. 
 
97 
 
 that he is right, and does not like to be teased with 
 impertinencies. Newton's sensibihty, however, was 
 not proof against all these cross tides, and he sub- 
 sequently adopted the easiest method of evading 
 them, and for some time resolutely declined to 
 publish his discoveries, declaring that "it was as 
 bad as engaging in law suits ! '"' His great work 
 on Optics, he withheld till after the death of 
 Hooke *. 
 
 At the present time there is no bookseller who 
 will publish at his own expense, any work of 
 
 * "It is said the Optics of Newton had no character or »i 
 credit here, till noticed in France ! It would not be the only- 
 instance" (it would only be one of the inevitable cases) "of an 
 author writing above his own age, and anticipating its more 
 advanced genius. This melancholy truth is illustrated by the 
 fate of the Marquis of Worcester, who in the reign of Charles 
 II., offered to publish the hundred processes and machines 
 enumerated in his 'Century of Inventions;' if the King 
 would extricate him from the difficulties in which he had 
 involved himself by the prosecution of useful discoveries. 
 This extraordinary pamphlet was probably read with ridicule ; 
 the petition, at least, was never attended to ! — He had antici- 
 pated the age we Uve in: the Telegraph and the Steam 
 Engine, he contemplated in fancy, he would now see on our 
 roads, and in our common manufactories."— Ca/awzV/e-y of 
 Authors. Vol. I. 
 
 n 
 
98 
 
 science, of whatever ability, unless its author al- 
 ready possess a highly popular reputation *. If 
 a man can maintain himself during the construc- 
 tion of an important work, he can do nothing with 
 it when it is completed : invent a new and admi- 
 rable machine, and it will be your ruin. 
 
 These things have been as common with us, as 
 rare in France. The writer in the Penny Maga- 
 zine, in speaking of the ' Jacquard Loom,** dwells 
 upon the 'arbitrary government of Napoleon,' in 
 causing the inventor to be brought quickly before 
 him by the gens d'armes ; but passes lightly 
 over the pension of a thousand crowns, which 
 was ordered him, together with important em- 
 ployment, directly his invention had been fairly 
 proved ! It is to be regretted that the various excel- 
 lent periodical disseminators of general knowledge, 
 
 * Notwithstanding this, we hope ere long, by the overthrow 
 of the old system, that JNlr. Todd, author of the recently 
 pubhshed, minute, and talented work on the Organ of Hearing 
 (the most novel part of which— the connexion between that, 
 and the larynx — the critic in the Glasgow Medical Journal, 
 considers "unintelligible;") will find an advantageous means 
 of giving publicity to the new theory of Life, to which he 
 alludes in the same work. 
 
99 
 
 should not draw such pointed inferences from 
 their sketches of the biography of great men, as 
 to show the public more forcibly, how ill their 
 benefactors have been requited, and call the atten- 
 tion of the age to some means for intercepting it in 
 future. The violent excitement of the manufac- 
 turers, on Jacquard's return to his native place, 
 where his life was three times attacked, (though 
 they were afterwards compelled to adopt his loom, 
 the superiority of which could alone save them 
 from ruin,) shows that Napoleon was right in the 
 political view he took of the matter, and the 
 prompt measures he adopted. 
 
 Arkwright, who was originally a country barber, 
 made a large fortune. This is easily said ; but 
 what were his difficulties in doing so? His right 
 of patent was tried in the Court of King's Bench 
 and set aside ! And subsequently, with the pecu- 
 niary assistance of several persons whom he was 
 obliged to admit as partners, and an expenditure 
 of 12,000/., he was nevertheless compelled to 
 encounter every difficulty and opposition during 
 five years, before any profit was derived from his 
 
 F 2 
 
100 
 
 admirable meclianism. When he had finally sue- 
 ceeded, the manufacturing countries all declared 
 that he had stolen the invention ! 
 
 The history of a few of these injustices is that 
 of numbers, and the exceptions are generally as 
 bad as the examples. There are no bounds to the 
 ignorance and malice of the scoundrel world ! 
 
 We can all recollect a few years back, during 
 the feeble reign of primeval lamp-light (so friendly 
 to pickpockets of the lower class, and slumbering 
 watchmen, and also to our Cossack allies) that the 
 individual who projected lighting the streets with 
 gaSy was looked upon as " a madman"" by nearly the 
 "whole town, which was " up in arms'*"' against it ! 
 And now all London, we may say, all England, is 
 in a blaze with it through the live-long night ! 
 But who troubles himself to think of the pro- 
 jector's exasperated feelings ? — or who thinks of 
 him at all, his name or fortunes ? We do not know 
 whether he was ruined by the " mad scheme ; " 
 but for the sake of laying one's self open to the 
 severe correction of those who advocate the well- 
 working of the " old system ;"" on the sole grounds 
 
101 
 
 of our belief in the world's common usance ; 
 suppose, upon a venture, we affirm that he icas 
 ruined, and leave somebody else to prove that he 
 was not ? 
 
 The story of Fulton, who first introduced the 
 steam boat in America, is, if possible, yet more 
 provoking. After being the laughing stock of 
 every body while pursuing his object and making 
 experiments, he at length announced that he was 
 prepared to take a boat up the Hudson River, and 
 solicited passengers to come on board to witness 
 his success. Many came, and to their very great 
 surprise, the boat moved forward upon her course. 
 It had not proceeded far however, before it stopped 
 abruptly ; and the general voice immediately ex- 
 claimed at the absurdity of the project ! ' We 
 said it would never succeed ! ' &c. Fulton 
 addressed them mildly ; declaring that he did 
 not know the cause at present, but if they would 
 have a little patience, he would descend and see. 
 He did so ; and soon rectifying the error, the boat 
 again moved forward, and amidst the incessant 
 cavilling of the learned and unlearned fools, and 
 
102 
 
 their momentary expectation of another and a final 
 stoppage, proceeded steadily till it reached Albany, 
 and then returned to New York ; thus performing 
 a distance of nearly three hundred miles. When, 
 however, they had reached home, as Fulton writes 
 in a letter to a friend, " he was still doomed to be 
 disappointed : imagination superseded fact ; they 
 said he could not do it again — and if he could, 
 what was the use of it? **' 
 
 If we may be excused the introduction of a 
 passing idea, let us suppose that Fulton had been 
 a man of strong and sensitive passions, like Lin- 
 naeus ; and being sure in his own mind, of the 
 practical truth of his project, and exasperated at 
 the obstinate ignorance of the denial, even of his 
 demonstration by fact, had determined to enforce 
 their admission. We will imagine that he proposed 
 a short trip along tlie coast, instead of inland, and 
 finding them bent upon denying his success, how- 
 ever palpable, had suddenly put his highest power 
 upon the engine, and run straight out to sea ; 
 strongly barricading all entrance to himself and 
 his assistant engineers ! After a sufficient shameful 
 
103 
 
 excitement of their alarm ! unphilosophical out- 
 rage upon their persons! abominable working upon 
 their worst fears ! and barbarous refusal to answer 
 any of their hurried interrogations of consternation, 
 threats, execrations, and humble prayers — we will 
 imagine the boat suddenly stopping ! and that 
 amidst their aghast silence at the dread of an 
 explosion, the voice of Fulton had been heard 
 in a firm tone, insisting upon a general apology, 
 and an unqualified admission of his mastery, in 
 all respects ? 
 
 There might have been a few indomitable spirits, 
 whom the fear of death would not have overcome 
 (making a perverse power of will its own motive 
 to hold out) ; but the terrors of the mass would 
 have prevailed, and they would all have been made 
 as ridiculous then, and at once, as they are now. 
 The utmost they could have said, after being- 
 brought scife to land, would have been, that 
 Fulton was a madman ! This is no more than 
 they said in the first instance ; and is a very stale 
 excuse for ignorance. If, however, he had for a 
 time gone mad with being right, he would at all 
 
104 
 
 events have returned the compliment by making 
 them equally so, with the impassioned logic of 
 the dilemma ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 The March of Intellect. Vide Sections I. 
 II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X.— We 
 
 cannot refrain from observing ; whatever umbrage 
 may, and perhaps ought to be taken at it ; that 
 the various factual details and allusions contained 
 in the foregoing pages, can have no pretensions to 
 originality of information. Most of those things 
 have long; been known to the Government — the 
 Press — and the Public. Not so, however, we are 
 willing to believe, the inference from the Whole, 
 and the means of obviating the heinous anomaly. 
 
EXPOSITION OF CAUSES. 
 I. 
 
 General View. — It requires genius to discover 
 genius : there must be, in some respects, an equality 
 in kind, though not in degree, fully or even rightly 
 to appreciate original works of truth and power. It 
 is as impossible for a man whose heart does not 
 sympathise with that of his author, and whose 
 imagination cannot meet him half way, to enter 
 into the feelings and thoughts of any great genius, 
 as for the pin's-point eye of a mole to behold, with 
 due admiration, the majesty of the mid-day sun ; 
 or a geometric figure to feel and pulsate with his 
 immortal rays. " The heart," says the great 
 modern critic, '' is the most central of all things ;" 
 
 ¥3 
 
106 
 
 and in every question of ennobling human passion, 
 and its powers of wisdom and of virtue, for the 
 head to endeavour to work without it, and apart 
 from all reference to its oracular pulses, is as 
 if a planet should attempt to describe an orbit 
 independent of all gravitation. What wild results, 
 what presumptuous errors and ridiculous follies, 
 have we seen ! Commentators have conceited 
 that they walked above the spheres, and like Don 
 Quixote and Sancho, blindfold on the wooden 
 hobby, have never really moved a pace, except in 
 their own vain excited fancies ; and many tempo- 
 rary critics, while they have lauded mediocrity to 
 the very skies, have run their heads against the 
 rocks that will stand for ages, the beacons of time. 
 
 The many names of those in high scholastic 
 repute, who were firm and conspicuous believers in 
 the well-known fudge of the Shakspeare Manu- 
 scripts, and whose immediate and strenuous support 
 was in converse proportion to that which, according 
 to immemorial custom, they would have shown to 
 the self-same merit if produced as the work of a 
 living Author, proves the above position. When 
 young Ireland put forth other writings, acknow- 
 
107 
 
 ledged as his own, their merit was utterly denied : 
 we can easily understand why persecution was 
 adopted instead. Certainly the provocation was as 
 great to the individuals, as ludicrous to posterity. 
 Boswell knelt down before the hoax, and " thank- 
 ing God that he had lived to witness the day when 
 the treasures of the divine bard were laid before 
 him,"'"' imprinted a reverend kiss upon the sacred 
 volume * ! Who will believe that these men could 
 understand Homer or Shakspeare ? 
 
 The above is only one proof, among innumerable 
 others, that the average of professional critics are 
 influenced in their decisions by the verbal mould, 
 style, and mannerism, rather than the only true 
 
 * It was the cleverest trick any boy ever played. The 
 manner in which this young pickle of eighteen hunted 
 the book-stalls all over London, to find detached sheets of 
 blank paper bearing the water-mark of the date of Shakspeare, 
 and then wrote in a hand which is often approaching to a 
 fac-simile, with tobacco water, that in eight and forty hours 
 looked centuries old, proves him to have possessed extraor- 
 dinary ingenuity and perseverance. There was no intended 
 offence in liis mind towards Shakspeare or the world. As 
 Hazlitt's Essay is the finest pliilosophical exposition, so young 
 Ireland's hoax is the finest practical proof, of the Ignorance 
 of the Learned. 
 
108 
 
 evidence, which is the spiritual. But then to 
 obtain a judgment from this source, they must look 
 within themselves and compare notes with the 
 original ; and as the two can seldom bear compa- 
 rison, from the inferiority or natural difference of 
 the critic from the author, self-love always asserts 
 its dominion, unless the subject in question pos- 
 sess a great established reputation. And even 
 this does not often save a man from the querulous 
 vanity of the straining gnat and puffed-up frog. 
 
 It may seem extraordinary, however, that many 
 men of genius, whose merits and superiority have 
 been admitted to a considerable extent during 
 their lives, should have been left precisely to the 
 same distressing fate as those who were quite un- 
 known. The King of Spain seeing a student at 
 some distance, laughing immoderately and throw- 
 ing himself into extravagant attitudes, exclaimed, 
 " That man is either mad, or reading Don Quixote !" 
 Every body was delighted with the book : the 
 King's saying passed into every mouth ; yet at the 
 very time the insensible animal utters it, he knows 
 that Cervantes is in prison for a paltry debt ! 
 Camoens was treated in a similar manner by King 
 
109 
 
 Sebastian and his court : they all applauded the 
 Lusiad as the greatest work in their lano-uase, 
 which lano-uao-e was itself almost as much indebted 
 to him as the Italian to the exiled Dante. In the 
 reign of Sebastian's successor, Camoens dies of 
 hunger, disease, cold, and a broken heart. The 
 same with the author of Hudibras, the wittiest 
 writer, as well as the first scholar of his age. The 
 King and all his courtiers are delighted with the 
 extraordinary poem, and Butler starves ! We have 
 mentioned the royal treatment of Stowe, Rush- 
 worth, Swift, &c. The refusal of King William 
 to attend to the petition of the latter for the next 
 vacancy to one of the prebendaries of Westminster 
 or Canterbury, according to his own promise, was 
 perhaps owing to pique at Swift's having declined 
 the King's offer to make him a captain oj horse ! 
 What comprehension, honour, and magnanimity ! 
 The treatment of Spenser and others was not a jot 
 better. When, in addition to the natural dis- 
 tinction of genius, titles of convention have also 
 chanced to be possessed by the individual, the 
 courtly prominence has only helped to promote 
 
110 
 
 him to the scaffold, as was the case with Sir 
 Waher Raleigh, the Earl of Surrey, Sir Thomas 
 More, &c. 
 
 In the early ages, notwithstanding the prodigies 
 of genius and art that were produced, the physical 
 was considered, among the mass of mankind, as of 
 far more importance than the mental ; and this was 
 manifested during some centuries after among the 
 warlike feudal lords, few of whom could read or 
 write. Barbarian emperors rightly judged bodily 
 strength and ignorance, to be the main props of 
 their thrones ; and intellectual qualities, as danger- 
 ous to their tyrannical sway. Hence, their remorse- 
 less murder of most of the great philosophers and 
 men of virtue, with the persecution of all true no- 
 bility. The feudal lords usually adopted the same 
 plan, when they had the chance. The vicious spirit, 
 originating in fear and jealousy, has remained upon 
 the earth ever since, though modified in its mani- 
 festations as the people advanced to a higher degree 
 of civilisation, which induced an outward respect 
 to legal forms, whatever the secret inclination might 
 be. A nod from a Roman Emperor sufficed for 
 
Ill 
 
 the judge, jury and executioner, of any man whose 
 superiority induced the re-action of the despot's 
 self-love, as he looked into himself and felt the 
 unbearable distinction between natural and con- 
 ventional nobility, or between wisdom and brute 
 will, virtue and depravity. The gross monster 
 Henry VIII., who by nature was only fit to reign 
 over the shambles and the brothel, could not rest 
 till he had shed the blood of the placid and mag- 
 nanimous Sir Thomas More, directly their respec- 
 tive characters were brought into opposition by the 
 firm virtue of the latter. The heartless Autocrat 
 of Russia — accursed of God and man — is a living 
 example of the half-insanity of a grasping and 
 blood-thirsty self-will in despotism. Innate mean- 
 ness is the usual concomitant of tyrannic cruelty. 
 A wretch like this, dare not tolerate any ability or 
 fine spirit that is not exclusively subservient to his 
 sway, or his idlest humours. Napoleon \yas the 
 greatest patron of genius and art in every possible 
 class, that ever lived. Those only who are con- 
 scious of superiority in themselves apart from their 
 station ; w^ho possess capaciousness of intellect, and 
 
U2 
 
 power to do or suffer; can be above all petty 
 jealousies and fears, and thus fit to govern others. 
 The epitaph of James I. ought to be his murder 
 of Raleigh. Elizabeth is represented as a patron 
 of genius, though with no great proofs of generosity 
 or proper appreciation. Shakspeare she only treated 
 as an amusing play-wright ; and as he never meddled 
 with " public spirit" and politics, she suffered him 
 to continue his labours unmolested. But she could 
 not forgive the unfortunate Mary for her beauty, 
 both personal and intellectual, and her many literary 
 accomplishments ; and these, if she had found no 
 other reason for bringing her to the block, were 
 sufficient to have caused her imprisonment. She 
 could not forgive Spenser for his Cave of Mammon, 
 and all the prodigious riches which he heaped up in 
 his gorgeous verse. It was like melting her crown 
 and all its possessions before her face. Let him 
 live in penury, since he can write so prodigally ! 
 There is, at best, a tacit malignity in all these 
 royal feelings, which will easily account for the 
 neglect of men of genius, and when it throws off 
 the mask, for their persecution or destruction. It 
 
113 
 
 would not be difficult to instance this down with 
 tlie March of Intellect. 
 
 But to return. Men of ability die in distress, 
 unacknowledged and unknown ; and men of known 
 and acknowledged ability, die in the same way. 
 
 Now, this cruel injustice is induced — putting 
 kings and courtiers out of the question — by the 
 selfish apathy of mankind. We shall account for 
 ' it, by the general want of a sympathetic appreci- 
 ation in the first instance ; want of knowledge of 
 the real merits of the author, reiterated and en- 
 forced by those who can teach it them, in the 
 second ; and lastly, in a want of practical continuity 
 to the sentiments or sensibilities that may be excited 
 upon the occasion. Everybody is good at church, 
 or elsewhere, if they hear a fine moral exhortation ; 
 the same at the theatre, or in reading of virtue 
 and generosity ; but this has nothing to do with 
 the immediate business of life, and their own 
 personal views, prejudices, and passions; and 
 hence their entire neglect to act upon what they 
 feel for the time being, perhaps in all its force. 
 Unless the duties of gratitude and humanity are 
 
114 
 
 incessantly rung in our ears, and the portraits of 
 our own moral cruelty, torpidity, and selfishness, 
 held up to our view almost at every turn, we seem 
 to escape from the idea very easily, under cover of 
 ignorance, forgetfulness, occupation, or sentiment*. 
 As a consequence of the above, one common and 
 no less cogent reason of the neglect of great works 
 by the world during an author's life, is because, 
 with few exceptions, they are deficient in such gross 
 or palpable excitement as must be generally under- 
 stood and felt, and owe its influence to tempo- 
 rary circumstances and events. The absence of 
 excitement, either suited to the time at which they 
 first appear, or their being entirely without it, is a 
 very natural cause of the general and lasting indif- 
 ference. The world is not inhumane by intention ; 
 but left to itself, and its own multiform and hete- 
 rogeneous individualities, it permits in the aggre- 
 gate, the occurrence of inhumane results towards 
 
 * It is remarkable how virtuous and generously disposed 
 every one is at a play. We uniformly applaud what is right, 
 and condemn what is wrong, when it costs us nothing but 
 the sentiment.— Hazlitt's Characteristics. 
 
115 
 
 its benefactors. It is inhumane for want of inten- 
 tion. Its pastors and masters are too self-interested. 
 Authors are far from united among themselves; 
 conflicting interests and passions, mar their own 
 hopes with those of others ; they maintain a conti- 
 nual civil war; their brotherhood is only with the 
 dead ; they are not true to each other while living, 
 or commonly just. It requires genius to discover 
 genius; but it requires magnanimity to act upon 
 the discovery. 
 
 These latter remarks will apply more especially 
 to the neglect of great Epic Poets, Historians, Phi- 
 losophers*, &c. It can be no striking matter of 
 
 * It is a proof of the above argument, that the finest trans- 
 lators (men of a "learned spirit"^ of such works, centujies 
 after, are usually neglected in the same manner as the origi- 
 nals. Carey's fine translation of Dante met with the slowest 
 and most limited success ; and the amiable and erudite 
 Thomas Tailor, in speaking of his translation of Aristotle's 
 IVIetaphysics, and his elucidation of the genuine doctrines of 
 Pythagoras and Plato, says, " To accomplish this, I have 
 devoted myself to the study of ancient wisdom, amidst the 
 pressure of want, the languor of weakness occasioned by con- 
 tinual disease, and severe toil in situations not only uncon- 
 genial with my disposition, and highly unfavourable to such 
 a pursuit, but oppressed by tyranny and aggravated by insult." 
 — Tntroduct. io Arislot. Meiaph. 
 
116 
 
 wonder that they should be neglected during their 
 lives, when we observe the limited favours they 
 receive from posterity. Epic poems have never 
 been popular in England ; and perhaps never will 
 be. We are too phlegmatic ourselves; and an 
 epic poem does not descend to make any advances. 
 We might almost as well expect the Principia and 
 the Novum Organumto be popular, or the works of 
 Bishop Berkley and Leibnitz. The fame of Milton 
 is popular enough, but Paradise Lost is not, even 
 now, whatever the title may be. No poetry of real 
 loftiness of abstract power, can ever find a place in 
 the hearts and minds of general readers, being too 
 far removed from all ordinary thoughts, feelings, 
 and actions, that occupy and come home to the 
 mass of men. The impertinence of our craving 
 self-love is against it. When the contrary has been 
 the case, upon the first appearance of a " soi-disant" 
 epic, it is because there is nothing of that high 
 character essentially in it ; and also that it suits 
 some prevailing topic, cant, or taste of the day. 
 We may perhaps admit that there are two kinds of 
 epics, the sublime and the familiar (Don Quixote, 
 Hudibras, and Don Juan, are of this class) ; it is, 
 
117 
 
 however, of the former only, that we speak. They 
 are always addressed to the " fit audience," and the 
 very "few." Dante knew this, and was "justly dis- 
 dainful"" of temporary applause : so did Milton, and 
 was content to be poor, and even risk having his life 
 written by " a good hater." Cervantes, Camoens, 
 Butler, &c. had reason to expect differently, their 
 works being of a far more popular character and 
 purpose, and they might well be surprised and 
 broken-hearted at the barbarous neglect they 
 themselves experienced. 
 
 II. 
 
 Defence of the Higher Orders. — We are 
 not unaware that there are philosophers of a cer- 
 tain class, who affirm that the personal miscon- 
 duct or imprudence of men of genius, is the chief 
 cause of their misfortunes. There is a very limited 
 degree of truth in such a position ; " yet this I do 
 say," (to use the words of one whose "virtues 
 
118 
 
 and integrity became his crime, and wrought his 
 ruin ; and were the cause of his banishment and 
 death *',") " that nothing can add more to the 
 afflictions of the unhappy who are unjustly perse- 
 cuted, than when men think they justly deserve 
 the miseries which they endure f." The above rea- 
 soners either make a rule out of a few exceptions, 
 or else instance a number of mediocre writers, or 
 scribbling rabble who would have been a disgrace 
 to any profession. Men of the first abilities have 
 sometimes committed as great faults as men of no 
 abilities ; and if errors weigh heavy and merits go 
 for nought, they would in that case be equal. We 
 do not deny the occasional misconduct of many 
 superior men. It will generally be found, however, 
 that it originates in misfortunes and injustice. 
 Strong passions that can find no proper vent must 
 either destroy the individual with their smouldering 
 and wasting fire, or else break forth in wrong direc- 
 
 * Preston, Life of Boetius. 
 
 f Boetius. Consolation of Philosophy. B. i. pro. iv. The 
 work was written in prison. 
 
119 
 
 tions. The imprudence of such men in not taking 
 advantage of a lucky chance, or gaining the best 
 side of a bargain, is proverbially true, and proves 
 as much of their nobility of feeling, as want of 
 policy and worldly fore-thought. But how few men 
 of genius are ever placed in a fair position, so as to 
 have nothing but their misconduct against them ? 
 And among those few, the exceptions are very rare. 
 We might almost justify the heedlessness and 
 extravagance of Sheridan, (whose dead body was 
 seized by his creditors,) when we consider it as 
 only commensurate with the expectations to which 
 he had been led by Royalty. And how much 
 more might be said in excuse for the conviviality 
 of Burns ? As to their improvidence or reckless 
 extravagance when they happen to possess means, 
 we may apply to them what the great dramatic 
 critic says in allusion to actors : " They have no 
 means of making money breed ^ and all professions 
 that do not live by turning money into money, or 
 have not a certainty of accumulating it in the end 
 by parsimony, spend it. Uncertain of the future, 
 they make sure of the present." For the miscon- 
 
120 
 
 duct of Savage, and others who, like him, would 
 not live respectably, we shall offer no apology. It 
 is the cause of men of genuine ability, who are 
 unable to procure honourable employment in the 
 path where their excellence falls, that we advocate. 
 It is not to be denied that many gifted authors and 
 others (though not those of the highest class, who, 
 were it only from just pride and dignified disdain, 
 would not act dishonourably) have led reckless and 
 disreputable lives ; but let it be remembered that 
 *' they are unfortunate before they are criminal," 
 and that " men who are starved in society, hold 
 to it but loosely." Genius supposes proportionate 
 moral passions, as necessary to its distinction from 
 common men ; and during a feverish youth and 
 agonised manhood, the votary seeks fame with inde- 
 fatigable toil, in midnight labours and noon-tide 
 reveries ; often pouring forth enthusiastic invoca- 
 tions to hope, not knowing that it includes the 
 same actual result as the poet's invocation to 
 despair. 
 
 Thou fascinating horror ! steep me o'er 
 In thy fond madness ; wooing eruptions.. 
 
121 
 
 Till with combustion all the bubble breaks. 
 Betraying the fool into his winding-sheet*. 
 
 But before this relief from the misery of a 
 life wasted for the w^orld's advantage or amuse- 
 ment, they go "naked, or all clothed in grief -|-;" 
 and then is it surprising, if under the pressure and 
 excitement of want and passion, they should com- 
 mit acts, which, under moderate circumstances of 
 comfort, they would have scorned or deprecated 
 far more sincerely than the malicious calves of 
 fortune and ease, who delight to sit in j^udgment 
 over fallen merit. 
 
 Let us consider the situation, at best, of a man of 
 genius in society, before he has lost his claim to be 
 admitted to its immaculate intercourse. It requires 
 wealth to justify eccentricity to the world ; and 
 with this universal diploma, it stands for merit or 
 wit ; without wealth, it is an object of ridicule. 
 But such a man must always seem eccentric in 
 society, because he is more natural and original than 
 the rest, who, in the average, are only second-hand 
 
 * Drama of Joseph and his brethren. f Ibid. 
 
 G 
 
122 
 
 copies of artificial forms ; " like unto the sign of 
 the boots ! **"* In conversation the subjects that 
 interest him most deeply, are usually those in which 
 the generality take no interest at all. They are 
 consequently astonished and confounded ; and 
 being thrown back upon their own identity, only 
 recover themselves by setting him down for a mad- 
 man. A man must always appear mad, the cause 
 and effect of whose excitements are not understood. 
 In short, he is admired a little while — made use of 
 as a tame ' lion ' — and then hated and ridiculed, 
 without any change of conduct or intentional 
 offence on his part. If he eventually commit a 
 misdemeanour, legal or social, it is the happiest 
 chance for his previous flatterers. The errors of 
 genius are manna to the self-love of the world, 
 because it seems to justify the splenetic re- actions 
 of their restless envy. The most applauded being 
 once in the public power, is made to refund all 
 their admiration ; and is then crushed, or hooted 
 at, with proportionate odium. * You are brought 
 down to our own level at last, and we will now 
 hunt ^'ou to the lowest depths of disgrace,' 
 
123 
 
 The average number of men of genius and 
 ability are, however, of an abstract or contempla- 
 tive turn of mind, and were it not for the feverish 
 necessity of struggling for ever with the thwarting 
 world, and all its imperative wants, would lead a 
 quiet life enough, and be content to leave all 
 the noise, bustle and extravagance to soldiers, 
 lawyers, merchants, and the other lords of the 
 large market. How painfully is this exemplified 
 in the following extract, which concludes " TTie 
 Case of a Man of Letters, of regular education^ 
 living by honest literary industry^'' 
 
 " I have considered what I have written as mere 
 trifles ; and have incessantly studied to c^ualify 
 myself for something better. I can prove that I 
 have, for many years, read and written, one day 
 with another, from twelve to sixteen hours a day. 
 As a human being, I have not been free from 
 follies and errors. But the tenor of my life has 
 been temperate, laborious, humble, quiet, and, to 
 the utmost of my power, beneficent. I can prove 
 the general tenor of my writings to have been 
 candid, and ever adapted to exhibit the most 
 
1^4 
 
 favourable view of the abilities, dispositions, and 
 
 exertions of others 
 
 " For the last ten months I have been brought 
 to the very extremity of bodily and pecuniary 
 distress. I shudder at the thought of perishing 
 in a gaol*." 
 
 This long, pathetic letter was addressed to the 
 Literary Fund; and appears to have been seconded 
 by the report of the physicians, as to his difficulties 
 and illness being occasioned by the " indiscreet 
 exertion of his mind in protracted and incessant 
 literary labours.**"* The appeal was in vain, and he 
 died in Newgate soon after. 
 
 A man's genius is his own, and the intellectual 
 effects of it, absolutely considered, are in his own 
 power : not so his social position, or even his 
 entire conduct. We may say with Wollaston, 
 that " his prosperity or improsperity does not 
 
 * The letter will, be found entire, as transcribed from the 
 original, in the Calamities of Authors, vol. i. " Oh, ye popu- 
 lace of scribblers, before ye are driven to a garret, and your 
 eyes are filled with constant tears! pause — recollect that not 
 one of you possess the learning or the abihties of Heron ^ 
 shudder at all this secret agony and silent pertlition ! " 
 
125 
 
 entirely depend upon his own prudence or impru- 
 dence, but, in a great measure, upon his situation 
 among the rest of mankind, and what thei/ do*." 
 The errors and vices of common men, however 
 magnitudinal and selfish, are treated lightly in 
 comparison ; though we could clearly show how 
 widely different are the respective causes, if the 
 various marked distinctions between passion and 
 depravity, would not occupy too much time to 
 discuss. The nonentities of mankind are the only 
 purists. The public at large are the standard of 
 moral character in theory ; men of genius are 
 expected to be equally perfect in practice ! But 
 sooth to say, the personal misconduct of men of 
 genius, whether placed in a fit station or otherwise, 
 is not one atom worse, even at their worst, than the 
 misconduct of the countless mass of those " kings, 
 lords, and commons," who die and leave nothing 
 behind but the memory or effects of their vice and 
 mischief. 
 
 * Wollaston. Religion of Nature. 
 
126 
 
 III. 
 
 Our own times. — By such feelings as many 
 will readily enter into with us, (but we trust they 
 will do so to the end f) we have been led to devote 
 more space to the sufferings of men of genius than 
 the conciseness of our design ought to have 
 permitted. Nevertheless, we think it will not be 
 doubted in this age of steam-engines and book- 
 making, that with so wide a field as our present 
 subject, we could easily have evaporated into the 
 usual three volumes. But it was our intention to 
 render the Exposition available to the community 
 at large. Leaving, therefore, the irretrievable 
 Past, whose countless injuries and tragic realities 
 are but too well known; though the knowledge 
 has never yet progressed into action; we shall 
 proceed to the consideration of our own times, and 
 endeavour to deduce some practical advantage 
 from the long list of woful experiences. 
 
 Notwithstanding all that has been said, and all 
 that is well known, both by literary men in promi- 
 
127 
 
 nent stations, and by the public ; notwithstanding 
 the regular gradation of startling instances, which 
 we may trace from Homer downwards ; notwith- 
 standing all the palpable obligations of progressive 
 centuries, whose light, while they flourished, was 
 chiefly owing to such men, even as that light is 
 entirely so, which remains now that their empires 
 have passed into dust ; and notwithstanding the 
 present March of Intellect — assisted by nine thou- 
 sand five hundred lawyers, &c. — a man of the 
 greatest genius is as liable to be starved as ever. 
 All the same causes exist by which such an indi- 
 vidual has been starved. In his persecution, 
 ruin, and destruction, the perpetration differs in 
 nothing but manner^ from the barbarous ages. 
 This will be denied by many whose prejudices 
 may be opposed to the belief, or whose expe- 
 rience and knowledge may not furnish them with 
 instances of unknown and deserving authors who 
 are at this moment placed in almost the same 
 situation as Mr, Banim was recently — a known and 
 admired author — from which he has been, for a 
 time, miraculously rescued. It must be seen that 
 
we scarcely know how to take the liberty of naming 
 such men, and thus rudely placing that pride in 
 jeopardy upon which they choose to retire in 
 silence*. We are not without diffidence in men- 
 tioning the names of some who now belong not to 
 mortality, but who scarcely ought to be subject to a 
 commiseration that approaches too near their actual 
 sojourn among us. Party-spirit and party-venom, 
 we have none; and if we had, the Dead are exempt 
 from it ; yet if we may offer our sympathy to their 
 manes, we would ask, whether the pure and noble- 
 minded Shelley would not have received the meed 
 of the other Martyrs, if he had not chanced to 
 possess means independent of the world? Whether 
 Keats, whom the " learned" could not find "intel- 
 ligible," did not meet such doom — and more pre- 
 maturely than Burns, whom everybody found 
 intelligible — and whether the author of the Prin- 
 
 * We are extremely gratified at learning the recent per- 
 manent and real consideration that has been received by the 
 author of Caleb Williams, Pohtical Justice, &c. "Better 
 late than never." We wish we could presume to mention 
 several other names of applauded men living in actual want. 
 
129 
 
 ciples of Human Action, and the onlij Life of that 
 man whose greatness the natural sentiment of 
 generosity and justice in Enghshmen, has subse- 
 quently caused them to admit and behold with 
 admiration and respect, did not also share that 
 lofty fate? He certainly escaped, by the refine- 
 ment only of modern times, the death of Socrates 
 and Seneca ; but had it not been for the timely 
 interv^ention of a few private friends, his last days 
 certainly, if not his earlier ones, would have found — 
 an equivalent. \Vhile living, the works of these 
 individuals were to be seen upon all the second-hand 
 book-stalls. Let any one endeavour to obtain copies 
 of them now ? They are as fast in ascension, as 
 some popular writers are on the decline. After 
 the public, with its ' taste of the day,' has been 
 saturated; the East and West Indies, and America 
 into the bargain ; the secret is found out, and 
 hydraulic time brings all things to their level. 
 
 WYio had power 
 To make me desolate ?— whence came the strength? 
 How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth, 
 While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp ? 
 But it is so; and I am smothered up 
 
 G 3 
 
130 
 
 And buried from all godlike exercise 
 Of influence benign. * 
 
 It may be of little use to mention the name of 
 tlie amiable Richard Ayton, a man of unaffected 
 simplicity and original genius. His Essays have 
 never been noticed, and probably never read by a 
 dozen individuals. They were sold for ivaste paper. 
 For the same reason we forbear to mention other 
 unknown writers of real ability, as it would only 
 expose them to the malevolence of those critics who 
 would feel it a reflection upon their acumen, &:c. 
 to justify which, the neglect must either become 
 wilful, and continue so to their abrupt end — or 
 the work, which is the image of an author's mind, 
 must be defaced and insulted. 
 
 Inasmuch as there are some modern works, and 
 many living men of the highest ability, quite 
 unknown to the public, so certain it is, that most 
 of the latter are in present circumstances of diffi- 
 culty, if not of absolute distress. 
 
 AVhen an author's works have been wilfully 
 
 ♦ Keats's Hyperion, Book I. 
 
131 
 
 defamed and written down, and with them all his 
 fortunes, it may chiefly be attributed to the absence 
 of any flattery on his part, of patrons, men in high 
 place, or the great abuses of the time ; to his inde- 
 pendence of opinion, and claiming an audacious 
 right to his own freedom of soul ; and to his advo- 
 cating the best feelings of our human nature. Such 
 offences to the temporary politics, and other pass- 
 ing opinions of his time, or only a part of it, have 
 always sufficed to set aside all virtues of heart, and 
 all powers of mind ; their exercise being prejudicial 
 to the interest of the ' few/ who are opposed to the 
 ' many," during the brief reign of the lunaries; and 
 their possessor has been cast into shadowy neglect 
 in consequence, or else baited to the brink of the 
 grave — where he is then left to stagger over, from 
 exhaustion, despair, or disgust, and scorn of life 
 and ungrateful man — so that " killing" may be 
 " no murder !"" 
 
 Let us take one glance at the opposite side (of 
 the grave) where the author has either not exposed 
 himself to the unceasing virulence of party attacks ; 
 or where he has succumbed to their fury, or their 
 overtures, and to the pressure of distressing cir- 
 
1S2 
 
 cumstances. Contempt and odium have been heaped, 
 though not sufficiently, upon the " noble patrons'" 
 of Burns, who bestowed upon him the becoming 
 situation of an Exciseman (thus proving either 
 their innate meanness, or their idea of what they 
 would have most liked themselves ;) therefore a 
 great living poet has been " complimented" with 
 an Excise situation of a little higher grade. If 
 the first was promoted to a corporal, and the 
 world is dissatisfied, this shall be a staff Serjeant ! 
 Out on such doings ! 
 
 These are the men — the greatest of the age — - 
 who have been ridiculed, calumniated, and insulted, 
 or left neglected to die in penury ; and, in most 
 cases, they have endured a combination of all. 
 These, with a few others, are the writers to whose 
 fame the clown Posterity — the Christophero Sly — 
 will awake and find itself a lord in wisdom and vir- 
 tue, fit to appreciate the great men, in whose works 
 the knaves and blockheads (meaning us — " we who 
 are the posterity of Milton and Shakspeare,"") could 
 find nothing but faults, puerilities, obscurity, or 
 " sparkling writing ! " 
 
 One consolation has existed in the hearts of those 
 
133 
 
 men of genius ; one that grows out of a sense of 
 natural devotion to the spirit of humanity ; a 
 divine aspiration, and a belief that between them 
 and " The Fathomless" must exist a communion 
 and a unity, which the mortal contingencies of our 
 earthly condition can never snap asunder. They 
 may say of each other, 
 
 " God did descend to form such excellence ; 
 We must ascend to comprehend it done. 
 Then what is He who mouldeth all these things. 
 Merely as 'twere for exercise of truth ; 
 And what are we, who look on them and die ? 
 The chikben of His mercy : nor forlorn 
 And cold into our bosoms will return 
 Our mortal yearnings ; seeing we're alhed 
 To all the truth and beauty He hath made*." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Anatomy of false Oracles. — But if there 
 be men now living of great capabilities, who are 
 quite unknown to the Public, they cannot complain 
 
 * Drama of Joseph. Act i. sc. ii. 
 
134 
 
 of its neglect? We have said as much akeady ; 
 and partly in allusion to men who have never pub- 
 lished at all. Why then do they not come forward, 
 and at least give the world a chance of not neglect- 
 ing them ? If there be any unknown individual 
 claiming original power, let him boldly come forth, 
 and prove it ! 
 
 *' Let him come down from the cross !"'"' Can we 
 tamely hear these taunting invitations? — can we pre- 
 serve a decorum of composure while we know the 
 Public to be under such erroneous impressions ? 
 
 Men of genius who are in obscurity are required 
 to come forward and prove their claims? And 
 why they do not obey the call we will answer de- 
 monstratively. 
 
 They can no more rise to notice than a saphng 
 oak can get through a city pavement. There is a 
 false medium between their hopes and a fair hearing : 
 there is a harrier between an Author's heart and 
 the Public, be his work of what merit soever, which 
 nothing but an accidental contingency, of wealth, 
 rank, interest, &c., can surmount. Sometimes, not 
 even these, unless exercised to the highest degree. 
 There is a regular, common-place turnpike to the 
 
135 
 
 first step oil the high road of Fame, the only toll 
 for which is mediocrity. There is a " Secret in all 
 trades'' — a " Skeleton in every house" — and every 
 publisher has — his Reader ! Invisible behind his 
 employer's arras, the author's unknown, unsuspected 
 enemy, works to the sure discomfiture of all original 
 ability. This is the fool in the dark, who knows 
 not what he mars ! He is sometimes the knave ; 
 in which case the publisher is made the unconscious 
 fool: but, in either case, the Author is the victim. 
 
 If human nature, in its ever-varied pov/^ers of 
 passion and imagination, could be accurately mea- 
 sured in all its involutions and elaborate details, 
 by " a pair of compasses and a strip of parchment,"" 
 or analysed by a chemical process ; if its limits 
 could be ascertained by aid of a two-foot rule, or 
 the depth of the heart be sounded with a graduated 
 lead-line, there would be some chance that these 
 gentlemen's verdicts might include truths commen- 
 surate with the insignificance of the subjects exposed 
 to their mechanical skill. But nature is made of 
 materials they never take into the consideration. 
 In a question of criticism, we would say to them. 
 
136 
 
 '* Dispute it like a man." They could not answer, 
 " I shall do so ; but I must also feel it like a man ;*" 
 simply because they really feel nothing of the kind. 
 They go to work with no more sensibility than a 
 schoolmaster over Ovid and Virgil. They think 
 only of the parts of speech, and the logic of the 
 case, instead of that of the heart and the under- 
 standing. Genius supposes originality ; an ori- 
 ginal writer not unfrequently precedes his age — 
 and alwai/s the taste of the day ! But this is beyond 
 the rules. Novelty puts them out, and confuses 
 all the understanding they possess. They are called 
 upon to decide in a matter which no one has pre- 
 viously decided for them. They see no precedent, 
 and are all alone. They have but one principle of 
 proceeding, viz. the somewhat questionable laws of 
 criticism; and whenever they find a work is not re- 
 ducible to these, or that they cannot make it coincide 
 with the requisitions of mechanical caprice, it is 
 pronounced illegitimate writing, and not to be tole- 
 rated. Or suppose that it does not violate any of 
 these veritable Shakspearian laws, the taste of the 
 day is an indispensable requisition. Now this is a 
 
137 
 
 systematic notion founded upon a gross error. If 
 a work contain such excitement as the pubHc can 
 always feel, without any outrages upon nature in 
 its matter, and without obscurities or barbarisms of 
 style, it will be the taste of all days. If, in addition, 
 it be a high and well-wrought structure, founded 
 upon the true elements, it may come forth at any 
 time — it would be appreciated — and would endure 
 to the end of time. 
 
 He who is incorrigibly versed in the rules of a 
 stunted understanding, and without the primary im- 
 pulse, or the interpretations of imagination, can only 
 recollect, compare, and draw inferences. This will 
 never suffice for comprehension, and the formation 
 of a judgment respecting any original work, not 
 exclusively scientific ; for what is he to compare it 
 with ? The first principles of its foundation are 
 beyond his comprehension, and consequently its 
 results. A right judgment of the whole, therefore, 
 becomes impossible. Even the details will com- 
 monly be out of his reach, from a want of the 
 original keij. 
 
 Now if those manuscript works of genius which 
 
138 
 
 are invariably condemned, were taken up by these 
 same individuals in a printed form, by way of 
 casual amusement, the generality of them, unless 
 their minds had become thoroughly warped and 
 cynical from long habit, would read on, and as the 
 book interested them, they would experience a pro- 
 portionate excitement, and look forward with a 
 corresponding anxiety to the close of the essay or 
 tale : then laying down the book with a pleasurable 
 sensation according to their capacity of apprecia- 
 tion, there the matter would end. TMs would be 
 a fair criterion for the pubhc. But when they sit 
 down to a book professionally, as critics whose 
 office it is to dissect details for the safety of their 
 employers, and the benefit of the world at large, 
 they put their feelings entirely out of the question ; 
 and this is why they have always been zvrong 
 whenever they have had an opportunity, as all 
 important facts clearly attest. 
 
 The purpose for which these Readers are engaged, 
 is to judge of the merit of manuscript works, and 
 more especially of the degree and promptitude of 
 their impulse upon the public mind. To arrive at 
 
139 
 
 this knowledge, and thereby accomplish the end 
 of their employer, they proceed upon some given 
 critical system. But a system, the inductions of 
 which are but too regularly and correctly made, 
 and whose results are contrary to the end proposed, 
 must be a false one. The system, or means, em- 
 ployed by the Readers of publishers, destroys its 
 own end ; therefore such system is demonstrated to 
 be false*. 
 
 We now behold the Reader backing his mature 
 go-cart into the shade of a dead wall, and covering 
 his pewter face with a double mask. AVe shall 
 leave him there awhile, as he is within hearing and 
 call. 
 
 Upon a true principle, the consequence of an in- 
 sight into nature, some authors have placed the test 
 of the popularity of then- forth-coming works, upon 
 the opinion of non-literary readers. AVe believe it 
 was Moliere who used to recite his comedies before 
 they were represented on the stage, to his house- 
 
 * Perhaps the ruin of so many great publishers, is the most 
 comprehensive and conclusive syllogism. There is no deny- 
 ing that. 
 
110 
 
 keeper, an old woman, (a much better plan than the 
 publishers adopt) that he might see the effect they 
 produced upon her, and determine accordingly. 
 Richardson, the elaborate interpreter of nature, 
 used to read his novels to private friends, most of 
 them females, expressly for their opinion ; and Hol- 
 croft, a very successful writer, generally tried the 
 effect of his manuscript plays upon his daughters, 
 and others who were not at all liable to sacrifice the 
 spirit of literature to the " profession." Authors 
 of ability, who have adopted a similar criterion, 
 have seldom been deceived in the result. It is the 
 very thing Shakspeare would have done, had he 
 not always known what the result must be. One 
 of our old publishers used to give every MS. of 
 impassioned, romantic, or amusing character, to be 
 read by his wife. In such matters, women who 
 give fair play to nature, are scarcely ever wrong. 
 We may argue and reason, and beat through all 
 the forms and covers ; but we must come back to 
 the simple truth at last. In a sensible, imafFected 
 woman of feeling, there is always some of the 
 soundest philosophy in nature. This was the pub- 
 
141 
 
 lisher to whom we are indebted for the eventual 
 appearance of Tom Jones. On asking his wife's 
 " opinion " of the work, she advised him " hy no 
 means to let it slip through his fingers ! " An 
 admirable answer, worthy of the book itself, and 
 ought never to be forgotten. It liad been pre- 
 viously refused by all the gentlemen Readers ! 
 A man of genius consults 
 
 " The oracle within him. 
 The living spirit ; not dead books, old forms, 
 Not mouldering parchments, must he take to counsel.' 
 
 Schiller*. 
 
 The earth-clogged spirit, the publisher's Delphic 
 oracle, consults nothing else — probably he has an 
 excellent reason — and therefore his understanding 
 sinks away from the real and essential strength of 
 
 * Vide Carlyle's Life of Frederick SchiUer; Taylor and 
 Hessey, 182oj a work of genius and ti*ue criticism. It has 
 been highly appreciated in Germany, and part of it translated 
 by Goethe. We find from this masterly biographer, that the 
 tragedy of the Robbers, the extraordinary popularity of which 
 immediately it appeared, is so well known, was refused, 
 according to custom, by aU the publishers, and printed at the 
 author's own expense. 
 
142 
 
 an author, like a parted anchor. The vial he 
 grasps: the ether escapes unperceived. " The 
 spirit quickeneth, but the letter killeth/'* Origin- 
 ality to such men seems an affectation, or a pro- 
 voking interlopement ; and power is either a dead 
 letter, or an offence. So utterly incompetent are 
 these " oughts and crosses'" to the communion of 
 the strong, that, barring all quotation, they are 
 unable to give any feasible definition of intellectual 
 power. Let any one of them be asked the ques- 
 tion, and he will look thunderstruck ! — but give 
 him his time, and he will expose himself with an 
 answer. 
 
 We may now clearly understand how it was that 
 Messrs. C. and B., among others, quce nunc enu- 
 merare, &c., foundered upon authors of mediocrity, 
 instead of the hopes of men of genius being wrecked 
 upon them. Their shoals have been their own dis- 
 comfiture. To speak generally, and not excluding 
 above three or four writers, it is a very admissible 
 question, whether, during the last six years, they 
 had not better have printed all they have refused, 
 and refused all they have printed ? The rejected 
 
143 
 
 works could not by any chance have been worse 
 than the average of the fashionable novels, which 
 are perfect miracles of unbroken mediocrity and 
 gewgaw common- place. They are deserts, with an 
 occasional bazaar full of nick-knacks, wherein the 
 tact of managing folly is fully illustrated. Such 
 exceptions as the Roue stand out from the others, 
 like polished pillars reflecting hues of bright and 
 dangerous light, amidst a Bartholomew chaos of 
 ball-dresses, names of streets and titles, gilt officers, 
 exquisite toys, loungers and lap-dogs, mawkish 
 sentiment, immoveable narrative, bad manners, 
 heartlessness, and scraps of French. We are always 
 sneering at the French as triflers ; yet these are the 
 only works adopted by the readers in " the fiction 
 department," and strongly recommended as the 
 genuine taste of the dav, to the utter exclusion of 
 all real genius. The public feeling is disgusted and 
 belied. 
 
 Can it now be asked why original power does 
 not come forward ? We will show that it is like 
 calling upon the spirit of Theseus to issue forth 
 from the battered marble ! 
 
144 
 
 The Reader, we perceive, has vacated his hiding- 
 place under the dark wall, and left his scholastic 
 go-cart as a sponsor. We shall find him presently. 
 
 It is truly extraordinary and quite ridiculous, to 
 see how these " sub umbra''' Aristarchian gentry 
 have committed themselves " without shame or mea- 
 sure," ever since publishing became a business. 
 " Ancient and rooted prejudices,"'"' says Bishop 
 Berkelev, " do often pass into principles ; and those 
 propositions which once obtain the force and credit 
 of a principle, are not only themselves, but likewise 
 whatever is deducible from them, thought privi- 
 leged from all examination. And there is no ab- 
 surdity so gross, which, by their means, the mind 
 of man may not be prepared to swallow *." The 
 fundamental error in the present case, originates in 
 an ignorant attempt to reduce genius to the laws of 
 science, or the rules of art. Now there are no defi- 
 nite laws or rules, but those which correspond with 
 natural thought and feeling. Criticism is an art 
 not to be gained by any laborious study and cul- 
 
 * Principles of Human Knowledge. Sect. 124. 
 
W ^"i^ic^^J^^ ^^ 
 
 145 
 
 ture. It requires great abstract sensibility and 
 sympathy, aided by fine imagination and well-stored 
 intellect, and governed by a manly judgment. The 
 passions must have fair play and sea-room : they 
 carry their own terrible moral along with them. 
 On the contrary, you may examine a man in optics 
 or astronomy, and if he cannot answer your ques- 
 tioning; that is, if he be unable to recollect his books, 
 (for if he throw a new light upon the subject, or has 
 made a fresh discovery, he is placed in the old pre- 
 dicament immediately) he may be considered in- 
 competent to pass ; but if a man write an original 
 and powerful work, he must be schooled and com- 
 passed in a different way. He must be tried by his 
 peers. He must be weighed in Atlantaean scales, 
 before it can be known how much he is wanting. 
 There is no other means of finding an equipon- 
 derance to determine the question. The merchant's 
 warehouse is not the immortal field for which he 
 has marshalled the result of years, and fortitude of 
 mind. He is not to-be got into a trap and looked 
 at through the bars. He must be led to the foot of 
 Nature's throne, and examined in the powers of 
 
 H 
 
146 
 
 humanity! — And shall a thing of "shreds and 
 patches" arrogate the judge, with a matter-of-fact 
 man of business, (who scarcely ever hears, or even 
 sees, the opposite party, either personally or in his 
 work) for the umpire ; — shall one, impotent him- 
 self in all good deeds — invisible as calumny — drag 
 with a chain of technicalities, any individual possesiS- 
 ing genius, before his own supreme small court; 
 condemn him by a private opinion of unanswerable 
 folly, and loaded with grave, false, whispered 
 accusations of inability, dismiss the man, who if he 
 but catch a glimpse of him, can foil him at his own 
 weapons and upon his own ground and showing, 
 leaving him no foundation to stand upon, and find 
 it a right humorous pastime ! 
 
 But where has he disposed himself? In what 
 dark nook of Lethean welcome has he crouched ? 
 '^ Adam, where art thou ? " No matter. 
 
 These Readers form an express class : to know 
 '* the trick of his machinery"" in one, is to know 
 the whole. It is for this reason that a work refused 
 by the first publisher to whom it is offered, almost 
 invariably passes through them all. 
 
147 
 
 A legitimate Reader to a publisher, must be a 
 person who by nature, education, and circum- 
 stances, is inevitably fitted for the office. He must 
 be thorough-bred, in the inverse serise. He has 
 had a partially classical schooling, and has subse- 
 quently acquired an extensive verbal knowledge of 
 modern literature, and the outlines of science and 
 the fine arts ; all of which he has sedulously brought 
 to bear upon the craft of criticism. In all his appli- 
 cations and inferences, he is an unsympathetic, self- 
 taught man, and having formed his mind upon a 
 set system, to which he has predetermined that every 
 effort of human intellect ought to agree and fall 
 into the proper rule, as shown by the index for such 
 a passion, idea of imagination, theory of meta- 
 physics or morality, he is necessarily at fault 
 with every thing above the measurement of his 
 general gauge, and his own possibly additional 
 small capacity. Being thus reduced, either to con- 
 fess himself over-matched, or that the question at 
 issue is an impropriety or an error, he of course 
 decides according to his own mathematical conceit 
 and self-love. From an innate meanness, and a 
 
 h2 
 
148 
 
 circumscribed imagination and sensibility, he always 
 begins his task with an antipathy, instead of leaving 
 an unbiassed opening for sympathy and candour. 
 He dreads an antagonism to his own insignificance 
 of heart. 
 
 When a manuscript of a really imaginative or 
 impassioned character is placed before him, he sets 
 to work with the sharp eye of a sparrow-hawk over 
 the passive body of an entranced eagle. He finds 
 therein a something which he is not used to — it is 
 not his taste of the day — it is indigestible and 
 intolerable. Upon the whole, he considers it ' an 
 extraordinary, unusual, soi^t of thing,' and he 
 seriously recommends his employer not to have any 
 thing to do with it. That " something "" — is genius. 
 It is that which confounds him, because it confronts 
 his own paltry individuality. The excitement of it 
 — the very quality at all times wanted by the 
 public — only creates doubt, antipathy, and fear: 
 its originality is a proof to him that it will not 
 sell ; and he advises the publisher, by all means, 
 to " let it slip through his fingers ! " 
 
 With all this perfection of knowledge, as to what 
 
149 
 
 will, and what will not, " sell ; " so firmly established 
 in his employer's mind, we should naturally expect 
 that at least a few of these *' eminent pens" would 
 furnish the publisher with the exact article so much 
 in requisition. Far be it from one of the sapient 
 race, ever to make any such attempt. They never 
 produce a work of their own, and this would be 
 an isolated sign of sense, did it not include the tacit, 
 yet no less preposterous opinion, that impotence in 
 act induces in them a corresponding power of judg- 
 ing. It is a vulgar error to suppose that a man of 
 genius and strong imagination, is by a regular con- 
 sequence, or penalty, without judgment*. He is 
 generally the 6^5^ judge of every thing in his own 
 department of intellect, and often of his own works. 
 
 * " We hear a great outcry about the want of judgment in 
 men of genius. It is not a want of judgment, but an excess 
 of other things. They err knowingly, and are wilfully blind. 
 The understanding is out of the question. The profound 
 judgment which soberer people pique themselves upon is in 
 truth a want of passion and imagination. Give them an 
 interest in any thing, a sudden fancy, and who so besotted as 
 they ? The most mechanical people, once thrown off their 
 balance, are the most extravagant and fantastical." — Hazlitt 
 on Thought and Action. 
 
150 
 
 Did the severe Dante employ a private tutor, or the 
 elegant Petrarch ? Milton was his own critic, and 
 who more perfect ? Did Gray, whom the most 
 elegant scholars consider perfect in his art, employ 
 a polisher and a refiner ? Is Bulwer a politician 
 and critic, because he did not write Paul Clifford P 
 Some will adduce Scott as an exception, and pro- 
 nounce him a bad politician, because he was an 
 excellent novelist. But others will assert he was a 
 good politician. Between the two, we divide the 
 exception, though we think neither of them quite 
 right. To have done with this nonsensical argu- 
 ment — the writings of Swift and De Foe are a suf- 
 ficient refutation, without alluding to the novels 
 and political works of Godwin. But it is a yet 
 more ridiculous vulgar error — too absurd in itself 
 for refutation — to conceive that the absence of 
 genius, and the inability to write a work, carries 
 with it, in addition to a useless lumber of false 
 knowledge, the superponderant power of taking a 
 stand above all intellect, and dealing out conclusive 
 verdicts. 
 
 It is very extraordinary where this slippery 
 
151 
 
 Daniel has ensconced himself? We thought we 
 saw '' the shadow of a shade," steal past a-while 
 ago, " like a thief in the night." But we have 
 surrounded him, and blocked up all the loop-holes, 
 and he cannot escape. To continue. 
 
 We never knew but one instance of a Reader of 
 this class, or mere critic, attempting a work of his 
 own. We do not, of course, allude to the " scissors 
 and paste" authorship, in w^hich the fraternity have 
 
 abounded. Mr. could never summon courage 
 
 to put it forth, though frequently pressed to do 
 so by a staid admirer, who was a very respectable 
 publisher ; being invariably employed in ^' abstract- 
 ing redundancies of mind,"" as he expressed it, in 
 order that his production might be " more finished 
 — more terse, sir — more pure for posterity*." 
 
 * This reminds one of the story of a certain quack prac- 
 titioner in a country town, who, besides having killed some of 
 the best labourers in the parish, was found guilty of certain 
 peccadilloes for which he was sentenced to be hanged. Re- 
 questing a draught of porter to moisten his mouth, just as 
 he was being led to execution, he was observed to blow off 
 the froth very carefully ; when being asked his reason for so 
 doing, he sagely repUed that " it was bad for the gravel." 
 
152 
 
 A publisher's Reader is a human diagram, and 
 considers himself perfect in all respects, and prove- 
 ably so — by the rule. We think not ; unless he 
 can prove the parts to be everything, and the 
 whole nothing. He is, at best, a picture of accu- 
 rate, formal, highly-finished details, with no subject 
 or foreground. He is the prototype of the ,wi- 
 disant architect of a building, who carried about 
 some bricks as a specimen. He is made up of bald 
 lines and mathematical outworks, and has no sub- 
 stantial concentration. These gentry are all alike. 
 " They stick to the table of contents, and never 
 open the volume of the mind. They are for 
 having maps, not pictures of the world we live in. 
 If you want to look for the situation of a particu- 
 lar spot, they turn to a pasteboard globe, on which 
 they fix their wandering gaze ; and because you 
 cannot find the object of your search in their bald 
 ' abridgments,"* tell you there is no such place, or 
 that it is not worth inquiring after. But ' there are 
 more things between heaven and earth than were 
 ever dreamt of in their philosophy.' They cannot 
 get them all in, of the size of life, and therefore 
 
153 
 
 they reduce them on a graduated scale, till they 
 think they can*." 
 . Our "chosen one" must be found. He has hidden 
 himself in deep shade ; he has crept several times 
 round the inner walls of the logical arena, and 
 perhaps — so atomic is he— he may have got 
 through some drain, or - - - - but what is that flat 
 form lying prone upon the earth? We have 
 discovered the craven ! — he has hidden himself 
 under an empty sack, which was once his employer's 
 weighty purse ! 
 
 So much for his sense of conscience. And see ! 
 he now starts up, and flies across the arena, cover- 
 ing himself with the publisher's name inverted on 
 a half-moon shield ! 
 
 He speaks ! We hear his voice muttering from 
 a remote dark corner, " like a man with a large 
 reckoning in a small room ! " He affirms that he 
 is no such person — that he is not the creature we 
 describe. He denies himself. He says, moreover, 
 that the above character is either a conjuration 
 
 * Hazlitt, on Reason and Imagination. 
 H 3 
 
154 
 
 of the writer's imagination, or else that we have 
 drawn our own ! 
 
 You say it is our own. Then who wrote the 
 other parts of this painful volume ? for certainly 
 it contains thoughts and theories, whether sound 
 or idle, that such a character could not conceive 
 even if he would dare to express. The proof of 
 this will be, that such an individual will seldom 
 be able to understand them. As to the character 
 being imaginary — ask the publishers ? 
 
 To resume, however ; for we have not half done. 
 We have a motive in demonstrating this psycho- 
 logical atomy beyond the mere exposition of pub- 
 lishers' Readers. The analysis will include the 
 larger part of the countless Order of Knights False- 
 Oracles. And therefore, 
 
 " Thou shalt be given to the leech's hand. 
 To study causes on thy bloodless heart, 
 Why men should be Hke geese ; " 
 
 or like automatons : things who have the passions 
 cut and dried for them. He is incorrigible in his 
 mistaken studies. He pores over the gospel accord- 
 ing to St. Criticism, and we, who are living men, 
 
155 
 
 with all our feelings about us, are to be crippled, 
 bound hand and foot, hamstrung, broken upon the 
 wheel, pared down, and melted to make candles 
 for him to read it by ! Upon this heretic lore he 
 gazes " with fervency ; "" like Antony when he 
 fished up the red herring. He is like the cele- 
 brated ' Anatomic Vivante,' who, we all know, 
 was very fond of shutting out the sun and reading 
 by the light of a candle placed behind him, and 
 showing through his empty case upon the sullen 
 page. Oh, men of genius, to what would he 
 reduce you ! 
 
 He does not know the distinction between art 
 and nature. He habitually confounds the latter 
 with the former ; and where he is unable to do so, 
 from the determinate and powerful marking, he 
 pronounces it all wrong. He would turn the tables 
 upon us and reverse nature and the passions. He 
 would have the sea swim upon the ships, and insists 
 upon a tempest conducting itself with discretion. 
 He would put snaffles and patent bits into the 
 brazen jaws of the four great winds, tind teach all 
 things propriety. There is no excitement in him 
 
156 
 
 except the vicious one of heartless mischief. He 
 is a mere critic, who has no ideas beyond criticism. 
 With him, all intellect is art ; imagination is an 
 art ; passion an art. There must, however, be 
 somewhat of a misgiving in his mind, as no one of 
 his brotherhood has yet ventured to put forth an 
 essay upon the art of imagination, &c. Yet such 
 is the foundation of his practical system. He 
 knows nothing, but of ' old usance ^ and second 
 nature. Nature herself is " pushed out of date,'' 
 and, like all her greatest children, outlawed. He 
 does not know that the most certain way of pro- 
 ducing an original work at the present time, is to 
 be natural. He has no knowledge whatever of 
 the Principles of Human Action. His philo- 
 sophy is a dull antithesis to human nature, as 
 mean and abortive in intellect as in feeling. He 
 is a partially-read, but regular metaphysician, 
 in the corrupt sense of the word. He does not 
 know that a real metaphysician is a dangerous 
 penetrator, even when trifled with by the most 
 guarded proxy. He thinks himself the true 
 possessor of the secret — till he feels 'done for.'' 
 
157 
 
 Whatever he may think, this is the only thing he 
 can feel. He is a practical man who can do nothing 
 worth mentioning, either for himself or for any 
 body else ; except as shown in the present Expo- 
 sition. It is his favourite conceit, by continual 
 innuendos, to riddle folks with the idea of his 
 acuteness of penetration. He is a cunning clown 
 turned conjuror, who knows where " a three-man 
 beetle^' is hid! When somebody else has found 
 it, and proved the fact, he exclaims, * I thought so 
 from the first ! "* He never fairly says at once, * I 
 can do this thing," or ' I see that it is so,' but 
 speaks fluently upon ' acumen,' and all the wond- 
 rous insights of the human mind — and listens 
 through the publisher's key-hole ! What he gene- 
 rally hears, we can readily imagine ; but, at best, 
 it is casually said of him by his employer, after 
 
 the language of divers periodicals, that "Mr. 
 
 appears to have an intimate acquaintance with the 
 hidden springs of our human nature, &c. ; '*' just as 
 they would speak of any intimate Mr. Smith, who 
 was nowhere to be found. But we are not subject 
 to the same tides and cross currents as the sea, and 
 
158 
 
 no book-acquirements or systematic knowledge can 
 lay bare our foundations. The strong excitements 
 of nature are beyond the reduction of all systems ; 
 and are not its profound depths and silent work- 
 ings ? He talks of ethics, physics, learning, meta- 
 physics, (vain, eaves-dropping pedant!) poetry, 
 history, all arts and sciences, &c., with correct 
 figures of speech and grammar, and with that 
 fine, racy, original air of fresh mformation, that so 
 peculiarly distinguishes schoolmasters. After all 
 his studious labours in literature, he is fully satis- 
 fied in possessing "a ticket for the season:" he, 
 however, struts over the ' pons asinorum,"* free in 
 his own right ! He is the geometrito-moral opposite 
 of Mr. Hazlitt. He knows this well enough, and is 
 so profound a blockhead as to think himself on the 
 right side. He considers the blind side of time as 
 the best policy ; and the absorbing influence of 
 long habit makes him eventually believe it the only 
 wisdom. He has no self-knowledge, and wonders 
 at his own portrait ! Never having viewed it 
 hitherto, but through the false medium of his own 
 pedantic conceit, he is utterly confounded at seeing 
 
159 
 
 so many awkward conditions attached to his quali- 
 ties of perfection. We know that he considers all 
 loftiness of virtue and moral justice, as a mere 
 abstract idea which has nothing to do with the 
 matter-of-fact business of life ; yet we are also 
 aware that he comforts himself with the conclusive 
 notion, that, be it how it may, he will most likely 
 be dead before the truth is thoroughly found out ; 
 and has no objection to be denounced a mean- 
 spirited pretender or a hypocrite in his grave, 
 provided he can pass for a talented Pontius Pilate 
 during his life, 
 
 " Truth often swims at bottom of the world. 
 Like the sea beast, the huge Leviathan, 
 Wliile dolphins play above his grained back : 
 So men o'er-figure truth*." 
 
 He has no liberality, candour, or toleration. He 
 is a bigoted sectarian upon the crutches of false 
 knowledge. He exults in the difficulties of the 
 wrong road. He cares not who may be right, pro- 
 vided his temporary interest be the gainer. Yet he 
 
 * Drama of Joseph. 
 
160 
 
 piques himself very specially upon his knowledge, 
 and refers to Lord Bacon with complacency. Now 
 it is the right application of knowledge (accordant 
 with a definition that he does not understand, and 
 can never discover) that makes intellectual power ; 
 whereas he misapplies every great principle or 
 theory he ever heard of, and is expert only in the 
 use and ' regulation exercise ' of his own false 
 rules. He is profuse of argument and erudite 
 illustration, where simplicity only is true nature : 
 where the question is intense and elaborate, he 
 treats it as a very easy matter. The clearness of 
 day-light confounds him ; his wisdom only moves 
 amidst a haze of obscurities. He is an owl. Truth 
 is too simple a thing for an ignoramus : his only 
 chance of getting beyond the vulgar, is in dogmatic 
 technicalities. He overlooks profound simplicity, 
 because to him profound nonsense is the subtlest 
 genius. He looks into himself, for instance, with 
 sage scrutiny (like a jackdaw in spectacles peering 
 through the roof of an empty house) and mistakes 
 the microcosm of Aristarchian idiosyncrasy, for the 
 categoric gauge of a transcendental universality ! He 
 
161 
 
 stands over vacuity, and talks to himself : * Ahem ! 
 quid agis ? ' and the echo answers, ' De omnibus 
 rebus, et quibusdam aliis.' This he writes down. 
 He considers it a favourable answer, including every 
 truth. He is St. Patrick's own philosopher, with- 
 out Irish wit ; he has a Sawney's cunning, without 
 Scotch ability ; a Taffy's turnip-headed under- 
 standing, without Welsh honesty ; a Cockney's 
 pert wrong-headedness, without English resolution. 
 In short, he is without name or country, and has 
 no intellectual existence, except in the idea of his 
 perplexed employer ! 
 
 Oh thou poor employer ! most Christian publisher ! 
 most patient, put-upon of men ! how little dost thou 
 dream that thy money-trap has a hole in its bottom 
 exactly the size of the Reader's head ; that thy 
 name is become a by-word for 'trush' among 
 sensible men, and an echo for bankruptcy among 
 the people! There is no great fault in thee; it is 
 thy mar-plot and thy mischief-maker, that is the 
 cause of all ! 
 
 There is no high faith, hope, or charity, in his 
 composition. He has no reverential love of truth ; 
 
162 
 
 no tenacious fear of being wrong upon an im- 
 portant abstract question ; he has no real feeling 
 about literature ; it is his business not to have any. 
 He sets up a pugnacious standard of mechanical 
 moral perfection — himself the " mixed mode " 
 pewter pagod of the cause — to which, thank 
 heaven, he can find no genuine author bow down 
 or conform. Strong only in the principle of ex- 
 clusive self-love ; or every man his own idol — 
 though probably, to ensure support, they take it 
 in turns to be King Log, or the cock ninepin — 
 the " class " stand round in their puppet station, 
 and only escape knocking down so long as they 
 continue invisible. What do they support and 
 advocate ? Not even the bald skeleton of power ; 
 not the fossil remains of grandeur — but the erect 
 brazen serpent of ignorance — and ihe stalking- 
 horse of presumption. They never fight unless 
 under cover ; and if once apparent and attacked 
 openly, they vanish for ever. There is no reaction 
 in them, except on the side of their weakness ; 
 but until the storm be blown over they either lie 
 perdu and brooding fresh mischief, or get up a 
 
163 
 
 sort of contest in small, a little pic-nic of private 
 venom and malice, to " keep their hands in ;" a kind 
 of Bactricomminomachia among tliemselves, by 
 which no harm is done, or good either ; for they 
 never kill one another. 
 
 Our friend's voice is again heard in a querulous 
 tone, as though he was rather dissatisfied with 
 the few hints we have been giving of his charac- 
 ter, literary and moral ; intellectual being out of 
 the question. He proposes to harangue for a 
 while — '' and once again, a pot of the smallest 
 ale ! " 
 
 He affirms, that, ' if it were not for critics, the 
 literary world would be over-run with bad writers. 
 All the avenues would be choked up with '* par- 
 venus," and all excellence smothered by the mob. 
 First, that the publishers, not having time or 
 abilities to enable them to judge of the merits and 
 demerits of works submitted to their consideration, 
 would put forth nothing but trash, palmed upon 
 them by imbecile or knavish writers ; and, in the 
 second place, were it not for the periodical censors 
 these base coins would '* go down " with the public 
 
164 
 
 as well as — and perhaps better than — those from 
 the finest mint.* 
 
 The time is advancing when Authors and men 
 of Genius will no longer be subject to ignorant 
 panders and charlatan Readers : 
 
 "And while lorn critics sit and droop, 
 Why they shall sit and dine ! 
 Sing merrily ! sing merrily ! 
 And fill the cup of wine ! " 
 
 His first position would be quite correct, if we 
 were not over-run already. The fair-going gentry 
 have choked out all excellence ; and the few good 
 and honest critics are out-worded by the prepon- 
 derance of those who are bad, venal, or botanically 
 hi/per. Supposing, however, what he says to be a 
 sensible statement, it cannot apply to him^ because 
 he is no critic, according to a proper definition of 
 the term. He is not, therefore, admissible in the 
 question ; even as a necessary evil. That the pub- 
 lishers would ruin themselves by printing trash, 
 were it not for their Readers, is an argument that 
 can only be made feasible by inversion, as innu- 
 merable facts have proved. It is their Readers who 
 
165 
 
 cause their ruin by recommending trash. That 
 base coin does not " go down "" with the public is 
 also proved by the many bibliopolian bankrupt- 
 cies ; and eke by the little circumstance of cargoes 
 of new pubhcations being sold for a trifle, in order 
 to try if they will " go down " elseivhere. 
 
 The Reader now puts in a sullen remonstrance, 
 tending to show that we do not give him fair play. 
 
 Not give him fair play ? Well, then, by what 
 other mode of reasoning shall we brain you — so to 
 speak ? There are only three modes or forms of 
 effective finishing. First, the bare syllogism, or 
 triunal tomahawk ; secondly, the pictorial syllo- 
 gism, which illustrates while it proves ; and lastly, 
 the syllogism satyrane, which includes the elements 
 of the other two, surrounds the subject with *che- 
 vaux de frize/ gives any ground or weapons, drives 
 it into the narrow corner of the dilemma, flanked 
 with gaping lions; proves as much by the exception 
 as the rule, or reduces it 'ad absurdun),' tixing the 
 chief object upon the piqiiety the scorn, the terror, 
 and the laughter of all beholders ! 
 
 Now, sir, you are invited to say which of these 
 
166 
 
 we shall exclusively adopt, and we will then begin 
 afresh ? 
 
 The Reader considers himself an injured man — 
 a traduced critic ! He insists that ' he is no man of 
 straw ; and that he is not to be made a Guy 
 Fawkes of in this shameful manner ! He could 
 say a great deal, if he pleased. He could write an 
 Exposition of his own, if he chose.'' (We have done 
 it for him.) ' His employer, however, is satisfied 
 with his performance^ He retires to another part 
 of the arena, with all the dignity of an undertaker's 
 foreman ! 
 
 If Swift were alive he might write a companion 
 to the Battle of the Books, and call it The Funeral 
 of New Publications ! 
 
 A publisher's Reader is of the worst order of all 
 bad critics possible. He judges of everything by 
 its faults; which is an ignorant proceeding, even if 
 what he pronounces the faults really were such. 
 He either does not know that there must be chaff 
 in every field of corn, or else he must consider 
 the corn as an illegitimate admixture. To speak 
 definitely, he never looks for any thing hid chaff; 
 
167 
 
 and in this one instance, he certainly does succeed, 
 for it is the only thing he understands. But he 
 does not understand men of genius, or the public. 
 He understands his employer's true interest just as 
 little. He is thoroughly in the dark as to what is 
 " wanted "—what will " take "—what wall " sell." 
 He never has been right yet upon any fair question 
 of single, unaided opinion. He does not know^ that 
 the heart of man contains all the first springs of 
 action, and, consequently, that its strong and well- 
 directed emanations must be felt by all who give 
 fair play to the nature within them. The public 
 commonly do this. He does not know that man- 
 kind are excited more through this true medium, 
 than by all the verbal logic that ever was generated 
 upon any system whatever. He never can know 
 what will produce excitement, because there is none 
 in his own breast. He has not a single pulse of 
 that energy, " without which, judgment is cold, 
 and knowledge is inert.'' He strait-waistcoats 
 sensation — which every body understands by in- 
 stinct — and puts on his spectacles — which the 
 general public do not. He sees through a false 
 
168 
 
 medium : the public see through a true medium- 
 By an apt association of ideas, he looks upward to 
 the blank ceiling with spontaneous face, to consider 
 how Elliot's *' Corn Law Rhymes "came to succeed, 
 now that poetry is not in the least " the taste of the 
 day ? " He shakes his head at the English Opium 
 Eater, and for the life of him cannot, even now, 
 account for its prodigious success, except by our 
 reasoning. It was felt like the first finding of an 
 elixir to renew the delicious dreams of youth, and 
 all its vague and portentous imaginations. Several 
 young men nearly died of the seductive draught at 
 the same period, referring to the book as the insti- 
 gation. A Reader would never have recommended 
 it for publication* — 'so wild, so extraordinary, so 
 unheard-of a mass of wonders, and all told as facts ! ' 
 Rut with a precedent^ he certainly had a partial 
 opinion about the subsequent " Confessions of a 
 Glutton ; " being aided in his favourable decision 
 by its vulgar inferiority. He would not know, if 
 we suffered him to be asked (however he might 
 
 * Taylor and Hessey did not employ a Reader. 
 
169 
 
 fear it) whether this Exposition would succeed ; 
 although it contains the manifest elements of popu- 
 larity. He is a greater fool than the writer. A 
 Reader believes himself a profoundly wise man, 
 notwithstanding his misgivings are fearfully ex- 
 cited upon all personal occasions. He stabs in the 
 abstraction of the dark ; he is slain the moment he 
 issues, or is dragged, from his hole. 
 
 Being now driven to the last corner by fact and 
 force, he takes refuge in hypocritical equity — 
 washes his hands, and looks all humility. We 
 hear him declaring, that ' he never pretended to be 
 infalHble ; he cannot be responsible for every thing 
 that happens — he only judges for his employers to 
 the best of his abihty.' And bad, indeed, have 
 they found his best. But away with this cant ; his 
 grand climacteric is a " Commission of Lunacy " 
 against Genius, he finds it so very unlike himself. 
 
 On night-black vans. Fate hovers o'er their heads, 
 And human indignation arm'd at point, 
 Impatient stands, waiting the sign from Jove ! 
 
 Ye venomous powers 
 
 Of shadowy hell, where crouch ye ? View your deeds 
 Ye embodied curses of the mighty dead ; 
 
170 
 
 Mark the sad ruin of imperial worth, 
 And its high progeny, like sunset, ended * ! 
 
 Of his private character, as distinguished from 
 his secret character — which is no secret henceforth — 
 a publisher's Reader both sneaks and struts through 
 the world. He pufFs forth inflated nothings, and 
 lords it dogmatically over the little, always seeking 
 such piddling, gin-and-bitter coteries as he can 
 bear down and impress with an idea of his know- 
 ledge, acute judgment, and literary importance. 
 In the society of capable men, over their brandy 
 punch, he is still as a mouse. If, in desperation or 
 sheer impudence, he break out, the lion's skin 
 drops from his shoulders in a moment, and he 
 stands confessed ! But his sexagenary aunt holds 
 him a marvellous converser ; though his wife knows 
 him for a very dull man ; and the publisher desig- 
 nates him — his " literary friend ! " In the streets 
 you would take him for a conceited master of a 
 day-school^ or an insidious private tutor, who has 
 a plot in the family ; a methodist parson, learned in 
 
 * Paraphrased from the Choephors? of JEschylus. 
 
171 
 
 *' unknown tongues,'"' who has just turned informer, 
 or a peripatetic undertaker seeking for prey ; a 
 cadaverous, ill-tempered, surgeon-apothecary, re- 
 turning from a protracted labour ; or a self-suffi- 
 cient coal merchant, who has been thrice bankrupt. 
 His face is never without a sinister and peculiarly 
 uncomfortable expression (it will have a very pecu- 
 liar uncomfortable expression when he next meets 
 his employer, after the appearance of this Exposi- 
 tion !) and he always looks as if he expected to be 
 apprehended. His greatest fear is, that an author 
 should know where he lives. Now, if such a man, 
 though rarely seen abroad, and never " at home," be 
 not one of those we have mentioned, we then feel as- 
 sured he really can be nothing less than a publisher's 
 Reader ! If, however, he chance to pass an author 
 in the streets, on either side of the way, he takes 
 an oblique glance at him, with the felonious look of 
 a rat ; but if he meet him accidentally in a book- 
 seller's shop, at close quarters, and recognise him 
 for a soldier of the " true faith,"" he steals the same 
 oblique glance, with the same expression, added to 
 that of conscious detection ! No sooner is the 
 
 i2 
 
172 
 
 injured Christian gone, than the skulking Saracen 
 fetches his breath, and drawing himself up, feels 
 like the justified General Sir Burke, of all-rising 
 authors I 
 
 But let us give him " line," and follow him 
 round town for a while. 
 
 He starts off at long strides, and goes down the 
 Thames Tunnel, there to read a MS. sent him by 
 his employer; because he is informed it is " a tale 
 of the sea," and he likes to be surrounded with 
 profound associations. He goes to the top of the 
 Colosseum, to see the panorama of London, and 
 there study the yeasting passions of the vast metro- 
 polis. He visits the Diorama, and many other ex- 
 hibitions, in the course of a single morning ; not for 
 the pleasure or improvement, or the chance of it ; 
 but merely to gain material for new impertinences 
 — a supply of bilge water for his pump. He goes 
 to a picture gallery, and gives himself airs before 
 the old masters. He considers himself to have an 
 intimate acquaintance with the best productions of 
 modern art ; and in order to prove it, he recapitu- 
 lates what every body says of them, garnished with 
 
173 
 
 his own queries. He writes long criticisms upon 
 all kinds of popular subjects, and by balancing the 
 two halves of almost every sentence ; that is, un- 
 saying or neutralising, what he has just said ; con- 
 trives to get paid for doing nothing. Ifs and huts^ 
 are in fact his sheet and best-bower anchors ; and 
 where he can find no good holding ground for 
 them, his bark is dragged away from Shuffle-port, 
 and he is soon at sea, tossing about like an old shoe 
 in the Baltic. He goes to the Theatres, because 
 there is nothing worth seeing at them ; and admires 
 the devils ! He goes to hear the German Opera, 
 because he understands a few words of German ; 
 and comes away with half a dozen more added to 
 his stock. He goes to the Italian Opera, because 
 he has received a "clapper's order;" and falls 
 asleep. (Unprincipled fellow !) He goes to see the 
 Hindoo Temple, at Exeter Hall, and pronounces 
 it a splendid piece of work. So much for the 
 eifect of gas upon his benighted perceptions. He 
 goes to the Zoological Gardens, that he may mix 
 with ladies and gentlemen, and compose a sonnet 
 to the monkeys. He gets an invitation to 's 
 
174 
 
 rjuts, and " makes hay while the sun shines'' — at 
 the supper table. He goes to a Fancy Fair—^ree 
 every where by virtue of " pufF'*'' — that he may be 
 able to say " when I was conversing with Lady- 
 Twaddle the other morning,''"' &c. He does not 
 understand Shakspeare, and therefore goes to take 
 a lesson from the Comic Sculpture, in Regent 
 Street. He iinds the dead-and-alive, fishy face of 
 Falstaff, exactly according with the bard's idea* f 
 He goes to the Adelaide Gallery, expressly to see 
 the mouse descend in a diving-bell; and departs 
 before the " combustion of steel" and the firing of 
 the steam-gun. He goes to inspect the Hydro- 
 oxygen Microscope, and feeling uncomfortable at 
 seeing a flea magnified 800,000 times (his chief 
 business being to diminish nature) says nothing 
 about it. As he looks at it, he fears his omn hour 
 
 * Since writing the above, we have been informed that 
 the Sculptor is not yet out of his teens. If so, he is un- 
 doubtedly a very clever young man, though ill-advised, or 
 more probably, wilful. His figure of Hercules shows this, 
 but at the same time does him great credit. Bardolph is 
 characteristic ; his nose— easily mistaken— is a '' true bill," 
 and the rogue's eye, excellent. 
 
1 1*/ •' 
 
 is come. This is true ; not that he will be bitten 
 and eaten, but comprehensively exposed. If he 
 does venture to praise the said exhibition, it is 
 solely on account of those destructive reptiles that 
 we see pursuing their remorseless occupations. He 
 prefers the " Industrious Fleas." 
 
 The publishers, who are not only as fair-dealing 
 and respectable a class of merchants as any that exist, 
 and certainly (always excepting the mean, pusillani- 
 mous ; and the shuffling successor of ) 
 
 according to our own personal experience, the 
 most generous and honourable of all dealers ; have 
 hitherto borne the entire odium of such disastrous 
 results to authors, as the above system has mainly 
 
 induced ; whereas but stay — come back awhile, 
 
 *' an't please ye" my friends ; we have not quite 
 done with ye. Like that habitually courteous dis- 
 penser of criminal laws, who having forgotten upon 
 a certain occasion to pass sentence of death upon 
 some condemned culprits, when informed of his 
 omission, said, " Have I ? — I'm sure I beg their 
 pardons — call them back, directly ;" even so we 
 should feel extremely sorry to have omitted show- 
 
176 
 
 ing, how the folly of a Reader's *' opinion'" often 
 strongly partakes of knavery ! 
 
 The panting Reader now declares that we intend 
 to ruin him, and all his fraternity ! We can have 
 brought him back headlong, for nothing else ! He 
 accuses us of resembling Count Charolois, " who 
 shot at slaters, merely to enjoy the barbarous fun of 
 seeing them tumble from the tops of the houses *."" 
 
 The latter piece of wickedness is exactly their 
 own, as commonly manifested towards young 
 authors, whether sparrows or sky-larks ; and as to 
 7'uining these eminent pens, we certainly do pro- 
 pose reducing them, through the sharp application 
 of rational insight, to the same unfortunate pre- 
 dicament in which they have placed their employers 
 by falsehood and folly. 
 
 To proceed with this very cruel case. 
 
 Now, whether the said Reader for any first-rate 
 publisher, is allowed a stated salary annually, or 
 that he receive two or three guineas (generally one 
 guinea per vol.) for each work he operates upon, 
 
 * Lacretelle, Hist, de la France, torn. ii. 
 
177 
 
 the sum total produces him a sufficient income for 
 the ordinary comforts and pleasures of life, so long 
 as he pursues the " even tenour'"* of his erroneous 
 way. If he recommend a work to the publisher 
 which does not sell, sufficiently at least to cover all 
 expenses, he fears that his doing so will soon mar 
 his " commission," and with it, his own interest. He 
 is wrong, even here ; for scarcely any thing will shake 
 a publisher in his opinion of his Reader's compe- 
 tency. If it were otherwise, scarcely one of them 
 would retain his situation a second season. How 
 few books, out of the thousands that have ap- 
 peared^ have met with even the most temporary 
 success ? But all the fault is laid upon the luck- 
 less Authors — their muse of old, has always been 
 the " unfortunate Old Bailey:" — nay, when a work 
 refused by one publisher, is eventually brought 
 out by another, and proves eminently successful, 
 the Reader of the former assures his employer 
 that ' it is very materially altered since he read it ; 
 and no longer, in fact — as he may say — ahem ! — 
 the same thing ! ' The publisher has never read 
 a page of the book, and is therefore obliged to lay 
 
 i3 
 
178 
 
 the untoward result upon the Author's emenda- 
 tions, the pubHc caprice, or his own ill luck. 
 Perhaps the two agree in the sage notion that suc- 
 cess is always a " toss up," and entirely a matter 
 of chance. But to return. The Reader having 
 often enough already, *' in all conscience,"" most un- 
 wittingly recommended works that did not succeed, 
 is proportionately afraid of any fresh occurrence of 
 a more ruinous nature; and when he meets with 
 a production of genius, the essential quality of 
 which, is that of making a strong effect upon the 
 public mind, he is terrified at the contemplation. 
 We are here admitting that he perceives consi- 
 derable merit in it, and a certain power of some 
 kind, though he does not understand it : still, his 
 judgment, being formed upon such sieve or thim- 
 ble-gauging principles as we have explained, he 
 knows not on which side the blow may fall ; whe- 
 ther on the right side of public excitement, or the 
 wrong ; which latter he takes for granted will 
 rebound fatally • upon the publisher's interest. 
 This again, is absurd reasoning; except the book 
 be inflammatory, scurrilous, violent in theology. 
 
179 
 
 politics, Sec. ; and is both erroneous and ignorantly 
 weak, as applied to works of genius, simply as 
 such. In this ridiculous dilemma, the Reader de- 
 termines at all events to be upon the safe side ; and 
 condemns the production accordingly. In fact, he 
 has no opinion but o, certainty. Mediocrity can 
 do no harm, and ynaij sell. Yet even in giving 
 this no-opinion, he instinctively contrives it so as 
 to leave himself a loop-hole, in case of — accidents. 
 He begins with praising the work under considera- 
 tion, sufficiently to determine the publisher''s mind 
 upon accepting it — and then drops in a gentle hut^ 
 &c. If the work sell pretty fairly, he rubs his 
 hands, and with a sagacious wink, remarks ' I said 
 so — I saw it would do !' If it does not sell at all, 
 he says with a wise, long face, ' Ah, I told you I 
 was rather afraid of it ! ' In fine, the Author and 
 the Publisher are injured and fooled; the Public 
 are defrauded and fooled ; and the Reader is both 
 fool and knave — the fool always predominant. 
 
 Have we dissected and dismissed — re-seized and 
 finally analysed and exposed this creature suffi- 
 ciently ? We think so ; but have we convicted him 
 
180 
 
 to himself? have we made him confess to his awn 
 conscience ? Not to mention his folly, does he know 
 what a rogue he is ? This is doubtful ; for he is one 
 of those dastard sinners who dare not look their own 
 motives in the face; and upon this account, for- 
 sooth, would " cheat himself against his broadest 
 convictions, into a kind of accidental innocence — 
 deliver himself from a piece of conscious roguery, 
 because his name is not Timothy. These people 
 affect extreme indignation at the scandalous opi- 
 nion of the world, if, in appreciating their conduct, 
 it makes some light error in particulars, though it 
 may be perfectly just in its general spirit and 
 bearing. Fame avers that Mr. Shuffle cheated the 
 other night at cards, to the amount of thirteen 
 shillings and sixpence — and that therefore he is a 
 knave : against which decision he contends that the 
 sum was only twelve shillings — and that therefore 
 he is an honest man * ! " 
 
 As a singular proof of the rooted station which 
 a Reader maintains in opposition to all fact, expe- 
 
 Ayton's Essays and Sketches. 
 
181 
 
 rience, and reason, over the Publisher, upon whose 
 weakness he stands bolt upright, like a wooden ora- 
 cle, or a self-acting verbal pump ; we declare that 
 nearly all the leading arguments contained in the 
 foregoing pages, were once used personally to a 
 highly respectable publisher, and their truth admit- 
 ted by him, even while he suffered himself to be en- 
 tirely over-ruled by the purblind's knavish opinion, 
 against which he had a strange misgiving .' In 
 conclusion, we affirmed our belief, that if Paul 
 Clifford and Eugene Aram — the two most suc- 
 cessful, and perhaps the finest novels of the present 
 day — had been offered as the first production of 
 an unknown writer, scarcely any of the publishers 
 
 would have accepted them ? Mr. " did not 
 
 know that they would." We certainly were not 
 prepared for that admission ! The same gentleman, 
 intending to pay his Reader's power of judging a 
 conclusive compliment, and to prove his compe- 
 tency, said that " he was not a man to be led away 
 
 by his feelings!" Mr. never spoke a truer 
 
 word ; for natural sensibility would generally lead 
 a man away from wrong judgments in most cases 
 
182 
 
 affecting the best passions of humanity. It was a 
 matter-of-fact misapplication of the words " led 
 away ;" the real force of which only applies to 
 personal or private matters, and not to abstract 
 judgments, except with enthusiasts. But all this 
 is High Dutch, with a practical prejudice in oppo- 
 sition . 
 
 Such arguments as we have here laid before the 
 Public, we have used in several quarters where 
 they might have been understood advantageously, 
 as we think, to the hearers. We did not, how- 
 ever, insist upon their validity so much as at pre- 
 sent ; not having to learn " at this time of day,"' 
 that prejudice is stronger than reason ; and that its 
 strength is in proportion to the weakness of the indi- 
 vidual, and the absence of a knowledge of element- 
 ary principles. In all his promiscuous thoughts 
 upon literature, a publisher's mind is usually 
 modelled exactly after that of his presumptuous 
 jackal. 
 
 The present work may claim the very ungainly 
 honour of first introducing to the world — a 
 Publisher's Reader ! In that occult office, hitherto 
 
183 
 
 hermetically sealed, and hidden from all eyes, is 
 centred the chief barrier and false medium, ex- 
 cluding rising authors from the Public ; and not 
 unfrequently from Posterity, for sickness and death 
 often intervene before the unfortunate devotee can 
 eventually struggle through, so as to obtain the 
 least notice. We shall conclude our lecture upon 
 this subject, by remarking, that there is no instance 
 upon record of a mere critic ever having made a 
 stand when once attacked by a man of ordinary 
 capability. " He dies, and makes no sign !" 
 
 Thus have I seen— before the storm began— 
 A froward-spoken landsman urging oft 
 The mariners to sail ; whose idle voice. 
 Soon as the tempest thunder'd out, fell mute ; 
 And hidden 'neath his cloak he meanly lay, 
 While the crew trampled o'er him*. 
 
 He has never been found a " master of his 
 fence ;" or one that even knew his own business — 
 that of finding fault. He has always mistaken the 
 greatest merits for the faults. He was a *' senior 
 wrangler'"' in words, whom ideas crushed in a mo- 
 
 * Trans, from Sophocles. Ajax, the Scourge-bearer. 
 
184 
 
 ment. He was a moral-monger, who had set up 
 against humanity. He was a mental coward. He 
 has invariably been seen to shrink back without 
 making even his despairing blow, whenever he felt 
 the grip of a senior wrestler upon him — and ever 
 after begged to be excused. He has gradually 
 fallen into the opposite vein, and sided with 
 general opinion, in a spaniel-like praise of any de- 
 monstrator who knew how to " place truth upon 
 the throne, and falsehood in the pillory." Consi- 
 dering his utter imbecility, we have, perhaps, been 
 induced to deal too heavily with him, and although 
 a great general benefit will result from his decom- 
 position, we have been too slow in perceiving his 
 utter prostration — and apologise. 
 
 V. 
 
 The British Drama and Theatres. — We 
 now come to the Drama and Theatres, the high 
 state of which has hitherto been one of the chief 
 prides of all civilised nations. 
 
185 
 
 With some barbaric people, centuries ago ; when 
 the strong spirit of the early INIarch of Intellect, at 
 vvhat we modestly consider the rude time of day- 
 break, was heralded by little else than the sound 
 of the wood-pipe, accompanied with some primi- 
 tive drum or conch-shell horn, instead of the pom- 
 pous flourish of a full band that now ostentatiously 
 oroclaims its advance ; Dramatic Power, with a 
 free stage for its high personations, was patronised 
 by the government as a national advantage, a 
 mighty and far-spreading medium of influencing 
 all ranks, to the best ends of wisdom, and of 
 private and patriotic virtue, y^schylus and So- 
 phocles had a fair field of action ; and were not 
 more admired as poets, than reverenced as moral- 
 ists and teachers, by the half-naked groups that 
 anxiously thronged to hear their plays recited * ; 
 while with the all-enlightened English, who now 
 consider themselves van-ward in the said march. 
 
 * A noisy disapprobation being manifested at some pas- 
 sage in one of the tragedies of Euripides, he came forward 
 and informed the audience, that it was his business to give 
 them instructions ; not to receive theirs. 
 
186 
 
 not only does the government give no determinate 
 and sustaining encouragement to dramatic genius 
 and art ; but, on the contrary, has circumscribed 
 their best efforts, by the establishment of a close 
 capitolian monopoly, the effects of which have 
 ruined the Drama, and the monopolists themselves. 
 In our times art has superseded nature, and 
 theatrical representations have degenerated to mere 
 amusements at the best. The voice of " the lofty 
 grave tragedians" is heard no more; the cutting 
 satire and deep moral tendency of true comedy, is 
 banished from the stage. In their place we have 
 beasts and devils ! — translations from French farces 
 and vaudevilles, unmeaning spectacles, music and 
 dancing, while the national performers on half-pay, 
 are kicked out from the Patent Theatres to make 
 room for high-salaried Italians, or a whole German 
 company ! The public are insulted, disgusted, and 
 exasperated ; and after a little bluster and a few 
 exclamations, put up with it very quietly. Oh 
 Apathy, thou first cousin to Ass, and mother of 
 Injustice, are we never to see thee rise and shake 
 off thy bonds, without some personal stimulus, some 
 
187 
 
 arrow directed to thy face, or some bull-headed pre- 
 judice? Shall we never see thy lethargic spirit act 
 with resolute consistency to its boasted power ? 
 
 A philosophic writer has taken this subtle view 
 of the theatre. 
 
 "It may be looked on as one of the most im- 
 portant, if not the chief safety valve in the great 
 engine of municipal society, through which the 
 vague wishes, romantic fancies, and restless activity 
 of mankind, are evaporated, and which are unable 
 to be totally suppressed by all the trammels that 
 the laws of civilisation can impose." 
 
 Now this view proves, we think, that the theatres, 
 if properly conducted, are of far deeper importance 
 than mere places of amusement. At present, the 
 stage addresses itself only to the gross senses, and 
 leaves the great mass of its unintellectual fre- 
 quenters to rid themselves how they can, of an 
 excitement produced without any qualifying moral, 
 or one generous feeling or principle which might 
 unconsciously influence their future conduct. The 
 senses are called into a feverish action w^ithout any 
 definite object or scenic result, and the individuals 
 
188 
 
 go away to find an actual one in sensuality or 
 mischief. The imagination once strongly excited, 
 and then disappointed, or left to itself, almost 
 always leads to some practical excess. 
 
 The most munificent support, however, of any 
 Government to the Theatres, cannot induce a 
 highly flourishing period of dramatic power, if the 
 possessors of such power are excluded by the false 
 medium of incompetent judges. The Patent The- 
 atres have always had — their Readers ! — the Drama 
 in general, its immaculate Censor ! These are of the 
 same genus as those we have just finished, though 
 differing in grade, and claiming indeed the supe- 
 rior rank; first, because their names are possible 
 to be known ; and secondly, because, while very 
 few of the others have ever tried the one day's ice 
 with a substantive work of any kind, the former 
 have usually indulged the anxious public with their 
 own highly self-approved, heavy maudlins, or some 
 very gross mirth. Every man usually forms his stan- 
 dard of excellence for others by his own ; hence the 
 trash and vulgar nonsense these Readers and Censors 
 have accepted for representation ; requiring only, in 
 
189 
 
 the spirit of a rake reformed to a hypocrite*, that it 
 should be free from the low ribaldry which abounds 
 in their own productions. These are the individual 
 smoke-jacks who, when fixed " in office,'** become 
 exclusives of all genuine power ; who choke out 
 wit, sully reputation, and set up for purists ! — all 
 the while laughing in secret at the misfortunes of 
 Disappointed Authors, and the " infinite gulli- 
 bility'" of the town ! 
 
 We know very well what the system has been ; 
 and John Bull, or John Ox, as he has been aptly 
 called, the phlegmatic and much-enduring, has 
 occasionally been told in sufficiently plain terms ; 
 but he is never to be excited to action, unless a 
 series of glaring facts be stated in a full and organ- 
 ised form, and insisted upon continually. He is 
 like a one-oxed omnibus, licensed to carry as many 
 as possible. Nothing but daily hunger and the 
 goad, can make him thoroughly comprehend his 
 degraded condition. 
 
 * We need not point this moral with the name ! 
 
190 
 
 We shall now speak of the theatres, chiefly as 
 they have been conducted during the last season. 
 
 As places for the exhibition of true dramatic 
 genius — with reference to the introduction of " fresh 
 men and strong"" — they have long been ruined : 
 and even as regards the representation of the old 
 gigantic stock, both the great houses have long 
 been at their last faint struggle. We can easily 
 explain how all this has occurred. 
 
 No elaborate analysis of mind and character will 
 be requisite in the present case, as we have already 
 stated, that the critic employed by the patent 
 theatres is of the same genus as those of the pub- 
 lishers. We have only to prove their affinity by 
 citing their actions, and the results ; and by show- 
 ing the manner in which they have brought their 
 craft to bear upon the various subjects and indivi- 
 duals submitted to the scales and callipers of their 
 misapplied office, we shall clearly see that the ruin 
 of their employers, and — which is a far more 
 serious charge — of the National Drama, was only 
 a necessary consequence. 
 
191 
 
 The phrase of " dancing attendance," is well 
 understood by every indignant dramatic writer. 
 When men of capability in this important depart- 
 ment of literature, are compelled to pass through a 
 humiliating ordeal of conflicting local interests, 
 wrong judgments, and impudent requisitions of 
 alteration in their productions ; according to opi- 
 nions, not founded upon any true and stable prin- 
 ciples of criticism, but upon the caprice, intolerance, 
 or peculiar idiosyncrasy of the individual ; such 
 writers have seldom been surprised at the negative 
 success of their mutilated works, or at the entire 
 failure of their labours. But when they have sub- 
 sequently reflected upon the time wasted in seeking 
 the favourable intercession of some mechanical 
 histrionic puppet-star ; of the ruinous delay pre- 
 vious to the examination of the Reader, and all 
 the contino-encies attendincr the consideration of the 
 private acting committee, the manager''s humour, 
 and finally, the cant, ignorance, and presumption 
 of the Licenser, it has become evident that the time 
 employed, and the '' wear and tear" of the mind 
 and constitution in producing the work ; probably 
 
192 
 
 under every disadvantage of worldly circumstances; 
 is literally a trifle compared with that of getting it 
 brought out upon the stage, in any form ; and they 
 have turned their backs upon the pursuit with a 
 disgust, that was wtll for those in whom it lasted — 
 for ever. 
 
 " What promises and subterfuges, delays, apo- 
 logies, and manoeuvres practised on one side, 
 crowd upon our conception. What solicitude and 
 suspense, letters, visits, and long anxious attend- 
 ance in cold ante-rooms, appeal to one's pity on the 
 other." 
 
 With such examples then, palpably before them, 
 which being thoroughly and minutely compre- 
 hended, are, to the deep studier of nature, almost 
 the same as personal experience ; was it likely that 
 those men, spread here and there over the country, 
 in we know not what way of life, but who possess 
 high dramatic genius, would deign to subject them- 
 selves to any attempt certain to be attended with 
 every humiliation and delay, if not insult and dis- 
 appointment ? They do not look upon a tragedy 
 as a theatrical play — a scenic illusion in the 
 
193 
 
 *^ heavy line of business " — a scholastic effort, or 
 literary piece of work ; but as the terrible and 
 practical excitement of human passions in good 
 and evil— of the deepest yearning of the affections 
 — the throes of the racked heart — and the har- 
 rowing up of our most hidden impulses of being. 
 They consider tragedy as bearing the same relation 
 to the great elements of active physical nature, 
 that an Epic does to the monument of Fate; the 
 one stands above the coil of human circumstance, 
 sufficient of power and fortitude in the loftiness of 
 its abstraction ; and perhaps considering itself the 
 only reality ; the other rises as with the waters and 
 the winds — the devoted heart is all that " does and 
 suffers" — it is borne upon the sweUing torrent with 
 prophetic agony and will — and rolls onward with 
 sounding desolation to its inevitable doom ! Are 
 these the men to '' dance attendance ?"' 
 
 The histrionic motto of " veluti in speculum," 
 is now of rather a portentous import, for little else 
 than wild diabolisms and Pandemonian spectacles, 
 are ever exhibited there, as 7ioveltles. So much 
 for a highly flattering compliment to the religious 
 
 K 
 
 LiBli^ 
 
194 
 
 public ; but with respect to authors, it would be 
 much more consistent if the inscription placed by 
 Dante over the gates of hell, " Lasciate ogni 
 speranza, &c." was adopted for a warning over the 
 entrances of both the patent theatres. 
 
 " Eat not the heart !" said Pythagoras ; which 
 applied to modern times, might be translated, 
 ' Do not become a tragic author." For why 
 should a man die prematurely from the revulsion, 
 the recoiling flame of his impassioned energies, 
 upon himself, excited in the noblest cause, and in 
 the result only wasting, parching up, and devouring 
 his existence ? Why should a man sacrifice him- 
 self to posterity upon a mental rack ? He would 
 gladly devote the main efforts and purpose of his 
 life, without the reward of wealth ; but he cer- 
 tainly requires the means to live. That many men 
 of dramatic capability — though not, we sincerely 
 hope and believe, the highest — have offered pro- 
 ductions during the last ten or twenty years, which 
 would have been most acceptable to the public, 
 and advantageous to the theatrical interest, who 
 can doubt that is aware of the immense number 
 
195 
 
 of pieces annually offered — neglected — though not 
 often returned ? 
 
 The property of Dramatic authors is not only 
 without any legal protection from universal appro- 
 priation* : it is equally open to private robbery. 
 By what right, except the very honest plea of 
 '* nine points of the law ;'" did a certain theatrical 
 
 Reader sell to Mr. P C all the MSS. 
 
 that "remained" upon his hands, accumulated 
 during the long exercise of his fertile and furtive 
 office? The long detention of manuscripts has 
 served two purposes in addition to this last"!*. It 
 has prevented many an author of ability from 
 coming forward ; and after his melancholy death, 
 has given the Reader a safe opportunity of appro- 
 priating the credit of his piece to himself, as well as 
 the emolument. If these theatrical pirates do not 
 adopt an entire play, they have an unsunned mine 
 
 * This injustice wiU soon be actionable. Dramatic writers 
 are deeply indebted to Mr. Buhver. 
 
 f Mrs. Inchbald sent a Comedy to Colman, who kept it 
 three years without taking the least notice of it. — Biographia 
 Dramatica. Had she died in the meantime, there would, 
 at least, have been some valuable " pickings !" 
 
 k2 
 
196 
 
 to pick and choose from ; and the best scenes being 
 stolen, and then cashiered from the original work — 
 '* mum's the word ! " 
 
 " The monopolists when interrogated some time 
 ago on the subject before the Chancellor, could 
 only adduce eight successful accessions to our Dra- 
 matic stock, in a period of twenty -eight years ! 
 Mark the conclusion ! — the acknowledged geniuses 
 of the age'' (even with their reputation to back 
 them) "disdain to kick their heels in theatrical 
 ante-chambers, subjected to the capricious opinions 
 of obscure persons of unproved judgment. Here, 
 Sir, let us ponder — only eight stock pieces in 
 twenty-eight years, while six hundred have been 
 during the same time annually rejected — making 
 in all, sixteen thousand eight hundred ! What a 
 reflection to the country ! Only eight out of six- 
 teen thousand eight hundred ! Who were the 
 Readers ? and who were the writers of so prodigious 
 a heap of matter — inferior to the trash which 
 managers habitually set before us* ? " 
 
 * The above passage is extracted from a pamphlet entitled 
 "Epistolary Remonstrance to Thomas Morton, Esq., Pro- 
 
197 
 
 The last sentence is perfect, and carries with it 
 its own conclusive comment. Worse trash than 
 we have had, was not possible to have been written ; 
 and even the calculation of chances, is forcibly 
 opposed to the idea of so vast a concourse of 
 authors not having produced any thing better. 
 By those pieces continually selected for the delight 
 and improvement of the nation, we may accurately 
 ascertain the critical judgment of the Readers. 
 
 It has already been inferred, that these sage gentry 
 have no idea whatever of a practical passion being 
 implicated with what tliey look upon as an entire 
 matter of business ; far less that the author might 
 make it a personal question. But our surprise is. 
 
 fessed Critic and Reader of Drury Lane." We have no 
 acquaintance whatever with the author ; but however he may 
 have been "led away" by natural feelings of indignation, 
 into personahties which are but too offensive pictures, because 
 too true, we are fully aware of the general validity of all his 
 assertions, and beg to call the attention of the public to his 
 statements. Messrs. ]\Iorton and Bishop wiU not find it so 
 easy a matter to evade the quedion by caUing him a disap- 
 pointed author ; our only surprise at reading his pamphlet, 
 is to find that he has omitted the important name of Mr. 
 Bunn. 
 
198 
 
 that none of the capable men whom we are per- 
 suaded have frequently offered their productions 
 during the above period of years, have been so exas- 
 perated at the indignities they have received, as to 
 castigate the chiefs of the dwarf junto, and set their 
 heels upon them in the public way ; nay, that with 
 ruined prospects and a starving family before 
 them, they have not seized the incendiary's torch, 
 and reduced the huge pile where their paltry op- 
 pressors reigned, to smouldering ashes — even like 
 their own hopes and fortunes. We repeat, that 
 the bare mention of such a thing is placed so far 
 beyond their comprehension, that they would 
 " lump together" both cause and effect, and pro- 
 nounce it sheer lunacy, or something impossible 
 ever to be done ; yet the same profound critics of 
 tragic works would read, over a cup of coffee, the 
 account of a fanatic, with no definite or personal 
 impulse, destroying York Minster, and fancy they 
 understood the principle thoroughly, because they 
 felt no difficulty in believing the fact. ' But then, 
 this man was not a disappointed author — he did 
 not write poetry — and no man who does write 
 
193 
 
 poetry, can ever think of doing us any thing 
 beyond verbal mischief.' 
 
 Our idea of a tragic writer, exasperated by 
 wrongs and want, is not quite so harmless ; we 
 are glad, however, of their escape. To be " put 
 down " permanently^ other weapons must be em- 
 ployed ; and they will find that words, in the right 
 place, are quite sufficient. 
 
 Let us call to mind the insulting behaviour of 
 the Committee towards Mr. Kean previous to his 
 debut. They saw nothing in him but what was 
 objectionable and dangerous ! Let us recollect that 
 these and other " officials,^' have always been 
 wrong whenever a great occasion offered ; or will 
 they seek refuge from our driving home the charge 
 of ignorance, in the confession and plea of infamous 
 knavery ? The system has come down to us entire, 
 without once missing a chance of error, and 
 still flourishes at our Patent Theatres in all 
 its pristine perversity. The lessee of Drury, we 
 would merely say, was a very weak gentleman, who 
 assumed no voice in the management of his hobby. 
 His superior wealth has been the only thing that 
 
200 
 
 prevented his sharing the fate of his bankrupt 
 predecessors. We are told that authors do not 
 oiow meet with the same neglect and insult as 
 formerly. Possibly so ; but the reform comes too 
 late — especially as they know that the ignorance con- 
 tinues. Among various other instances, how came 
 Drury Lane to reject the offer of the " Hunchback," 
 which has been so successful at the other house ? 
 And how came Mr. Morton to write " an elaborate 
 critique'** to the author, *' full of kindness,'*'' &c., 
 which the latter swallowed without seeing the 
 drift ? 
 
 Well may the theatrical critic in the Athenaeum*, 
 a writer of judgment and great fairness, call it 
 " the most imbecile management under which it 
 has ever been in our time the lot of a national 
 theatre to fall.''' W^ell may he have " complained 
 over and over again of the poorness of the pieces 
 produced ; of the painful ignorance displayed in 
 the manner of getting them up ; of the system of 
 
 See his report of criticisms upon all the new pieces pro- 
 duced at Drury Lane during the last season. No. 271. 
 
201 
 
 puffing and quackery, which makes then' bills the 
 laughing-stock of the town; and of the bad English 
 in which those puffs are put forth ! " &c. They 
 are written by the theatrical Reader ! 
 
 Well might the talented and unappreciated 
 Henderson, (who was the first that appreciated 
 Mrs. Siddons, and when she was in obscurity) say 
 long since, 
 
 " Our English stage, which was at first design'd 
 To raise the genius and improve the mind. 
 To expose the various follies of the town. 
 Seems now contented to expose its own /" 
 
 The Kemble management of the other house 
 was conducted upon no better principles. Of this 
 fact we shall give a few instances shortly, before 
 we come to speak of its recent condition under the 
 manipulations of Laporte, who took up the bear- 
 Garden system with a corresponding spirit, and 
 worked it to the full extent, without any cant or 
 false modesty whatever. -i. 
 
 To explain the cause of the arduous efforts 
 which have always been found necessary to be 
 employed by a new Composer, in order to get out 
 
 k3 
 
202 
 
 a piece at one of the great theatres, and the pre- 
 cariousness of his success in any case, we shall first 
 adduce the simple fact of a musical Director''s 
 private interests, prejudices, and liability to the 
 grossest corruption. We must not, however, omit 
 his probable ignorance with regard to all novelties, 
 seconded by that of the other managerial influences. 
 If a new opera is accepted, and meets with success, 
 it most probably supersedes the one which the 
 director has in hand, either of his own composition, 
 or an adaptation from some foreign composer. Its 
 fate is, therefore, pretty certain. If the above be 
 not the case, then it acts in the same way upon 
 some other popular composer, who, if he be not 
 already in the interest of the said director, takes 
 the best means of speedily becoming so ; and tlie 
 new composer fares just the same. If various 
 other causes and influences induce the manager to 
 determine upon bringing it out, the previous y?^(/^- 
 matic alterations insisted upon by the Director, and 
 a collision with the leader, conductor, and double 
 basses in the orchestra, rcithout " packing the 
 house," can easily ensure its utter failure. ' Let him 
 
20:3 
 
 have his way,' quoth the Director ; ' he will find 
 the consequences, as 1 foresee.'' And the manager 
 has all the expense of getting it up (piibUsldng' 
 it *) to no purpose, because he did not listen to the 
 scientific advice of his Musical Director ! 
 
 The peculiar judgment shown by musical di- 
 rectors in the manner of bringing out the works of 
 foreign composers, is characteristic of their ignorance 
 and presumptuous folly. The Director begins by 
 mutilating the fine bass and barritone parts, to suit 
 the singers who happen to be on the establishment : 
 he adulterates them for tenors, or cuts them out 
 altogether; as also the contraltos. The " con- 
 certed pieces'" are thus destroyed in their original 
 effect, — but never mind : he works them up after 
 his own fashion, with, perhaps, an additional bas- 
 soon in the orchestra. The best of these pieces, 
 and consequently the finest scenes, b.e is probably 
 obliged to omit. The opera, being now rendered 
 quite ineffective, is brought out with splendid 
 
 * Quaere : have not many of the Readers for the publishers 
 a secret influence with certain newspapers and inferior peri- 
 odicals, so as to aid the accomplishment of their own 
 predictions ? 
 
204 
 
 dresses, decorations, scenery, &c., at an immense 
 expense, and, of course, fails ! This was the case 
 with U Turco in Italia; Bishop's versions of 
 Spohr, &c., and even with Weber's Preciosa=^. The 
 shameless director then takes a pinch of snuff under 
 the manager's nose, and says, — ' Well, you see 
 foreign operas don't succeed — they don't go down 
 with the public ! — I suppose we must try them 
 with one of our own again ? ' 
 
 Our recollection of the first introduction of 
 Weber's Oberon is too painful to dwell upon. It 
 was brought out at Covent Garden, and he presided 
 himself. The influence of his many enemies was 
 so strong, that the opera was performed almost to 
 empty benches. This was a conclusive blow ; and 
 he died three days afterwards, not from the climate, 
 but from the cabal, at the head of which, we are 
 sorry to say, was * * *, himself a man of genius! 
 Was it worth while, sir, to barter your good fame 
 for an unworthy jealousy, or a paltry interest, and 
 have this whispered in the ear of posterity ? 
 
 * La Nozze di Figaro was recently brought out, and hissed 
 on account of the impudent interpolations. What have 
 Mr. Bishop's songs to do with Mozart's opera ? 
 
205 
 
 Admitting the few exceptions that may exist, 
 the sons of harmony are opponent hedgehogs to 
 each other; piggish, splenetic, obstinate, and ma- 
 licious ; weak-minded, and jealous of every ap- 
 proach. The system is, however, approaching its 
 end ; but, rooted overhead and ears in the stubbles 
 and blackthorns of conservative ill-will, they, like 
 many of their betters, are stupidly bent upon having 
 their ' better half trampled to dust in the old rut. 
 
 The reason why many fine pieces of music, and 
 many beautiful songs, are condemned to neglect, is 
 because the national taste is not yet sufficiently good 
 to enable us to judge for ourselves; unknown com- 
 posers are therefore placed at the mercy of all sorts 
 of critics, who can often destroy their chance by 
 advertisements, with one dash of the pen ; and to 
 get a song known to the public, through the me- 
 dium of a popular singer, it is requisite to be able 
 to meet the demand of the said popular singer; 
 which is from fifteen to five and twenty pounds 
 for singing it o?ice. Under these circumstances, 
 the piece is left to John Bull's natural apathy. 
 With respect to instrumentalists, -when one has 
 
206 
 
 eventually appeared before the public, and suc- 
 ceeded, the little advantage he derives from his 
 pre-eminence is to be attributed to a similar cause ; 
 and until our taste is sufficiently improved to make 
 us prefer a fine piece of music, perfectly executed, 
 to the bad singing of any indifferent song, there 
 seems little chance of its beino- otherwise. 
 
 We have no intention to indulge in, or rather to 
 be forced into, personalities ; although we think it 
 must be sufficiently apparent that we possess ample 
 means of being excessively pointed in that way? 
 and of proving our accusations. We consider it of 
 no use to overthrow any knave or blockhead, when 
 another is sure to rise in his place, duly promoted 
 to the three-legged stool ! It is the principle only 
 that we attack : it is the false medium, the barrier, 
 and the abuse that we would expose, trample down, 
 and reform. 
 
 Nevertheless, we do not hold ourselves exempt 
 from an occasional exception, where the illustrative 
 enormity almost compels us to make it generally 
 known. 
 
 About two years since, a young gentleman of 
 
207 
 
 ability, offered himself as a singer to Covent Gar- 
 den. The malicious Director proposed that he 
 should first be examined as an actor; doubtless, 
 because the English stage very properly requires 
 that every singer should at least act respectably. 
 It so happened that he was not unprepared, nor 
 incompetent, in this latter respect: Mr. C. Kemble 
 shook hands with him, and expressed his high 
 approbation, &c. He then sang; and that also 
 was approved. He was not, however, a pupil of 
 one of the " craft." The musical director then 
 took him up the back of the stage, and said, in his 
 peculiar macaw voice, " Well, sir, you see Mr. 
 Kemble is your friend — heh ! — and Mr. Bartley — 
 and Tm your friend — and, A^7i .^'''' — There was a 
 pause. The novice did not catch " the idea; " and 
 by sundry managerial gradations, was edged out of 
 liis engagement. Some time after this, upon a 
 renewed application, the director spoke at large 
 upon the various pecidiar'ities the said individual 
 had yet to acquire, and concluded by stating that 
 his terms were a guinea and a half a lesson ! The 
 applicant, whose talent was already formed, felt 
 
208 
 
 disgusted and insulted ; took no lessons, and of 
 course was not suffered to come out. 
 
 He should have taken lessons to the amount of 
 fifty pounds, we perceive ; and if he could not have 
 spared the preposterous sum demanded of him for 
 his weekly lessons, out of his private pocket, he 
 should have referred the Director to his forthcoming 
 salary for payment, who would have obtained one 
 for him sufficient for the occasion. This is the 
 way these matters are managed. It ought not to 
 be omitted, that the same individual had made 
 his^ri'^ application more than three years since, in 
 the same quarter, when the director said, among 
 other things, all tending to his favourite purpose, 
 " You?' object, sir, is to get your foot upon the 
 stage — heh ! — not so easy a matter!" The novice 
 did not apprehend his real meaning ; and in reply 
 to sundry cavil hngs, thinking to carry his point by 
 natural spirit, said, " Well, sir, let me come out 
 then, not as a principal character, which, it is true, 
 has been my ambition, but as a chorus-singer— and 
 I will work my way up !'' The Director paused ; 
 then added significantly, " Heh I you Ve a cunning 
 
209 
 
 fellow, sir!''* All the above is verbatim ; let him 
 deny it if he dare. 
 
 But to mention another instance. Let the same 
 director ask his conscience, — that narrow slip of 
 parchment, — whether he did not occasion the en- 
 tire ruin of young Dean, by insisting upon his 
 coming out in an opera which did not suit him, in 
 preference to the one he himself would have chosen ? 
 Why then did he come out in it ? Nobody would 
 use that argument who was aware of the extreme 
 difficulty of getting out in any way. The opera 
 substituted by the director, was one that thoroughly 
 exposed Mr. Dean'*s deficiencies as an actor, and 
 gave no opportunity for the display of his capa- 
 bilities as a singer. Though he had an excellent 
 voice and method, and was an accomplished musi- 
 cian, (a jf^r better one than the director himself,) 
 his failure was a necessary consequence. It preyed 
 upon his spirits, and hastened his premature end. 
 How different would have been his " first appear- 
 ance,"" had he been introduced as " pupil " of Tom 
 Nokes, or Sir Snaffle Snuffle * ? 
 
 * How palpable that the " office" made " the man" ! Now 
 that he no longer holds it, you scarcely ever hear his name. 
 
^10 
 
 Nothing can be more shameful than the pupil 
 system^ by which an individual, of whatever talent, 
 is compelled to article himself, or herself, to one of 
 the directors, or one of the influences — the barrier 
 and false medium — in order to obtain an engage- 
 ment, or even a trial. Is it not a bitterly hard case, 
 that those whose talent is already formed, should 
 find it necessary to be articled to one of these rapa- 
 cious quacks, for three, four, or five years, to 
 enable them to get a fair hearing w4th the public, 
 and a salary, in case of success, half of which the 
 same shark constantly receives during that period, 
 by virtue of the exercise of his interest, and the 
 great pains he has taken in giving half a dozen 
 lessons, of about ten minutes' duration ? There have 
 been many sufferers of this kind upon the boards, 
 (and no doubt there are some still) working out their 
 articles, and laughing bitterly at the losing joke of 
 their lessons, who would in vain have solicited an 
 engagement without adopting the aggravating alter- 
 native. 
 
 This is not all. What can surpass the bare- 
 faced impudence with which Mr. T. W has 
 
 appropriated to his own fame, as well as emolument, 
 
211 
 
 the pupils of Lanza ? Miss Stephens, for instance. 
 Miss M. Tree, also, came out as a pupil of Mr. 
 
 T. C "'s, the real instructor, Lanza, not having 
 
 sufficient interest to bring her properly before the 
 public. Miss ShirefF studied a long time under 
 eminent masters, (seven years were passed under 
 Dr. Essex,) and then appeared as a pupil of Mr. 
 
 W 's ! The truth is, we have very few English 
 
 masters who understand the proper . formation of 
 the voice, and the best method of using it. Those 
 who are most popular know very little about the 
 matter. Only compare the mawkish pupils of Sir 
 
 G. with such singers as Miss Bellchambers, 
 
 and Miss Atkinson, who are only known at the 
 concerts. The former would by this time have 
 been ' a star ' upon the boards, had she not indig- 
 nantly refused to be hoaxed forth as " a pupil of 
 Mr. Prig!" Mr. Martin, who lately appeared in 
 the opera of Giovanni, and succeeded very well, 
 came from Scotland, and by virtue of a few nonsen- 
 sical lessons, issues forth a " bran new" pupil of 
 
 Mr. T. C 's ! These hoaxes are bad enough 
 
 in themselves, and become shameful when so dearly 
 paid for. 
 
212 
 
 The difficulties which new actors and singers, who 
 foolishly think that real merit is alone sufficient to 
 procure them an engagement, have to encounter 
 before they can find means to get even an appear- 
 ance upon the boards of one of the patent theatres, 
 are seldom to be surmounted without the pro- 
 gressive sufferance of years of disappointed per- 
 severance. This, however, is chiefly the case where 
 their merit is of a very superior character, for 
 mediocrity, as we continually see, generally finds a 
 ready admission, by some means or other, and an 
 advantageous engagement. Nor is the precarious 
 ordeal the above individuals have to undergo in 
 passing muster with acting managers, musical 
 directors, theatrical committees, &c., the only 
 hard fate to which they are exposed. AVhen at 
 length ; by the process of time and its chances ; a 
 lucky illness or absence of some enemy or actor in 
 the same department ; a well-applied sum of money ; 
 the emergency of a new piece ; or the judicious con- 
 cealment of the extent of his originaliti/ and capa- 
 bility ; a new applicant succeeds in making his way 
 on to the stage through the dense press of the 
 
S13 
 
 ignorance, obstinacy, and knavery of its " too many 
 cooks ; " he has then to contend with the private 
 hatred, envy, and mahce of his brother performers. 
 Actors entertain the bitterest personal ill-will 
 against each other : it greatly exceeds that of 
 authors, which is saying enough, but not too 
 much. The circumstances which ought most to 
 excite their kindness and friendly countenance, at 
 least, is the very thing which produces the most 
 opposite effect — the recollection of their own pre- 
 vious difficulties. The idea of an individual coming 
 out at one of the great theatres in London, who 
 has not been a miserable drudge for years in the 
 country, like themselves, is unbearable. We will 
 mention one or two of their favourite tricks, just 
 to give the public a hint of their behaviour to 
 a new comer. Packing the galleries with a flock 
 of rabble geese, who are to lay in wait for any in- 
 accurac}^ or indiscretion, and subsequently crush 
 the debutant by taking advantage of his confusion 
 or nervousness ; or, in the absence of such oppor- 
 tunity, to create a vulgar row, and perhaps a sham 
 fight, so that the rest may drown his best passages, 
 
214 
 
 and distract him in his critical points, by roaring 
 for silence and the expulsion of the disputants ; 
 is sufficiently known, though the public are never 
 aware of it — at the time. But it is not so well 
 known, because ostensible to musical men only, 
 that the leader, conductor, and double basses of an 
 orchestra, singly or collectively, can ruin a new 
 singer, either by destroying his best passages and ' 
 intentions, or throwing him completely out ; with 
 an ease that renders it quite unapparent to the 
 audience, yet certain in its effect. It must have 
 been perceived by most people, that the English 
 orchestras never attend to the " pianos" and 
 " fortes" of any new singer, when left to themselves. 
 He must be a " pupil," and have his master in the 
 orchestra. The chief trick of malice, however, in 
 the actors, is the following, which has been kept 
 hitherto, a close masonic secret among the elect, 
 never admitted in words even among themselves. 
 Wlien a new actor or singer, whose damnation is 
 particularly desired, is about to make his most 
 effective point, he is manoeuvred up the back of 
 the stage, either by the previous actions of the 
 
215 
 
 others, or else by the private by-play stepping 
 back of the one he is immediately associated with 
 in the scene; so that, at the climax, his voice is 
 lost among the side-wings and lofty flies, and the 
 next speaker or singer instantly taking up his part, 
 before the applause can even have a chance of 
 beginning, the said climax, upon which perhaps so 
 much study had been bestowed and so many hopes 
 built, passes off as nothing ; and in this manner he 
 is foiled and disheartened two or three times, which 
 are generally quite sufficient. We recently saw an 
 actor invidiously try this trick upon Kean, in order 
 to take advantage of the physical weakness which 
 would have rendered his intended point less than 
 ineffective ; but cleverly as the gradual retreat was 
 covered with by-play, the old stager saw through 
 it in a moment, and with all the spirit and decision 
 of genius, turned it into an advantage. Instead 
 of the passion bursting forth on the spot to which 
 he had been unavoidably drawn, he rushed upon 
 the manceuvrer, dragged him down the stage to 
 the very lamps, and then made his point. The 
 public were electrified ! — the gentlemen of the press 
 
216 
 
 thought it a preconcerted thing. But a " debu- 
 tant" would not have been aware of the well-acted 
 design ; or, if he had, would not have dared to meet 
 it in the same way. The ill-natured custom, also, of 
 not looking at a " debutant," and thus superseding 
 or preventing his by-play ; marring him in his points, 
 or cutting him out of them by hastily taking up 
 their own right, or wrong, cue ; for it may be done 
 both .ways ; putting him out and throwing him off 
 his guard by unconcerted crossings, wrong en- 
 trances or exits, and actions not previously used at 
 rehearsals ; and not countenancing him when acting 
 to them, or else out-facing him in an arrogant or 
 contemptuous manner, — are also among the choice 
 instances of histrionic charity and brotherly love. 
 
 We have already spoken of the ignorance and 
 abuses in the management of the two great houses, 
 but we must spare room just to touch once more 
 upon the subject. 
 
 It is some years since the sages exhibited their 
 bari'iers to Mrs. Wood, then Miss Paton ; but it is 
 not many more months since an ' acting committee ' 
 behaved with point-blank ignorance and injustice, 
 
217 
 
 and the most contemptible impudence to another 
 singer ; who, however, had spirit enough to make 
 them shrink into their natural insic^nificance. So 
 tlioroughly saturated with practical ignorance are 
 those men who officiate in the managerial system, 
 and so case-hardened is their bare-faced impenetra- 
 bility, that, upon the above occasion, when the in- 
 dividual, whose capabilities as a singer and actor 
 had been previously admitted by competent judges, 
 (Charles Kemble, Bartley, Slc, and De Begnis, 
 Donzelli, Zuchelh, Madame Blasis, with all of 
 whom he had sang duets at public concerts), refused 
 to succumb to the false grounds of their objection 
 to him at rehearsal, and argued the question in the 
 private committee-room, with Messrs. Bunn, Mor- 
 ton, Bishop, and the heroic posture-master, Wallack, 
 challenging them in vain, singly or collectively, to 
 adduce any direct instances of impropriety or ill- 
 suited action — since nothing was said of his singing, 
 for which he had expressly offered himself — and 
 mentioninoj several names of those who had been 
 rejected upon premature decisions, and with unfair 
 hearings, they interrupted him by taking up the 
 
 L 
 
218 
 
 manifold tale, with all the unconsciousness of 
 executioners, and actually helped him to some half 
 a dozen more names, all of which were beacon-like 
 examples of the asinine perversity of their race ! 
 And they will do this at any time, to show their 
 theatrical knowledge. On the above occasion, they 
 sneaked out of the room one at a time. It only 
 remains to add, that his rejection was quite contrary 
 to the previous impression and desire of Captain 
 Treasurer, (called by courtesy, the manager,) and 
 also against his own word of promise ; but he suf- 
 fered himself to be served precisely as a publisher 
 is by his Reader. The principle is exactly the same. 
 The individual, to whom we allude, was Mr. Lenox ; 
 and, with any thing like fair play, we venture 
 our belief, that he will not have appeared half a 
 season, if in suitable parts, before he will be gene- 
 rally acknowledged as the most dramatic singer that 
 ever appeared ob the English stage. The manner 
 in which his first appearance was hailed at Covent 
 Garden some months ago, by upwards of a dozen 
 unfeed periodicals, almost supersedes the merit of 
 our being the first to advance such an opinion. 
 
219 
 
 While tlie natural result of this blind system 
 has long been manifested in the regular bankruptcy 
 of the progressive managers, (the recent lessee of 
 Drury being an exception, for obvious reasons) 
 and continual distress of both great houses ; we had 
 next to contemplate the humiliating fact of one of our 
 metropolitan theatres having passed into the hands of 
 a foreigner. "Was it not enough for the reflection of 
 native talent, that he should have the Italian Opera, 
 without shamino' the whole nation bv becoming the 
 proprietor of Coven t Garden for a period of seven 
 years. We wage no war against Monsieur Laporte ; 
 his conduct only shows to what we have brought 
 ourselves. He is a very clever, speculating, shrewd 
 man, who perceiving our perverse ignorance and 
 folly, has come over to take every advantage of us ; 
 and we indignantly wish him every success. We 
 beheld with scornful pleasure the debasement of 
 Covent Garden ; the quiet frank dismissal of legi- 
 timate tragedy and comedy from the stage, which 
 characterised his first attack upon the Drama ; his 
 thorough devotion to shows, foreign processions, 
 dancing and singing, and gaudy decorations ; the 
 
 T O 
 
220 
 
 ejectment of many of the veteran performers in the 
 orchestra, and the supplying it with foreigners (a 
 very natural thing for him to do, and of course to 
 be expected) — the reduction of salaries, ' ad libi- 
 tum,** and his closing or opening the theatre at 
 his best convenience in the course of the week ; 
 the economical shutting up of one box-entrance, 
 thereby getting rid of sundry door-keepers, check- 
 takers, &c., and declining the " stately presence'"' of 
 the soldiers pacing in front ; thus saving not less 
 than three hundred per annum. The soldiers are 
 of no more 7^5^ than the stone figures over the grand 
 entrance : but we like to see a grand entrance. We 
 approve of a somewhat imposing show outside ; 
 it is the imposing show inside that we detest and 
 scorn. 
 
 Laporte having stipulated with his foreign com- 
 pany at his Italian Opera, that they should also 
 perform at his Covent Garden, the " Treasurer"'' of 
 Drury Lane exerted himself to the utmost to rival 
 him in the preposterous display of gorgeous hifer- 
 nals^ male and female attitudes, and all kinds of 
 twelfth-cake representations. Hence, we have re- 
 
221 
 
 cently been favoured with the tJiree great theatres 
 of London all performing the same sort of nonsense 
 together. The " ballet'^ of Kenilworth at Covent 
 Garden was peculiarly adapted to the manliness of 
 English taste. We there saw the noble Earl of 
 Leicester stand upon the point of a single toe, with 
 the other leg lifted horizontally stiff, like a pair of 
 compasses, and then dance before the Virgin Queen 
 likezaiiiling'. We felt quite ashamed — particularly 
 for the British drama. 
 
 Laporte adopted the excellent plan of giving us 
 a practical lecture upon ' National Genius,'' and 
 having shown us, either that we scarcely possess 
 any, or else that it is only fit to be trampled under 
 foot by foreign dancers, showmen, singers, fiddlers, 
 tragedy hoaxes, and an African Roscius, has quietly 
 sneaked out of his ostensible situation, to counter- 
 mine us by a fresh manoeuvre. 
 
 The public witness the fall of one of the patent 
 theatres into the hands of a foreign speculator, who 
 came to this country, by his own confession, " with 
 only half a crown in his pocket," and are content : 
 they are favoured with continental trash and native 
 
222 
 
 trash, and still content : they know the ill-treat- 
 ment of the English performers, and finally be- 
 liold their entire ejectment from the theatre : yet 
 John Ox maintains his lordly apathy ! The patent 
 theatre having been " closed for the season," merely 
 to afford a covering to the intended trick, no 
 sooner is the original company established at the 
 Olympic, than the said patent theatre re-opens, 
 with an entire German company. The regidar 
 play-goers make a little bluster about this, and 
 threaten opposition, but soon become reconciled, 
 and retire on observing the name of an English 
 manager held up as a qualifying shield. Block- 
 heads ! do you not see that Mr. Bunn is in secret 
 league with Laporte, and that the retii^ed ex-lessee 
 of Drury Lane, " like a sheep before his shearers, 
 that is dumb," still continues to find " means " for 
 these jobbing tacticians * ? 
 
 Let us oiFer a word in conclusion about the 
 
 * This is the state of affairs at present, May 18th. It re- 
 quires a daily periodical to keep pace with their chicaneries 
 and absurdities. 
 
proprietors or shareholders of the patent theatres. 
 At Covent Garden no dividend has been paid for 
 some years; free admissions, however, have been 
 liberally given in exchange to the shareholders and 
 their friends. At Drury Lane a dividend is still 
 paid, and the managers seem to consider that this 
 fulfilment of an honest agreement is so meritorious 
 an occurrence, that it renders it quite unnecessary 
 to attend to the other legal stipulations. According 
 to the documents, a share-holder is entitled to go 
 into any part of the house in front of the curtain 
 he may choose, on any night of performance when 
 not a '^ benefit " or a play for charitable pur- 
 poses, &c., with the exception of fifteen boxes. 
 He is now excluded iroxn Jhrty boxes; and, if we 
 could devote the space, we could enter much fur- 
 ther into abuses, the practice of which amounts to 
 saying * Get out of your house ! ' So much for 
 building a theatre. We anticipate the commence- 
 ment of several actions at law against certain 
 parties, which will soon bring them to their senses. 
 This will be a much better plan than that of a 
 friend of ours, an Irish gentleman, who threatens 
 
to take a barrel of gunpowder into the pit with 
 him, and blow up his share ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Royal Academy. — When the results 
 of any proposition, theory, system, or conventional 
 establishment, are discovered, through a long course 
 of years, to contradict or neutralise the admitted 
 aim and design ; the premises must either be false, 
 or the induction, whether theoretical or practical, 
 unsound and disjointed. The Royal Academy is 
 a pompous body of pretensions that confute them- 
 selves. The public can no longer be deceived, 
 and will not be fooled ; the measure of monopoly 
 is full, and indignation must at last speak out. 
 
 The writer in the New Monthly of last May, 
 himself a talented artist, has gone a great way 
 towards proving all the following important 
 charges. — 1st. That the Academy is averse to a 
 charter that would render it amenable to the laws 
 
225 
 
 of the country. 2ndly. It has done little to pro- 
 mote, and much to prevent, the advance of the 
 fine arts. Srdly. That a progress in the fine arts 
 has been most conspicuous in those branches whicli 
 have not been subjected to the care or instructions 
 of the Academy. 4thly. That the control held by 
 that institution over rising genius, reduces artists 
 to an abject dependence on their will, totally at 
 variance with that freedom and dignity, without 
 which the fine arts can do but little in support of 
 civilisation and virtuous sentiment. 5thly. That, 
 instead of keeping their power within their walls, 
 they have attempted to produce an universal sub- 
 serviency to their dictation and interest ; so much 
 so, indeed, that even the House of Commons has 
 deputed its authority to this company, which 
 depends on the breath of its patron, losing sight 
 of that important distinction between royal and 
 national institutions." 
 
 We recommend every individual, who takes a 
 sincere interest in the advancement of the fine arts 
 in this country, to peruse the writer's substantiation 
 of the above. We shall offer a few additional 
 remarks. l 3 
 
226 
 
 The dislike of the Royal Academicians to a 
 legal charter is a palpable inference from the 
 extreme secrecy maintained as to all their pro- 
 ceedings, which might otherwise be brought to 
 light. They are at present the supreme of all 
 monopolists, and they wish to remain so. The 
 Royal Academy is the closest of all corpora- 
 tions : the Academicians elect the Academicians 
 in private ; or how came so many cousins and sons 
 among them ? The term 'Associates' is a misnomer, 
 for they have no voice whatever in any proceedings, 
 and seldom even any knowledge of them. Its 
 judgment seat is an inquisitorial tribunal, from 
 whose verdict there is no appeal ; except to the 
 king — who knows nothing about the matter. Its 
 despotic power has always been the same. What 
 was Barry's crime that he should be excommuni- 
 cated ? One count \yas this ; he asked what they 
 did with the money ? 
 
 It is plain that they do not sincerely endeavour 
 to advance the fine arts, except as coincident with 
 their own interest, because they keep back men of 
 great and original merit. One effectual method of 
 
o^77 
 
 doing this, is that of placing a condemned good 
 picture so high, so low, or in so bad a light, that 
 it can only be seen, if seen at all, to its greatest 
 disadvantage ; for it surely must be evident that 
 tlie intended effect of any picture can easily be 
 destroyed by hanging it in positive opposition to 
 the principle upon which it was painted. A few 
 discouragements of this kind are enough to disgust 
 tlie artist, and convince him that he is only wasting 
 liis time in striving for advancement according to 
 his approach to excellence. The monopolists will 
 affirm, that they never place a fine painting in a 
 bad situation. But let us candidly ask them 
 whether they can do justice to other good pictures 
 by the non-elect, after they have hung all their own 
 productions hi the best places ? They can hardly 
 avoid hanging all the rest too high or too low. 
 The writer in the New Monthly may well adduce 
 Gibson and Martin as instances of excluded 
 genius. The stupendous designs of the latter, are 
 well known to the public, from the numerous mez- 
 zotintos : let any one who has a sense of beauty 
 and grace, look at Gibson's exquisite marble group, 
 
228 
 
 in the present exhibition ! Where can be the 
 understanding, or the conscience of the lords para- 
 mount in art ? G. F. also mentions Mr. Clint as 
 having produced pictures that justly entitled him to 
 be advanced from the "purgatorio" of long Asso- 
 ciateship ; and his argument would have been 
 enhanced had he alluded to the naval compositions 
 of Drummond, whose designs have been pronounced 
 by most of the Academicians themselves, to be 
 masterly productions. The Academicians have 
 long since avowed that they do not confer the 
 diploma of an Associate upon any individual, 
 unless they consider his talent entitles him to the 
 superior rank, as the natural sequence. Why then 
 do they not elect according to seniority ? But no; 
 the said declaration does not prevent them from 
 keeping him twenty years " in waiting" while their 
 own friends and relations are put over his head- 
 Merit, of whatever superiority, is a secondary con- 
 sideration to such interested ties; including, also, 
 a subserviency to all their private views and plans ; 
 the only exception, perhaps, to which very national 
 claims, being the notice taken by the public of the 
 
unjust neglect, and the reiteration of a forcible 
 indimiation. The long exclusion of artists of 
 ability may be owing to three circumstances, in 
 addition to the above desiderata : their poverty, 
 independence of conduct, or intellectual abilities ; 
 which latter disqualification, when united to the 
 other two, is certain to act against them, from the 
 consciousness of the monopolists that it would be 
 dangerous to the continuance of their *' sub rosa" 
 proceedings. 
 
 As to their instructions having produced so few^ 
 good artists, it is an old theory of ours, that, 
 beyond the rudiments, ground-work, or method, 
 whether theoretic or mechanical, no man is ever 
 taught to do any thing great ; he must teach 
 himself. You may learn the grammar without 
 going to college ; and it is best for you not to 
 
 o;o there. 
 
 The control exercised by the Royal Academy 
 over rising genius, curbs its energy, and by re- 
 ducing it ; on pain of losing all countenance and 
 proper treatment ; to the necessity of conforming to 
 
230 
 
 temporary models and styles, commonly destroys 
 originality in the bud. In short, they ^vish all 
 public opinion upon the fine arts to rise, centre, 
 and terminate with themselves, and thus direct 
 the public mind according to their own time- 
 serving views, vanities and interests. Even a grant 
 of Parliament cannot be made for the erection 
 of a National Gallery, but an extra sum must be 
 required that a nexv Royal Academy may be foisted 
 into the plan, and thus maintain its supreme and 
 universal dominion. So much for making interest 
 against nationality. We have heard that an official 
 letter was addressed to Lord Melbourne upon the 
 subject, who requested, in reply, to be informed 
 what were their by-laws? Mr. Hume wished to 
 know the same. This is one of the points on which 
 the public are so anxious to be instructed. What 
 are your by-laws ? 
 
 With regard to the Pension Fund, it is as com- 
 plicated in its management as questionable in its 
 effects. How many Academicians have ever re- 
 ceived it ? Why, very few. Is it then chiefly 
 
2S\ 
 
 appropriated to the widows ? We very much 
 doubt it*. 
 
 The Academicians are now complaining of the 
 difficulties and poverty of the establishment, and 
 affirm, that there are not sufficient funds in hand to 
 carry it on with advantage to themselves and the 
 fine arts. It is said — and can they prove to the 
 contrary — that the product of the exhibition four 
 years ago was 6000/. : let them answer candidly 
 whether their expenses are more than 3000/. ? The 
 last exhibition we believe to have produced very 
 little ; but has not the average sum gained by the 
 exhibitions doubled the average of the expenses ? 
 In fine, we would ask whether there is not some 
 other fund, or surplus of exhibitions, besides the 
 intangible Pension Fund, from the former of which 
 it requires the king's signature to enable them to 
 draw any sum of money for the current expenses, 
 or other purposes ? 
 
 All their proceedings are carried on in the most 
 
 * It will be seen that our view of this matter is very differ- 
 ent from that of Mr. G. F. 
 
S33 
 
 perplexing ' chiaroscuro," and a man may be a mem- 
 ber twenty years and know no more of the receipts 
 and expenditures than if he had a diploma from 
 the moon. If the Royal Academy is an exclusive 
 junto — a private body revolving in a corner — the 
 public ought to request these explanations with all 
 due deference; if it be a National Institution we 
 have a right to demand them. 
 
 No person of any liberality of mind can suppose 
 for a moment, that we intend, by the above stric- 
 tures upon the Royal Academy as a body, to reflect 
 upon the genius of individuals. We admire such 
 men as Turner, Etty, Wilkie, Rossi, &c. to the 
 utmost of their high deserts. We object to the 
 Academy as a monopoly, which is baneful in many 
 respects, to rising genius, and of little use at the 
 best. 
 
 G. F. quotes thus from Fuseli''s Lectures : *' We 
 have now been in possession of an Academy more 
 than half a century : " and after enumerating the 
 various advantages to be derived from it, he says 
 " and what is the result ? If we apply to our 
 exhibition, what does it present, in the aggregate, 
 
233 
 
 but a gorgeous display of varied powers, con- 
 demnedj if not to the beasts, at least to the dictates 
 of fashion and vanity ? Florence, Bologna, and 
 Venice, each singly taken, produced more great 
 historic pictures than all Britain together, from its 
 earliest attempts at painting to its present efforts.'" 
 While the Academy is manifestly of no good to 
 the nation, it is not even necessary to the Acade- 
 micians, unless to those who are unworthy of the 
 rank. The superior artists might form a society 
 like that of the water Colourists, and if thus united, 
 they would reap a harvest that might almost double 
 what they gain by their present secret association. 
 Why does not the spirited writer in the New 
 Monthly drive home the conclusion. The Aca- 
 demy, in the course of upwards of sixty dark years, 
 has expended vast sums of money to no good 
 purpose. It swarms the country with artists, but 
 produces very few of real ability. It had better be 
 swept away entirely. 
 
S34 
 
 VII. 
 
 Science, Learning, and Colleges. — There 
 is a fatal starting point, from whence almost all 
 men of genius, whether in science, art, or in what- 
 ever department, advance upon a mistaken prin- 
 ciple with respect to actual life. It is one in which 
 they often persist, even to the edge of madness ; 
 that is, wilfully against reason and the experience 
 of ages ; yet one which seems quite incurable : we 
 mean the incorrigible, preposterous anticipation of 
 acquiring fame and wealth according to their real 
 merits. Melancholy indeed is the slow result ; 
 and we say slow, because such is the infatuation, 
 that they never believe their distress to be a fmal 
 result. 
 
 In the foregoing i)ages, we have shown how 
 those have been treated by the world, who pro- 
 duced works of general interest and excitement, 
 and have endeavoured to elucidate the fundamental 
 causes. It will therefore be unnecessary to dwell 
 upon the almost inevitable fate of those who 
 
2S5 
 
 depend for support upon the production of works 
 addressed solely to the very limited number of the 
 profound in science, and the erudite in learning. 
 When such men, so circumstanced, are not starved, 
 then, to invert Ockley''s fine orientalism, the stars 
 viust have altered their courses ! 
 
 There are three great difficulties, " the least, a 
 death to nature," against original projectors and 
 inventors: the long rooted prejudices of man- 
 kind ; private and public stupidity as to novelties ; 
 and the commercial difficulty, which is the greatest, 
 because self-interest soon enlists the reason and 
 the will on its side. All those who ought to know 
 most about the matter, as the public say, pronounce 
 it a dano-erous innovation, and set their faces asainst 
 it*. The individual is soon ruined, and in the 
 
 * Discoveries or improvements in pleasurable or interest- 
 ing mechanical arts, are as likely to be the ruin of the 
 inventors, as those in the useful. We think it very probable 
 that Messrs. Flight and Robson Avere ruined from specula- 
 tions, directly or indirectly founded upon the ApoUonicon. 
 We trust the same mistake will not be made by the inventors 
 of the Hydro-Oxygen iVIicroscope. We also take the Hberty 
 
 of recommending j\Ir. C rane to be careful how he devotes 
 
 his genius for mechanics to the improvement of mills, or any- 
 thing else. 
 
2S6 
 
 course of a few years, a fortune is made by others, 
 who obtain a patent for the same thing a little 
 improved, while the sage public exclaim, " Who 
 would have thought it ? " 
 
 To discover a great truth, or to put forth an 
 important originality of any kind, is felt like a 
 personal attack upon the self-love of every pro- 
 fessor, pompous scholar, or advocate of the esta- 
 blished system or opinion, and is contested and 
 opposed accordingly. How deeply must John 
 Hunter have felt this mean, yet no less cruel 
 injustice ; how must the starving Sydenham have 
 writhed beneath his remorseless fate ! Whether from 
 obstinate ignorance, interest, or prejudice, every 
 novelty, of whatever value and consequence, is con- 
 sidered an innovation. It most commonly arises from 
 a union of these, acting upon individual vanity. 
 The professors cannot concede their false self- 
 importance, however important the truth that may 
 be at stake. The " flattering unction'" of the 
 soul soliloquizes thus: — 'We must not suffer the 
 world to be deluded by these erroneous notions 
 or visionary improvements, and led astray by 
 
237 
 
 pretenders and adventurers.' The mute, but in- 
 fluencing activity of identical sensation, would say, 
 ' Insolent presumption ! to arrogate a superior 
 knowledge to us, and to all past generations be- 
 sides ! Have all of us been blockheads, and are 
 we all still blockheads, except this man ? — Down 
 with him !' 
 
 We have commonly found professors, and those 
 who ought to propagate and support new^ and im- 
 portant discoveries, from whatever quarter they 
 arise, exert themselves to the utmost on the oppo- 
 nent side, or else turn a deaf ear and an averted 
 countenance. They are purblind with self-con- 
 ceit, ignorance, and prejudice. We cannot refrain 
 relating an anecdote, which ; though we invert the 
 argument ; is a practical illustration of the three 
 last mentioned qualifications. 
 
 Dr. S , the author of the celebrated attack 
 
 upon phrenology ; the strongest and most scien- 
 tific, by far, that had then appeared ; accompanied 
 us, at our request, some two or three years ago, to 
 
 Dr. Spurzheim's, in Street, for the purpose 
 
 of inspecting the Golgothian Museum. We there 
 
9JSS 
 
 found a Mr. , (let him keep his own secret) 
 
 who soon felt the many pohte questions of Dr. 
 S (whom he did not happen to know) becom- 
 ing exceedingly troublesome ; and the latter, anxious 
 for the discovery of truth, persevered, notwith- 
 standing the entrance and auxiliary voices of several 
 other gentlemen who warmly advocated the new 
 science. Skulls were flourished on high all round 
 our living heads ; and the former, contrasted with 
 the excited faces of the disputants, as they each 
 held a skull with one hand, and smote the organs 
 in question with the fingers of the other, made the 
 scene singularly grotesque, and of rather equivocal 
 sensation to some of the uninitiated visiters. The 
 living and the dead seemed to take an equal part 
 in the increasing vehemence of the discussion. 
 This is a plain description of natural impressions ; 
 there is no attempt or v>'ish to make what is called 
 " a good story"*^ of it. The manner in which the 
 contest was carried on, was highly original in itself, 
 more particularly when the combatants came to 
 personalities. " You would not make that absurd 
 remark," quoth Mr. , " if you had the organ 
 
239 
 
 of ' number' properly developed."" " Nor would 
 you have said what you did about that other 
 cranium," calmly retorted the Doctor, " if you had 
 not yourself a similar want of ' perceptivity.'" " I 
 see" — reddening: with anger — " I see * indivi- 
 duality"* marked very strong upon your head!" 
 " Do you ? — which individuality, upper or lower r" 
 — with a sneer. " Both !" — in a voice of thunder. 
 Debating thus against this array of men and mutes, 
 Dr. S. at length became inaudible and out-faced, 
 and he ceased speaking. Whereupon the said 
 ]Mr. commenced a long harangue, and con- 
 cluded with this peroration, which is nearly verba- 
 tim. " I perceive, sir, that you are completelv 
 ignorant, even of the rudiments of the science. 
 Before we can read, sir, we usually begin with 
 our letters; we then learn to put them together, 
 and thus arrive at small, easy words. Master of 
 these, we proceed to longer words, to sentences, and 
 so on, till gradually we reach the ability required. 
 Now, sir, I recommend you to go and study the 
 alphabet of this science ; and when, after the above 
 progressive method, you have learnt to read and to 
 
240 
 
 know, come back here, and we will then argue the 
 question at length, and discuss any book you please. 
 
 We '11 take S 's pamphlet, if you like, and go 
 
 through it page for page ! " Dr. S , the author 
 
 of it, bowed with philosophic humility, and we 
 retired. 
 
 This anecdote is not quoted as a jest against the 
 science of phrenology, in which, to a certain extent, 
 we are believers ; (a man of deep thought always 
 has the marks on his forehead : it can never look 
 like an empty plate ;) but as a ridiculous, matter-of- 
 fact instance of that supercilious bigotry and ignor- 
 ance, which is to be found " in full plume" among 
 professors of all systems. Systems are necessary 
 to all physical, and many moral sciences ; but the 
 abuses tend proportionately to destroy the systems 
 themselves. 
 
 While we are full}- conscious that men of very 
 superior intellect, exclusive of their erudite attain- 
 ments, are occasionally met with among professors 
 in all classes of human knowledge and research, we 
 are equally aware, that they are only as exceptions. 
 What is the reason that there is scarcely an instance 
 
241 
 
 of any man of extraordinary genius wlio was not 
 considered a dunce at scliool, and who probably 
 Tcas so, in what his master most excelled, — the 
 memory of mere words, and application of scholastic 
 rules? What is the reason that such a man of 
 genius never makes " a figure" at college, though 
 he makes '* his mark" upon the heart of Posterity ; 
 or rather, why is he almost invariably expelled*? 
 The chief causes are elucidated in the foregoing 
 pages. (Vide Causes, sect. IV. Anatomy of False 
 Oracles, and sect. II. Defence of the Higher Orders.) 
 We shall perhaps be reminded, that, in addition to 
 their probable inability to shine, or even make a 
 moderate progress in the usual collegiate studies, 
 their personal behaviour has been deficient in pro- 
 per respect to professors, and their general conduct, 
 wild, refractory, and not to be endured. Without 
 dwelling upon the fact of this latter charge being 
 equally applicable to hundreds, who never after- 
 
 * One of the highest honours that can attend a youth's 
 outset in life, is to be expelled from college, for manifesting 
 a resistance to servile ignorance and brutal tyranny. Such 
 was the case with Shelley, and many others. 
 
 M 
 
242 
 
 wards become known to the world for any merit, 
 though very often for their depravity, &c., we can 
 only say, that the misconduct of a man of genius at 
 any college establishment is a natural consequence. 
 He soon entertains a hearty contempt for professors, 
 who constantly mistake a " copia verbonam'*'' and the 
 lumber of learning, for true knowledge and wisdom, 
 to the utter exclusion of all original ideas, or real 
 appreciation of power and beauty ; and after en- 
 during many dogmatic lectures, long rustications, 
 and reprimands, he of course feels disgusted and 
 aggravated, at finding their stupidity mistaken by 
 general admission for his. The re-action is gene- 
 rally a wild escape from dull, turgid words, in- 
 numerable rules, and dry, marrowless systems, into 
 a riotous illumination of spirit, often leading to 
 some incendiary ode or pamphlet, but more com- 
 monly to reckless defiance, exuberant folly, and 
 dissolute revels. 
 
 Pretension founded upon pedantry is the most 
 conspicuous quality, or rather, quantity, that is 
 commonly acquired at College. 
 
 Let us revert finally to the previous subject. 
 
243 
 
 After all tlie " dreamers" and " visionaries" 
 whose discoveries and predictions we have seen 
 verified by facts, and admitted by the world, it 
 surely is not safe for any one to be either hasty 
 or violent in any novel discussion, if he would be 
 thought a sensible man. It is not only unwise ; it 
 is as great a want of charity and good feeling. 
 There are no bounds to science but the primitive 
 elements. Hercules was long a child, but he was 
 sure to be Hercules. Homer and Raffaelle were 
 born giants at once : they can be no more than 
 Immortals. But Science and Time are of equally 
 slow growth, though sure (barring a Deluge) even- 
 tually to arrive at all that can be known and 
 effected. A great traveller seldoms doubts of any 
 wonders : the more a man has seen and suffered, the 
 more he believes : the more we know, the more we 
 believe may be known. Wisdom and folly are of 
 equal credulity and incredulity : but wisdom has 
 grounds for both — folly no grounds for either. 
 Nothing is impossible that does not include 
 impossibility. 
 
 M 2 
 
2U 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Of Publishers. — We have devoted so much 
 consideration to Disappointed Authors, and the 
 principal difficulties, grievances, and undeserved 
 sufferings of all men of genius, with the exposition 
 of the chief causes, that we can scarcely devote a 
 space to treat of minor individuals. We will, how- 
 ever, pause a moment to say a few words — in the 
 genteelest manner — upon Disappointed Publishers. 
 
 A Publisher is a gentleman who commences 
 business as a book merchant, and his experienced 
 friends give him the following advice. ' You are 
 not to consider yourself as a literary man, or enter- 
 tain any high-flown notions about genius or talent 
 which things you are only to understand in a prac- 
 tical sense, as reflected upon your house by public 
 opinion. The fame or reputation of a work, or a 
 man's name, is what you are to purchase and spe- 
 culate upon ; the merit, whether real or assumed, 
 is a question that belongs to the writer, critic, and 
 public, and not to be meddled with by you. Your 
 
245 
 
 business is solely to sell books. You are to cater 
 for the public taste, and according as you see them 
 ' bite ** so you are to provide as long as the craving 
 lasts — but not longer. You are to look upon 
 authors as the ' raw material."* Y''ou are to work 
 them up by the machinery of your business, and 
 apply them to such purposes as your peculiar line 
 and connection require. In making use of an 
 author, who is in high repute, your way is tolerably 
 clear before you, although you are not to lose 
 all discretion upon that account — which is a very 
 common case. But if the author be unknown, it is 
 all ' up hill ' with you both, and you cannot be 
 too careful. To meet this difficulty you must 
 employ a Reader.'' 
 
 All this is fair enough ; and a Pubhsher might 
 follow such advice with safety and probable suc- 
 cess : the mischief lies in the last word. It is a 
 main point for a publisher's judgment, and there 
 he fails. He chooses a man w^ho turns out to be a 
 false pocket-rule, — and farewell to fortune ! 
 
 A ^' stirring "'"' work is always looked upon as a 
 dangerous undertaking. Each publisher likes to 
 
246 
 
 see Somebody else try it first, and then if he can 
 afterwards obtain the copy-right from the venture- 
 some merchant, he does so with great satisfaction. 
 Those who wait till the gale is " blown over" for- 
 get that it bears with its dangers, the best chances 
 of fortune. The Rejected Addresses were refused at 
 first by the Publisher (and by nearly all the rest) 
 who has now brought out the work. The freshness 
 is gone: the gale is blown over. After several 
 thousand pounds are made by a book, a thou- 
 sand is given for the copy-right ! The same 
 gentleman declined Don Juan. He pretended that 
 he did so on account of the immorality. It was 
 from sheer timidity. He has brought the work 
 out since : but the gale has blown over. 
 
 The Publishers are a much-abused race ; but we 
 sincerely believe the utmost they justly deserve, as 
 a class, is to be considered a wry-mouthed joke for 
 their rashness in speculating to the utmost upon 
 mediocrity, and their ludicrous caution, or pusilla- 
 nimous antipathy to all genuine power, owing to the 
 weakness of resigning a sole and executive judgment 
 to a fraternity of <' ignes fatui," of pitfall celebrity, 
 
247 
 
 whose false lights and omens are bred of the mere 
 earthy vapours of a stagnant brain, consummated 
 with the veriest impudence. The publishers with 
 their readers are just like the farmers with Moore's 
 Almanack. The "vox stellarum" is a mere con- 
 juror's catch -penny, to expect truth from which, 
 you might as well look for diamonds and pearls 
 among hail, or listen for oracles from a fuming 
 hay-stack. The destruction and loss of time and 
 capital is all that ever "accrues due" from the 
 ignorant faith. 
 
 While the Publishers have systematically refused 
 works of genius from unknown authors*, they have 
 continually shown a rash munificence towards those 
 who were popular ; and, in several instances, have 
 
 * And with what delays or insults ! If we were to issue 
 an advertisement inviting all authors, even of acknowledged 
 ability, to forward us a brief statement through our publisher, 
 for our future consideration, of the shameful treatment they 
 have experienced from managers, booksellers, &c., we have no 
 doubt but in the space of a month we should receive half a 
 cwt. of letters. And while we are upon the subject, we may 
 as well add, that we shall certainly pay attention to any tiptop 
 specimen of ignorance or chicanery that may be forwarded. 
 
248 
 
 gone so far as to bind themselves into an agreement 
 to allow an income for a certain number of years — 
 and sometimes for life — either without calculating 
 at all, or else thoroughly mz^calculating, how long 
 that peculiar excellence, so much in vogue at the 
 time, could reasonably be expected to last. They 
 have always lost by it. We believe it was Peter 
 Pindar''s wit that caught them, and handsomely, too, 
 for the whole term of his prolonged life ; but as no 
 individual, whether a queer king, or eccentric com- 
 moner, could possible be a good standing joke for 
 more than three years, of course his subsequent 
 productions hardly paid the expenses of print and 
 paper. The publishers understood and admired 
 his excellent wit by reason of its popularity ; but 
 they did not know that practical wit — which they 
 understand intuitively, and hate — was part of the 
 bargain. If this is not a " Disappointed Pub- 
 lisher " we know not what is ! However, the 
 Gazette often hints at consequences. 
 
 Perhaps no Publisher, within a given length of 
 time, ever introduced half so many excellent works 
 as Messrs. Taylor and Hessey ; and they were the 
 
J^49 
 
 only publishers who ever accepted a book upon the 
 sheer account of its merit. Mr. Taylor is himself 
 a literary man, and did not employ a Reader. 
 What other publisher would have imdertaken 
 Carey's Dante ? &c. Ayton''s Essays were pub- 
 lished as a ' work of love,"* and a memorial of the 
 man. The bad success of these gentlemen was 
 owing to the extraordinary force of the political 
 tide at that period ; the proof of which is mani- 
 fiest from the fact of some of their publications com- 
 mencing with a rapid sale, and stopping abruptly 
 after the appearance of several virulent attacks 
 from periodicals who were opposed to the politics 
 or liberal sentiments of the writers*. The other 
 
 *•' " The public read the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews, 
 and believe them both ; or if there is a doubt, malice turns 
 the scale. Taylor and Hessey told me that they had sold 
 nearly two editions of the "Characters of Shakspeare's Plays'' 
 in about three months; but after the Quarterly Review of 
 them came out, they never sold another copy. The pubhc^ 
 enlightened as they are, must have known the meaning of 
 that attack as well as those who made it. It was not ignorance 
 then, but cowardice, that led them to give up their own 
 opinion." — Hazlitt. 
 
 The same conduct was adopted towards Leigh Hunt; and 
 
 M 3 
 
^50 
 
 publishers have ruined themselves from adopting 
 an opposite extreme. But to those, who, like 
 Taylor and Hessey, accepted works upon the 
 strength of their merit, such discouragement would 
 not result now. The Public possess far more moral 
 courage, and are very much disposed to judge for 
 themselves. 
 
 We ought not to omit that we are aware of 
 various acts of high generosity on the part of 
 
 also towards Keats, whose only offence was his friendship for 
 the former. He was written down in both senses of the word. 
 Keats resided for some time in the native place of the writer, 
 who is well acquainted with the circumstances of his Hfe. 
 
 "VVTiile this ill-fated and too sensitive genius was dying in 
 Italy, he was so impressed with the sickening idea of the 
 malevolent power of his gratuitous enemies, that he requested 
 this epitaph might be inscribed on his tomb; " Here Hes 
 one whose name was written in water," A similar feehng 
 induced the following lines in Hyperion. 
 
 For me, dark, dark. 
 
 And painful, vile oblivion seals my eyes; 
 
 I strive to search wherefore I am so sad. 
 
 Until a melancholy numbs my limbs; 
 
 And then upon the grass I sit, and moan 
 
 Like one who once had wings. Oh, why should I 
 
 Feel curs'd and thwarted ? 
 
251 
 
 Messrs. Taylor and Hessey ; and upon one occa- 
 sion, in particular, it was as noble in act as in the 
 silence which has ever been maintained upon the 
 subject. We believe that Constable, of Edinburgh, 
 was also a generous, a humane, and a spirited man. 
 Those who consider that, to make a Publisher, it is 
 only necessary first to make an apprentice, as they 
 would to any other business, commit a very absurd 
 mistake. A Publisher holds a most important sta- 
 tion in the social machine, and on his judgment and 
 integrity depend the introduction of intellect to the 
 world, and often the direction in which it is wielded. 
 Added to this, he should be able to estimate genius 
 and talent, and also to calculate the "form and 
 pr^^ssure " of the time, and the permanent as well 
 as changeful texture of the public mind and feeling. 
 If it be supererogatory to remark, that to do this 
 requires a man of comprehensive intellect and com- 
 manding judgment, it is yet more so to add, that 
 such qualities are very rare with all classes — and 
 particularly with our friends the Publishers, 
 
252 
 
 IX. 
 
 Of Private and Public Judgment. — The 
 sublimation of the intellect and the feelings, which 
 leads to the production of works of genius, is one 
 distinct principle; the embodying any given sub- 
 ject according to regular canons of criticism and 
 art, or the excellence that begins and ends with 
 style and grace of manner, is another. The first 
 results from a birth-right, the latter from an ac- 
 quired talent. It is therefore natural enough that 
 any individual possessing the qualities appertaining 
 to only one of these intellectual conditions, should 
 judge of every thing by a coincident standard; 
 and the same will be the case with the gradations 
 of either, or a compound of the two. Hence a 
 man of limited genius may deny merit in another 
 of a more comprehensive kind, and vice versa. The 
 former cannot ascend to a corresponding eminence 
 of thought and passion ; the other's aspirations will 
 seldom permit him to gaze with sufficient attention 
 u})on anything below his own grade of power. It 
 
2oS 
 
 is perhaps a truism, to say that no one properly 
 appreciates that which he cannot or will not enter 
 into sincerely. Thus a man of talent, merely as 
 such, is naturally liable to deny all genius that is 
 unacknowledged by the world, whenever he meets 
 with it. D'lsraeli has justly argued, that it by 
 no means follows that envy or jealousy should be 
 the occasion of one man of ability denying the 
 merit of another*. The same gentleman calls the 
 profoundly subtle Montaigne, " the airy Gascon 1" 
 and we, notwithstanding our admiration, are so 
 blind or so eccentric as to designate Scott as a 
 masterly anecdotist. 
 
 " Every day we may observe, of a \vork of 
 genius, that those parts which have all the raciness 
 of the soil, and as such are most liked by its 
 admirers, are those which are the most criticised. 
 Modest critics shelter themselves under that gene- 
 ral amnesty, too freely granted, that tastes are 
 
 * " On the Literary Character." This work, like the 
 generality by the same author, is narrative rather than 
 analytic. It is, however, one of the most elegant and 
 interesting productions in our language. 
 
^54 
 
 allowed to differ ; but we should approximate much 
 nearer to the truth, if we say, that but few of man- 
 kind are prepared to relish the beautiful with that 
 enlarged taste which comprehends all the forms of 
 feeling which genius may assume ; forms which may 
 be necessarily associated with defects *." 
 
 This ought to be written in letters of gold, and 
 placed opposite the tombs of the Aristarchi. 
 
 In addition to the incompetency of private 
 judgment in the average of critics, from the above 
 causes, there is unfortunately a strong argument 
 against the independence of their opinions, even 
 when competent. Nearly all the periodicals are 
 strictly commercial in their origin and foundation, 
 which commonly influences, directly or indirectly, 
 all the writers they engage, or else the writers 
 would soon lose their employment. It is the 
 purse under cover of the politics, that constitutes 
 both main-spring and index. Few of those very 
 few who know and wish to say what is right, can 
 afford to do so; neither can they afford to be 
 
 * lb. Anxieties of Writers of Taste. 
 
255 
 
 silent. Hence the periodicals in general, while they 
 seem to lead, only follow public opinion, which is 
 a far more profitable proceeding. Two or three, 
 however, sell by very virtue of their independence, 
 which has all the force of contrast. 
 
 We cannot help often observing, that some 
 periodicals, called literary and critical, seldom 
 deign to notice, unless as objects of attack, the 
 works which proceed from other publishers, who 
 have no share as proprietors, or no collateral in- 
 terest with them ; while long extracts and eulogies 
 are continually inflicted upon the public, when the 
 works issue from the same quarter as their own 
 journal, &c. In the latter case, " the most striking 
 passages of a new work are printed on a separate 
 sheet of paper, and duly forwarded to the re- 
 viewer,'"' as a reviewer has pointedly informed us. 
 A rival critic, soon after this '' expose," accused 
 the reviewer of depicting his own proceedings. 
 If the former had made the same statement first, 
 the other would probably have made the same 
 retort. This is amusing. We agree, however, 
 with the Beacon, that such things are fair enough 
 
S56 
 
 as a mercantile transaction, we only object to the 
 public being influenced by them as literary oracles. 
 The critiques on the drama, also, are sometimes 
 written by the writers of plays and farces, who cas- 
 tigate, or contemptuously dismiss, the productions 
 of others, however superior, and applaud their oivn 
 beyond all measure — that of their vanity and interest 
 excepted. But the interest of the editor or pro- 
 prietors, no matter how obtained, can always pro- 
 cure a pufF of any calibre, or give an author, 
 artist, actor, singer, &c. the liberty of reviewing his 
 own works, or performances. This, however in- 
 directly, is done almost as commonly as by the 
 regular critics. Again, the above writer informs 
 us that some of the smaller periodicals, whose pro- 
 prietors are not great " in Gath," only review the 
 works of those publishers who advertise with them : 
 thus the eulogial flight of the critique and length 
 of the extracts, is generally proportioned to the 
 price of the advertisement. 
 
 Enough of this mercantile question. We shall 
 now proceed to show that wrong judgment often 
 begins with men of ability, and almost always with 
 
257 
 
 speculating pretenders and mechanical men, before 
 it comes to the critic's turn. 
 
 Of all the principles of human action that tend 
 to a remote result, perhaps the most common one 
 is that of mistaking the means for the end. How 
 fallacious it is to the ardent desire, whether of 
 happiness or intellectual power, of excellence in art, 
 or importance in science, our limits will only permit 
 us partially and briefly to exemplify. 
 
 It is a deeply pathetic picture of erroneous j udg- 
 ment as to real power, when we see authors who have 
 grown grey over some voluminous and erudite work, 
 lamenting that all those are dead whom they would 
 have felt any pride and gratification in pleasing ; 
 and gradually arriving at a painful doubt as to 
 there being any use or value in the product of 
 their laborious years. How far these reflections 
 would lead us, must be sufficiently evident, we 
 will therefore confine ourselves to the present 
 time. 
 
 And first of the drama and its managers. The 
 English are a people of bold energy, and fond of 
 excitement, to produce which in them, a very strong 
 
S58 
 
 blow must be made upon the passions and imagi- 
 nation. Their internal feelings are powerful, but 
 hard to rouse. They hate the insincerity of stage 
 plays, and like something forcibly dramatic. They 
 are scarcely ever favoured with the latter, and 
 drugged nightly with the former, which, in addi- 
 tion, is generally sung in a foreign language I 
 This of course would have induced the ruin of 
 the theatres, without its being accelerated by pre- 
 posterous salaries to " the stars," who cannot draw 
 *' crowded audiences" of themselves. The empti- 
 ness of the theatres is owing to the badness of 
 the pieces produced ; to their want of intellect, 
 moral point, and satisfactory excitement and 
 amusement. This vile choice has commonly been 
 the case when intriguing actors have conducted 
 the management. They choose pieces for a " coup 
 d'oeil," or for '• personal display," which, in 
 spite of all their puffing, and impudent play- 
 bill falsities, as to " overwhelming houses," fail 
 in rapid succession, and are then thrown aside, 
 with all their " properties,"*' to make way for 
 others, while the said worthies are feathering 
 
259 
 
 their nests amidst all the I'uin. As to operas, 
 grant that the music be as beautiful as possible, 
 the public require to see it well applied. It 
 ought not to be thrown away upon an ineffective, 
 inconclusive piece ; yet almost all ' serious operas' 
 have a lame or weak termination, in a dramatic 
 point of view. We see an inflated, pit-threatening 
 hero become suddenly full of joyance and " bon- 
 hommie,^' evidently for the sake of the " finale," 
 to sing in which he, perhaps, sneakingly returns, 
 after having been dismissed to banishment or exe- 
 cution. The English are a spirited people, and 
 require a genuine result. If proper pieces were 
 written for them, we have men of genius of our 
 own country, who can compose operas, admirable 
 as works of science, and far better suited to the 
 energy and peculiarity of the British public, than 
 almost any foreign pieces that can be selected =*. 
 
 * We make the following extract from the letter of an 
 excellent English composer, which appeared in the Times: — 
 
 " The present system is not only a check upon the growth 
 of native talent, but goes so far as altogether to deprive those 
 Composers who have acquired reputation, and who chiefly 
 depend upon their dramatic writings,— of a subsistence. 
 
260 
 
 That the boxes should be filled, is a most im- 
 portant object for the interest of the theatres ; and 
 they are usually the most empty part of the house. 
 It requires something " well worth seeing" to 
 make people dine two hours sooner than usual, or 
 jump up from table and leave their wine, and 
 perhaps the worst of an argument, behind them. 
 Few would risk indigestion and a bad play at the 
 same time. There is an additional reason that 
 prevents many ladies from taking boxes : they know 
 that the other boxes are empty. 
 
 How partial and rasping has been the reward 
 of Mr. Knowles for setting his shoulder to the 
 wheel, to restore the manly style of the old comedy. 
 
 " Let it not be supposed that I am averse to foreign music : 
 on the contrary, no one can be more devoted to it than I am. 
 If I admire German and Italian music, I at the same time 
 have the interest of our own music at heart. I do not object 
 to there being theatres for the performance of German, Italian, 
 and French operas; let them have twenty if they can be 
 supported ; but let us have one at least for the music of our 
 own country. 
 
 " Are we to be driven from our profession, perhaps from 
 our homes, by the ill-advised steps of one or two theatrical 
 proprietors ? "—J. Barnett. 
 
261 
 
 Francis the First did not " draw '^ half so much as 
 the Hunchback ; yet Miss Kemble — besides tlie 
 amount gained by the sale of many editions — 
 received about dC'SOO from the theatre, the greater 
 part of which was paid out of the receipts from the 
 Hunchback, whose author did not receive more 
 than half that sum. Every thing that ought to 
 be, is reversed. 
 
 How far the musicians mistake the means for 
 the end, we need scarcely mention. The most 
 crabbed science, and the greatest difficulties of 
 execution, are continually adopted in the place of 
 melodies that would strike home to the feelings. 
 ]\Iark the inanity of the fashionables, who can 
 hardly sit out the morning concerts, with all their 
 efforts to look musical ! 
 
 Those individuals, whose very office absolutely 
 requires the most judgment, are without any. 
 Whenever a fresh piece, be it what it might, was 
 brought out at one of the patent theatres, the 
 other instantly set every engine at work, and 
 strained every nerve to get out the same, or some- 
 thing as like it as possible, no matter with what 
 
262 
 
 inferior means. This is one of the most absurd 
 perversities that ever entered the addle-brain of 
 ignorance. By such a proceeding, a novelty which 
 might have sufficed to fill one house for a time, 
 by being divided, filled neither. Only the regular 
 playgoers went to see the same piece at both 
 houses ; the managers must have discovered that 
 the public never do ; and still the monopolists 
 persisted. By attempting to ruin each other, they 
 accelerated their own ^. It never once struck 
 them, that they ought to give something as opposite 
 as possible. Fair rivalry would be the best plan 
 
 for all parties. Messrs. Laporte and Capt. P , 
 
 with Ostensible Manager Bunn, are very far from 
 knowing how to profit by experience, and it is not 
 
 * This invidious system, it must be confessed, has some- 
 thing in it peculiarly John-Bullish. If a man's house is 
 rated too high, instead of endeavouring to get such undue 
 taxes reduced, he immediately sets to work to get his 
 neighbour's house taxed equally high. In like manner the 
 coach proprietors are less anxious about a reduction of their 
 heavy taxes, than enraged that steam-engines, which run 
 upon their own rail-road, should not be proportionately 
 oppressed. Malevolence and the spleenful love of opposition, 
 make thousands utterly bhnd to their own interest. 
 
263 
 
 likely that any advice from the press will do them 
 the least service. They have not imagination to 
 conceive originality for themselves, or to com- 
 prehend it when placed before them. Managers 
 are too old in stupidity, to learn. If the Genius of 
 the drama could render innocuous a ten-penny nail ; 
 tip it with all the reason in the world, and drive it 
 straight through their heads, it would produce no 
 better effect than if it perforated a barber's block. 
 Bankruptcy is the only thing that can rid us of 
 these mountebank, topsy-turvy " clout heads," and 
 tiiis acts upon them like the bat upon the cricket 
 ball ! 
 
 Let us say a word more about salaries. The 
 managers will pay almost any price for a name ; 
 and they do it upon a short-sighted principle. It 
 is true that the English public carry their respect 
 for names to a ridiculous extent, which proves their 
 want of a definite judgment in the first instance. 
 Their most favourable prejudices are commonly 
 open to a verbal precedent. When an original 
 performer meets with great and deserved success, 
 it is considered that his relations are as closely 
 
264 
 
 allied to him by genius or talent as by blood *. 
 It is of no use to explain, that with the reputation 
 identified with a name, a relation, however near, 
 can have no more in common than a stranger. 
 The public prejudice soon flags, and they then 
 judge of the individual by the eff*ect produced 
 upon them. If they have been led away by a 
 mere prejudice, the reaction is in proportion; if 
 they mistook mediocrity for genuine ability, they 
 are not long in finding out the error, and their 
 neglect follows of course. Meantime, the sage 
 managers have engaged the party or parties at a 
 high salary, for the whole season, or perhaps for 
 several seasons. 
 
 We had intended to say more about " Disap- 
 pointed Managers," but it is not necessary. They 
 have followed each other to the dangerous patent 
 throne, a race of misguided court-cards, who always 
 calculate upon the game of many-coloured trick — 
 and down the bright meandering vale of Bank- 
 
 • At the Italian Opera we have had the sister of Sontag, 
 the brother of Galli, and a family of Taglionis ! Our patent 
 theatres adopt the same plan. 
 
265 
 
 ruptcy they have regularly descended ; which may 
 now be fairly imagined to terminate with the " tomb 
 of all the Capulets," surrounded by the skeletons 
 and blackened corses of defunct fire works ! 
 
 The age is becoming dramatic in spite of all 
 opposition. It reminds us of Milton's description 
 of the lion issuing from beneath the earth into the 
 sun-light. The ground has long been cracked in 
 all directions, and we already see his huge head 
 and paws. Such is the public craving for '■' the 
 dramatic," that the best novelists have for years 
 constructed their works upon that principle. Those 
 who have been incompetent to the same eflPorts, 
 and have produced elaborate volumes without a 
 high-wrought human interest, have failed propor- 
 tionately. Every man of liberal education pos- 
 sesses the means of writing ; but what is his end ? 
 Whether timely or untimely the inference may be 
 the same. The real end of writing is the accom- 
 plishment of some great purpose. We have ex- 
 pressed our opinion of the lofty powers requisite to 
 produce a fine tragedy ; and next to this, we know 
 of nothing finer than a tragic novel of the highest 
 
 N 
 
266 
 
 class. If the former requires far more power, con- 
 centration, and impulsive force, the latter should 
 manifest an equal truth of passion, and a more 
 minute knowledge of nature in working up the 
 characters, and moving them forward to the pro- 
 gressive result. Perhaps to succeed greatly now, 
 a novel must absolutely be a prose tragedy, or a 
 tragi-comedy. Be this as it may, it is quite clear 
 that the public are thoroughly disgusted with 
 fashionable novels of every kind : we do not want 
 the " manners of the day," but the passions of all 
 times. 
 
 This aphorism leads us to speak of the Fine 
 Arts. Modern painters consider the grandeur and 
 originality of the artistical design and colouring, as 
 the highest excellence. We submit that this is 
 rather the means than the end of excellence. The 
 coincidence of painting with external forms, as 
 illustrative of internal feelings, we should think far 
 nearer the truth. This is what the public, col- 
 lectively, understand best ; and certainly all those 
 individuals who are the most intellectual, and whose 
 sympathies are the most acute. While the " few*** 
 
267 
 
 understand only the art of painting, the " many" 
 understand only the right end and purpose of it. 
 
 We will mention a little anecdote, which is 
 creditable to the Royal Academy, 
 
 An unknown artist about ten years ago, seiit a 
 very badly painted picture for the Exhibition. The 
 committee laughed ; but were struck with a " some- 
 thing" in it, and gave it admission. The subject 
 was this. It was a queer-coloured landscape, and 
 a strange, doldrum figure of a girl was seated upon 
 a bank, leaning over a dingy, duck-weed pool. 
 Over the stagnant smeary green, lay scattered the 
 fragments of a letter that she had torn to pieces, and 
 she seemed considering whether she should plump 
 herself in, after it. Now, in tldn case the Acade- 
 micians judged by the same feelings that influence 
 the pubhc. There was more ' touching ' invention 
 in that daub, than in nine-tenths of the best pic- 
 tures exhibited these last we do not know how 
 many years. The artist is now eminent, though 
 he has left the country owing to a domestic cir- 
 cumstance. 
 
 Of historical pictures we cannot but remark, that 
 
 N 2 
 
268 
 
 the last thing the painters in general think of, is 
 the correct expression of the faces ; and the sculp- 
 tors do not appear to think of it at all. Do not the 
 painters consider it important ? do they not know 
 that the face is commonly the index of the mind, 
 the sensibility, and the capacity of the will — to all 
 who can read it ? In this knowledge they ought 
 to be better versed than all other classes ; and 
 probably no class is so ignorant. Their incessant 
 practice is with the features, and they do not con- 
 sider the movements of the soul that give them 
 animation and meaning. When they attempt the 
 best in this way, they commonly fail utterly. They 
 are evidently new in the study, and have no in- 
 spiration. 
 
 Historical painting seems to be " past and gone ;"''' 
 there are men, however, who could do much to 
 bring back its " noble presence,"" were not their 
 worldly circumstances too straitened to admit of 
 their making the attempt. Nevertheless, we must 
 remark, that very expensive efforts have been mis- 
 directed to recover the lost popularity of the arts. 
 The question stands thus: either the nobilit\ and 
 
269 
 
 the wealthy have withdrawn their patronage from 
 pictures, and conferred it upon splendid frames ; or 
 else the splendid frames are an idle attempt to win 
 them back to the pictures. 
 
 The best means of obtaining popularity for 
 human efforts of all kinds, is by the production of 
 some striking originality. This will almost always 
 draw attention to what was before unknown, or 
 bring back attention to any thing that has passed 
 into neglect. We are here speaking with reference 
 to the public, and supposing the originality in 
 question to be brought fairly before the general 
 tribunal : and there lies the difficulty. 
 
 " The taste of the day," says Hazlitt, " hangs 
 like a mill-stone round the neck of all original 
 genius that does not conform to established rules 
 and models."" This is too true, but it is far more 
 the fault of the critics than the public. The critics, 
 in every department, ought to be alive to all impor- 
 tant novelties, and teach a general appreciation. 
 On the contrary, when it is discovered that the 
 Public neglect what they do not understand, (which 
 is natural enough) the critics then rise and teach 
 
270 
 
 them to abuse it. One might reasonably start the 
 question, as to whether common " fair play" would 
 not be of more value to the world than the pro- 
 foundest abstract wasdom ? 
 
 The Sciences and Arts do not equally appeal to 
 public judgment. The former, more especially, 
 require aid to be brought into notice and appre- 
 ciation. Is it surprising that such men as Lord 
 Bacon should not be much valued in their own day ? 
 The man who produces a great work that precedes 
 his time, must generally have the whole impulse of 
 society against him, with all its momentum of ages, 
 of prejudices, &c. It is the misfortune, or the 
 weakness of the public, not to understand him ; all 
 the fault lies with those who do, and remain silent. 
 It is the business of every critic to understand 
 everything in his own department ; but originality 
 is beyond his department; the difficulty, therefore, 
 has to resolve itself by a slow process through 
 the aggregate opinions of successive " enlightened 
 publics."" 
 
 Why do not competent men endeavour to recal 
 the Arts to a sense of their own dignity and im- 
 
211 
 
 portance, by advocating the grand walks ? It may 
 be argued that real criticisms upon the Fine Arts, 
 combining a knowledge of the professional arcana, 
 with a philosophical analysis, would not be read 
 in daily periodicals ? We think otherwise ; pro- 
 vided they were made generally intelligible by the 
 absence of all abstruse or technical phraseology. 
 
 In matters of science, and all recondite questions 
 of human knowledge, the public are only learners ; 
 to the general efforts of genius, however, the public 
 feeling is commonly alive and responsive, and the 
 permanence of this is the best criterion of merit. 
 
 Nearly every man''s standard of excellence for 
 others, is commensurate with the degree possessed 
 by himself, whether actually or imaginarily ; and 
 this applies both to questions of real power and 
 mechanical talents. Let us take a summary view- 
 in conclusion. 
 
 As the great modern critic upon the Fine Arts 
 has said, '* that, as a class, the worst judges of 
 painting,"" — meaning the spirituality and imagina- 
 tive refinement of it — " are the members of the 
 Royal Academy," so we say of the Managers aiid 
 
272 
 
 theatrical Committees with respect to acting and 
 other performances; and their habitual conduct 
 and its results prove the assertion. Like those 
 of the Readers for the publishers, their " opinions,"" 
 upon important points, always turn out to be 
 wrong, when they venture to give them decidedly, 
 but, in general, like their brothers, they have 
 no opinion but a certainty. If a new actor or 
 singer succeeds greatly, they say, " I thought 
 so !" — if he fail utterly, they say " I thought 
 sol" They really know nothing about the mat- 
 ter. When a performer has succeeded well, and 
 got a good salary, then they understand his merit 
 but never before. As in the case of all books, 
 which contain matter that is generally intel- 
 ligible, and can be universally felt, so it is with 
 new actors of merit, and able artists. The Public 
 are the best judges, because " en masse " they have 
 no mechanical or professional standard, but refer to 
 their own private feelings, experience of life, and all 
 its ordinary passions, and also — which in general is 
 of more weight — to the excitement of the imagi- 
 nation. Touch them in this way, and they under- 
 
J^73 
 
 stand it immediately. What the Managers, Com- 
 mittees, musical Directors, theatrical Readers, pub- 
 lishers' Readers, nay, and Royal Academicians, &c. 
 call success, is simply — the approbation of the 
 public : and yet they all persist in calculating 
 how the public will be affected by what the public 
 do not understand ! 
 
 We shall here conclude by pointing to the ad- 
 vancing March of Intellect, whose advent is hailed 
 with admiration, with gladness, and with sun-ward 
 hope ! by all who love to know that mankind are 
 bursting; the last links of the earth-oTindino; chain 
 of wide-spread despotism, and to behold ignorance 
 propelled, hke a retiring sea, before a prophetic 
 voice ; — bearing upon its surface far away, the 
 tossing wrecks of the countless rich insignia 
 and cabalistic charters of slavery and intolerant 
 selfishness. 
 
 The men who were the first, from time imrae- 
 
 N 3 
 
^74 
 
 morial, to commence this mighty work, the pioneers, 
 who in successive generations have devoted the 
 labours of their hfe to clear the vast, the dark, 
 and dang-erous roads for its colossal advance — have 
 all been Martyrs to the cause ! And are they 
 still to be so ? No : the world is at last growing 
 wiser for experience, and the time is not far 
 distant when men of genius will at least have a 
 chance of being able, by the best exercise of their 
 abilities, to save themselves and families from 
 being starved. The first step to this is the over- 
 throw of the barriers and abuses, the supersedence 
 of the false medium excluding men of genius from 
 the public ; and as the present Exposition lays the 
 " old offenders" bare and at full length to the in- 
 spection of all eyes, we believe they will find it a 
 serious risk ever again to flap their buzzard wings 
 so high, either upon their own midden or behind the 
 skreen. The clock-work of their heads is exposed, 
 which, as it palpably tends to their stoppage, is 
 much the same as having them chopped off. — " So 
 much for oracles !"" 
 
 Nevertheless, as there may be some of these in- 
 
275 
 
 dividuals whose perception and sensibility, if they 
 ever possessed any, are so thoroughly indurated, 
 and whose swaggering impudence and conceit 
 render them too ignorant even to know when 
 Time, at length unhooded, and urged by the real 
 " Taste of the Day,'** has placed the mill-stone 
 round the necks of the marble-grindino' millers; 
 let such a one, as chosen champion embodying all 
 their best, rise up, if possible, as high as his knees, 
 and plead against the extermination of his race ! 
 — Let him expose his mind and system to the 
 above judges, with the pubhc for an umpire. Let 
 him put the finishing proof to all we have said. 
 Let him summon, marshal, and advance all his 
 school logic ; let him pump up and fount aloft all 
 his verbal eloquence, in the extreme height and 
 purpose of his most impassioned powers ! Let us 
 hear the last news from Lilliput ! 
 
2T6 
 
 THE REMEDY. 
 
 Geological, Zoological, Phrenological, Astro- 
 nomical, Botanical, Horticultural, Geographical, 
 Asiatic, Antiquarian, Royal, Philharmonic, Phil- 
 anthropic, &C.5 &c. These societies and institutions 
 are excellent and laudable; but Shakspeare, the 
 outlaw, was worth them all. 
 
 While we entertain a due respect for institutions 
 of the various branches of science and other de- 
 partments of knowledge, we are by no means sure 
 whether it might not be maintained that the in- 
 fluence of any one man of pre-eminent genius, 
 upon society and the world at large, is of still 
 greater importance and moment ; and that if his 
 genius takes the best direction, — that of delineating 
 
277 
 
 the highest examples, and advocating the highest 
 purposes of humanity, — it is of far greater value. 
 Grant that few men of genius are a fraction of 
 what Shakspeare was, all men of genius are likely 
 to come near the whole, and in many great political 
 points, very much to exceed him. If Bentham or 
 Gothe had devoted their powers entirely to che- 
 mistry, or to all the sciences, science might have 
 been highly benefited ; but would their influence 
 have been half so advantageous to the best in- 
 terests of humanity? If Burns had been the 
 greatest botanist of his time, Hazlitt the greatest 
 astronomer, or Scott, (the most popular of all 
 writers) an indefatigable geologist, would any of 
 them have conferred so much pleasure and profit 
 upon human nature ? This argument, however, 
 we shall not pursue ; we will merely say, and 
 without fear of even a sophistical contradiction, 
 that men of genius are entitled to an equal con- 
 sideration with men of every other class and grade 
 of intellect. But a man of genius is not treated 
 with equal consideration ; he is treated with less — 
 or rather without any. Away with your mockery 
 
2T8 
 
 stone in Westminster Abbey ! — away with your 
 anniversary dinners and memorial speeches over 
 the bottle ! Think of " the man " before he is 
 screwed down ! 
 
 A man of genius has to work up his very doubt- 
 ful way without any encouragement but hope; all 
 circumstances commonly rise at every fresh step he 
 takes, to discourage, oppress, or crush him. This 
 is fatally true ; look at the past ! Though in a 
 modified degree, it is true at present. The chief 
 obstacle now, as heretofore, is that of getting a fair 
 hearing with the public, and fair play with the 
 periodicals ; but the former reason is of far greater 
 moment at present, though the latter was almost 
 " omnipotent in evil" a few years ago. Some of 
 the periodicals are now as liberal as criticism can 
 ever become. The prodigality of public favour 
 recently heaped upon a few isolated examples, is 
 no argument against the difficulties of rising authors: 
 on the contrary ; the chairs were full : he who rises 
 must bring his own seat with him. It only proved 
 the accumulated force of public craving. But the 
 world is wide enough for all ; and our hungering 
 
279 
 
 for excitement, originality and power, is insatiable. 
 The press of circumstances, however, is against the 
 possessors, which only a very few surmount by un- 
 conquerable perseverance, or else chance supersedes 
 it for them by some lucky contingency. 
 
 The jVIarch of Intellect is a glorious advent, 
 upon which the world gaze with admiration : we 
 hope it will at last think of doing something for 
 itself I 
 
 Societies are formed to discover or preserve 
 stones, minerals, shells, flowers, fruits, or any 
 anomalous creature with strange legs, tail, or 
 horns: there is nothinsc of the kind for men of the 
 highest ability. He who discovers some rare stone, 
 or property of it hitherto unknown, or a new salt, 
 gains a degree of importance and respect : — to what 
 institution is a man of genius, who is discovered in 
 obscurity and w^ant, to be referred — except his 
 parish ? A vv^onderful fig in opposition to a living 
 Homer, and what chance has he ? — A pippin — and a 
 Paradise Lost is answered with its own argrument : 
 a world of thought to an empty shell, and the vast 
 ideal is put aside for the paltry tangible; not 
 
280 
 
 weighed but wanting ? The noblest hearts are 
 broken, while the wealthy empty their purses in 
 patronage of premature peas and strawberries ! A 
 man writes a fine tragedy ; but will it produce a fourth 
 part of the value of a full grown lion ? An heroic 
 poem, as full of fearful matter as the Trojan horse, 
 would cut but a sorry figure against the definite 
 importance of a turgid prize ox ; and as to a 
 powerful novel, or any other MS. work of genius, 
 how very different, in a worldly sense, should we 
 feel, if instead of that, we were the happy possessor 
 of a snuffy mummy of one of the Pharaohs ! 
 Living power has a sadly vague chance against a 
 thing which, in comparison, is literally only fit to 
 be " sneezed at,"*** — sic transit gloria mundi ! 
 
 There is no piece of inert matter so common, but 
 it possesses more definite conventional claims than 
 the highest efforts of human intellect. So much 
 for a lump of ivory or log- wood ; a large looking- 
 glass, or a prison gate ; a gas-pipe or a post : so much 
 for a mere stone ; though, by the by, there is no 
 chance of its asserting its independence. If, again, 
 it be unfortunately true that a man of genius is 
 
^81 
 
 not a curious bird or shell-fish,' is that a sound 
 reason for his neglect and exclusion ? — the idea is 
 enough to provoke any philosopher, not made on 
 purpose, to " deal out damns for trumps," against 
 ornithology, conchology, and all the family of the 
 terminologie/}^ &c. Real genius holds all those 
 THINGS as in the hollow of its hand ; and is a 
 knowledge of the details and technicalities, to be 
 considered as the fine pitch of excellence ? Grant 
 that he does know all these minutiae, in addition to 
 the greatest original knowledge upon the subject ; 
 he does not any the more belong to the Society : 
 he is no rare bird or shell — he is only a man ! 
 
 We have a society for the Suppression of Vice ; 
 but without putting any troublesome questions as 
 to what good its immaculate members have effected, 
 we would merely ask whether the highest purposes 
 of humanity would not have been better answered, 
 if they had formed instead of it, a Society for the 
 Encouragement of Virtue? Perhaps they may 
 regard the idea as a jest, and ask with Pilate, 
 ' what is truth, what is virtue ? how are we to dis- 
 cover and judge of it V They considered them- 
 
S82 
 
 selves very competent it would seem, as to the 
 opposite qualities? 
 
 We have an Animals' Friend Society. 
 
 The Literary Association was defunct long 
 since, and it might as well have never been esta- 
 blished, for we do not find that it did any good. 
 \ The Literary Fund is a society of long standing, 
 considerable pretensions, and high patronage. The 
 public are taught to admire and applaud it. Upon 
 what grounds? Has its bounty ever enabled a 
 man to bring forth a fine tragedy, epic, history, 
 novel, or work of science ? How many men of 
 genius has it relieved from distress ? To speak of 
 the good it effects, there is, at best, no permanent 
 advantaare to be derived from it*. \ 
 
 The Athenaeum and the Literary Union, were 
 founded on more enlarged views. What good have 
 they effected ? But admitting, out of courtesy, 
 that any of these institutions are ready at all times 
 to take into consideration every work of genuine 
 
 * Fifty pounds, we believe, were recently given to a 
 distressed man of genius with a large family, Mr. L. H . 
 
283 
 
 power and originality that may be sent for their 
 consideration ; no matter from how obscure an in- 
 dividual ; by virtue of what qualities are those wlio 
 are appointed to be the judges, elected? Intel- 
 lectual capabilities cannot, we presume, be given 
 with the office, be the party of wliat rank or in- 
 terest soever ? 
 
 We fear we shall have to class all these societies 
 with the city barge and Lord ^Mayor's coach, v/hich 
 are imposingly brought forth at stated intervals, to 
 excite the admiration of the public, but from which 
 nobody of genuine abihty and " out of employ"" 
 ever derives any advantage beyond the ride of the 
 da v. 
 
 yThe " Literary Union'" was first established for 
 the protection of authors of merit from the rapacity, 
 intolerance, or trade cabal of publishers ; and what 
 admirable works and superior men have its mem- , 
 bers introduced to the public ? What have they 
 been about all this while? — taking their wine. 
 How has all this disinterested love ended? — in 
 mock turtle ! As a ship is christened by a flatter- 
 ing name, or a tavern characterised by a vain- 
 
 ^ "^"^ OF THE *^ 
 
 
284 
 
 glorious sign, so is the " Literary Union;'"' which 
 is only a term of polite letters for a comfortable 
 dining club, with all its luxuries and conveniences^ 
 It is a branch eating-house from the Athenaeum. 
 The very literary conversation at table, is com- 
 mensurate with their generous purposes. 
 
 One of the best societies ever established, in the 
 conduct of which a general principle of honourable 
 dealing is exercised with the fewest abuses, is the 
 Society of Arts. At all events, such was the case 
 some years ago, when we had an intimate op- 
 portunity of ascertaining, and we have no reason to 
 suppose that its fair and excellent practices have 
 deteriorated. But it does not profess to have any- 
 thing to do with authors ; and in arts, manufactures, 
 and commerce, (omitting the consideration of 
 amateurs and individuals of opulence) it must 
 be readily seen that the reward of a medal or 
 small bounty, cannot be a sufficient recompense, 
 or advantageous gain and advancement, to those 
 who are in necessitous circumstances. In award- 
 ing these, the society certainly fairly fulfil their 
 promises ; still, the benefit derived includes nothing 
 
285 
 
 permanent, nor leads to it, and this is what we 
 would more especially desire. 
 
 Who does not respect and admire the purposes 
 and results of the Humane Society ? but is it not 
 a hard case, that the men most worthy of pre- 
 servation are left to their fate as exceptions. If 
 they are not literally drowned, they are immersed 
 and overwhelmed by the tide of adverse circum- 
 stances ; and we have seen some of them morallv 
 stoned to death. The Society for the Diffusion of 
 Useful Knowledge may be admirable in itself, and 
 the Penny IMagazine rightfully deserving of its ex- 
 traordinary and unprecedented popular patronage : 
 what definite advantage is this to the possessors 
 of knowledge ? In like manner we may say of the 
 Universities, that whenever they turn out (not 
 meaning a pun) a man of superior abilities, how 
 seldom is any provision made for him commen- 
 surate with such abilities, in comparison with his 
 inferiors, men of rank or patronage*; how seldom 
 
 * " Though a hundred a year, given for the encourage- 
 ,raent of science, is but as a drop in the ocean, when com- 
 
286 
 
 is any provision made at all. JVe abound in esta- 
 blishments for all hinds of acquirement ; we have 
 not ONE to ensure its fair exercise and reward. 
 
 We have now spoken with freedom of the in- 
 stitutions of science and learning, and as some may 
 think, with acrimony. If it appear so, such was 
 not our meaning. We repeat, and request it may 
 be rightly understood, that in all we have said of 
 public institutions and the various scientific societies, 
 we are far from intending anything offensive or dis- 
 respectful to them, in themselves ; it is only by com- 
 
 pared with the enormous sums lavished in unmerited pen- 
 sions, lucrative sinecure places, and scandalous jobs, by every 
 minister on his flatterers and dependents, in order to secure 
 his majorities in parliament, yet I obtained this drop with 
 difficulty, and unless the voice of a member of parliament 
 had seconded my petition, I doubt whether I should have 
 succeeded." 
 
 Such was the treatment experienced by the amiable 
 Richard Watson, afterwards Bishop of Llandaff", when pro- 
 fessor of chemistry at the university. No salary was attached 
 to the situation ; he was poor, yet a man of acknowledged 
 great abihty, too really pious to be a bigot, too really learned 
 to be a pedant. Read IJfe and Anecdotes of Richard 
 Watson. 
 
287 
 
 parison with their high and ])opular patronage, that 
 we feel indignant at the one great exception. 
 
 SjVhat we would advocate, then, is the establish- 
 ment of a Society of English Literature and Art, 
 &c. for the encouragement and permanent support 
 of men of superior ability in all departments of 
 human genius and knowledge; and that this should 
 be carried progressively onwards till enabled by 
 its funds to erect itself into a regular^/?«/ college, 
 as a rightful place of reference and natural re.ndt 
 for all the other colleges, or rather, to speak com- 
 prehensively, and more consistently, for all supe- 
 rior EFFORTS OF HUMAN FACULTIES. 
 
 - Peradventure w-e shall be told that this idea is 
 somewhat Utopian : there are many persons who 
 cannot see a thing till it is done, and fixed : that, 
 ' however well such an establishment mio^ht an- 
 swer at first, it would gradually, in the due course 
 of human frailty, become subject to all the same 
 abuses as those w^e have previously named ? ' No 
 cioubt but it would ; — we fancy ourselves looking 
 out of the grave a few years hence and seeing 
 it; — we feel posthumously wise as to the end of 
 
288 
 
 all such vain hopes ! But then, this is supposing 
 the establishment to be founded upon the old system^ 
 which is very opposite to what we advocate * . 
 
 How are its professors, or judges and umpires 
 to be chosen ? By wealth, rank, influence, pa- 
 tronage ; by the strong interest of some literary or 
 scientific fasciniae uvae ? Certainly not : but by 
 their capability, proved by their having themselves 
 produced the best works of the kind in the given 
 department. 
 
 Now, admitting that this arrangement may still 
 be subject to the influence of private vanity, self- 
 importance, jealous pique, or interest ; well, let 
 us reduce it to that. Half the old established 
 objections and difficulties thus perishes ; we mean 
 
 * Since writing the present volume, we have been gra- 
 tified to perceive ourselves not solitary in our definite feeling 
 upon this subject. In the New Monthly for ]\Iarch 1st, is the 
 first sketch of a " New Literary Association," and we think 
 the plan excellent, and quite practicable, and wish it the utmost 
 success. It only, however, includes those authors who are 
 already, and have for some time been, in the annual receipt of 
 literary incomes, varying perhaps from 500/. to 800/., and 
 does not touch the principle we start upon. 
 
289 
 
 the incompetenci^. It is quite time that genius 
 turned the tables upon ignorance. The greater 
 part, if not the whole, of the former objections 
 would, however, be superseded by the necessary 
 circumstance of there being no ' gowned ' tyrant, 
 from whose verdict there was no appeal ; but several 
 fit judges in each department, besides umpires, all 
 of whose names would be known, so that nothing^ 
 could be done in the dark. Nay, a man of ability 
 should have the right of appealing to the whole 
 society, upon any great occasion, if he objected to 
 its decision, and be permitted to argue the question 
 in full conclave. Moreover, if his claim was a 
 high one, he should have the right of printing his 
 defence at the expense of the society. 
 
 Does this idea look Utopian now ? — ' Very much 
 so,** it may be answered ; ' quite impracticable — 
 men of genius have not been hoaxed and starved 
 long enough ! ' 
 
 But as to the competency of our censors or 
 professors — unbigoted to any modern system, or 
 hardened in the vain pedantry of Aristotle— let us 
 candidly ask, who could be so fit to understand 
 
 o 
 
290 
 
 and decide upon an epic, as tlie man who had 
 written one of admitted power? — the same of a 
 great tragedy, or a fine heroic poem, a novel, a 
 comedy, an opera; and who so fit to judge of the 
 merits of a farce, as one who had written " Broad 
 Grins,"' and " More Broad Grins ?" Of course it 
 would be the height of absurdity, because a con- 
 tradiction in nature, to suppose a man could judge 
 of the loftiest impassioned power, by virtue of the 
 cleverest nonsense ! And thus, every professor 
 keeping his proper place, all the other depart- 
 ments, as history, moral philosophy, science, 
 classics, all the fine arts, mechanics, &c., would 
 have their competent judges. 
 
 The permanent advantage to be derived by 
 those whose claims are recognised by the establish- 
 ment, should be realised by annuities for life, from 
 three hundred pounds downwards. Why should 
 we still endure the bitterly true jest of the saying, 
 that " England is the place for a man of genius to 
 die in ; France for him to live in .?" 
 
 We shall here beg it distinctly to be understood, 
 though we think it must be apparent from the 
 
291 
 
 general tenor of our pages, tliat we are not ad- 
 vocatins: the cause of scribblers, who ouoht to 
 follow more congenial trades ; of sign-painters and 
 marble wig -makers; of pilfering composers and 
 mechanical actors ; of charlatan mechanics ; of pe- 
 dants in science; of stupid men of mere learning; 
 or of gentlemen who write novels and poems for 
 which they ought to be hung. Genius, in its 
 higher walks and temples, is not to be confounded 
 with the beggars in the vestibule. Ours is the 
 cause of those men who possess original powers in 
 the application of profound knowledge. 
 
 But let us consider the funds required for this 
 long-protracted rationality. Say, for instance, a 
 man produces a fine epic, and receives three 
 hundred per annum for life. It may be asked, in 
 the language of trade, ' What ! is he then to sit 
 himself down quietly for the remainder of his 
 life, and do nothing for his money ? ' Certainly : 
 he has done enough : would you have a man write 
 epics, and keep him at it, like a wheelwright with 
 a government order .'' The same may be said of 
 a great work of science or history. Be it also re- 
 
 o 9, 
 
292 
 
 membered, that a man has probably passed the 
 chief part of his Hfe before he is able to produce 
 such a work, independent of the labour of the 
 actual composition. It must be clearly seen that 
 there will be no danger of the fund being drawn 
 upon by a multiplicity of these high claimants. 
 Scarcely a sufficient number would be found, 
 even including tragic authors, to constitute the 
 requisite professors in those departments. 
 
 Again, the producer of a powerful tragedy would 
 only be entitled to an annuity of one hundred 
 pounds; not that we do not consider such a tra- 
 gedy as great an effort of human genius as the 
 finest epic, but because there is a manifest difference 
 in the time and labour employed, and also that a 
 tragic author thus brought with his due honours 
 before the public, would have a great chance of 
 emolument from the stage, whose gradual improve- 
 ment would be a necessary consequence. As, 
 however, it by no means follows that a man capable 
 of embodying one, or, perhaps, two great ques- 
 tions of passion, should be able to continue such 
 efforts ; this comparative requisition for him 
 
293 
 
 to prosecute similar labours would probably be 
 superseded by the difference of salaries among the 
 professors — as most of the producers of the greatest 
 works of all kinds would be professors, and ought 
 to be, or our end is not perfectly answered. Thus, 
 the salary of a professor in the epic department 
 would be very small in profit, though high in 
 honour, and ought not to be one half so much as 
 that of a professor in the tragic department ; nor 
 would Ms be equal to that of the individual who 
 was one of those appointed to judge of dramas in 
 general, and who would consequently have far 
 more occupation, except only this difference was 
 equalised by a commensurate number : and thus 
 with all the rest. All the salaries would be small, 
 not exceeding in any department one hundred 
 and fifty pounds per annum. The duties should, 
 however, be equalised as much as possible, either 
 by distribution, or a higher salary; and thus, 
 with the addition of their annuity, gained by virtue 
 of their work, a sufficient competency would be 
 ensured to the first men of the time in all classes 
 of human ability. 
 
294 
 
 No one would be eligible to the annuity, or 
 salary, whose circumstances were already good ; 
 but if his claim to a professorship was admitted, he 
 would of course possess the same rights of judging 
 and voting as the others, together with an honorary 
 medal. A professor should be elected in the first 
 instance by the general suffrages of all authors 
 in the given department, subject to a public defence 
 in person, if he contested the decision. In all 
 cases, the primary step is the greatest difficulty, but 
 the possible broil thus induced among a few of the 
 minor applicants, would soon be terminated by fair 
 hearing and open dealing, the want of which is 
 the chief cause of prolonged differences. All 
 canvassing, however, to be considered as disho- 
 nourable, and if discovered, as it probably would 
 be, to negative the applicant's claim. 
 
 Now we do not need to be told, after the lan- 
 guage of the lachrymose philosophy, tliat ' after 
 all is done, such an establishment must in the 
 natural course of things, be subject eventually to 
 imperfections and abuses.' No better answer to this 
 occurs to us at the moment, than to say, 'Show us a 
 
295 
 
 perfect man, and then we will show you a perfect 
 society : or rather, bring us a perfect man and 
 woman, and let us do our best to preserve the 
 breed.' Such an Establishment as we advocate, 
 would have this manifest advantage ; viz. that 
 nearly all the superior men in the country who 
 are in difficult circumstances, would have a 
 provision for life ; and those who are by any 
 contingency excluded, would only be as excep- 
 tions. The exceptions are all the other way at 
 present, and have ever been so. If the above 
 establishment must, in the natural, or unnatural, 
 course of things, degenerate so far, that the number 
 of exceptions shall exceed that of the beneficial 
 examples, why then it will cease to be the estab- 
 lishment we advocate ; and it will be high time for 
 somebody to write a similar book to ours, with 
 a view to the commencement of a fresh one upon 
 the true principles of the original foundation. But 
 if each revolving establishment only shone full for 
 half a century, the object is well worth attaining. 
 
 With regard to the funds required, we sincerely 
 believe that as a commencement, the sum of 
 
296 
 
 15,000/. per annum would amply suffice to carry 
 the best purposes of tlie Establishment into effect *; 
 by ensuring a comfortable maintenance to thirty of 
 the greatest men of the time, from annuities and 
 salaries ; by giving independence or encouragement, 
 as the case might deserve, in annuities and rewards 
 to upwards of one hundred others ; while, at the 
 same time, every distressed individual in the 
 country who possessed superior abilities, would be 
 stimulated to do his utmost, in the conviction of 
 obtaining a fair hearing, and with the honest chance 
 of receiving permanent support, or temporary 
 assistance according to his merits, and an intro- 
 duction to the pubHc. 
 
 Thus: annual expenses of house and house- 
 establishment, 1200Z. (no public dinners at the 
 expense of the fund) ; thirty Professors"* salaries, 
 averaged each at one hundred per annum, 3,000/. ; 
 annuities to thirty Professors, averaged also at one 
 hundred each, 3,000/.: annuities to sixty others, 
 
 * A gentleman has been throwing away 10,000/. per annum 
 in helping intriguing actors to ruin the drama. It seems he 
 is now got into a ' train ' for losing double that sum. 
 
claimed by virtue of their approved works, averaged 
 at 7oZ. each, but varying probably from 1501. to 
 25L per annum, 4500Z. ; premiums and rewards, 
 annually loOOZ. ; salary to secretary, 150/. ; amanu- 
 ensis, 50/. ; two surgeons, who are to attend all 
 annuitants resident in the metropolis, 150/. each ; 
 sundries, to be well accounted for, such as books of 
 reference, medals, &c., 500/. No valuable libraries 
 to be purchased, the establishment being expressly 
 founded for the natural support of living authors, 
 and all men of genius and ability who write valuable 
 books, or produce valuable matter of any kind. 
 
 We have now enumerated all the important 
 expenses, and it will be found that the estimate is 
 under the sum previously mentioned. 
 
 It must be readily seen, that this is only a first 
 sketch, and that our limits render it impossible to 
 enter at present into any systematic details. We 
 must, therefore, request liberality, and some allow- 
 ances, in thus submitting it to the public in so 
 crude a form. 
 
 While we have witnessed the busy quietism with 
 which Government, especially during the last reign, 
 
 o3 
 
298 
 
 squandered its resources in enormous salaries, sine- 
 cures, and pensions, to individuals of no capability 
 or merit, or having any claim whatever upon the 
 public; suffering at the same time, men of real 
 ability to live and die as they might, and never 
 adding any of those extraordinary results of labo- 
 rious and talented lives, to the scientific and philo- 
 sophical institutions of the country * ; we cannot 
 feel in the least surprised that such an Establish- 
 
 * How greatly would the value of the British Museum 
 have been enhanced by the addition of Belzoni's Tomb; 
 Bullock's Exhibition of Ancient and Modern Mexico; and 
 the extraordinary Museum of the late— and we may add, 
 broken-hearted, Mr. Brooks. Belzoni's circumstances com- 
 pelled him to travel again in search of fresh wonders to 
 gratify the curiosity and thirst of knowledge in mankind ; 
 and his widow, we believe, is now in distress ! Mr. Bullock, 
 with whom we were personally acquainted in Mexico, has 
 probably met a similar fate. His son, the modeller and 
 painter of the entire exhibition, died long since of the yellow 
 fever ; and his father, disappointed in his prospects, travelled 
 to Cincinnati. His speculations failed there, and during the 
 last three years he has never been heard of. A man may 
 encounter every danger, and yet return safe ; he may escape 
 death a thousand times, but he can never escape from the 
 world's ingratitude. 
 
299 
 
 ment as this should never have been founded. 
 But now that it might have some chance of being 
 favourably considered by both houses of parliament, 
 we cannot but think the rapid increase of general 
 knowledge will better conduce to a fit consumma- 
 tion through the medium of Public Patronage, 
 than if it were founded by the hand of Government. 
 The funds are not only likely to be raised with 
 less delay, but such means would also be less liable 
 to interfere with the right end and independence 
 of the Establishment, through the undue influ- 
 ence of private patronage and court interest. 
 
 But there is one point upon which the support of 
 Government is an important desideratum: we mean 
 the legal protection of literary property without 
 any limit, or with a very prolonged one, as to copy- 
 right. This would do much to obviate " the en- 
 tailed miseries which form an author's sole legacies 
 to his wife and children." " The daughter of 
 Milton need not have excited the alms of the 
 admirers of her father, if the right of authors had 
 been properly protected ; his own Paradise Lost 
 had then been her better portion, and her most 
 
300 
 
 honourable inheritance*. The children of Burns 
 would have required no subscriptions ; " (while 
 anniversary admirers are eating dinners at his 
 memory !) " that annual tribute which the public 
 pay to the genius of their parent, was their due, 
 and would have been their fortune. It is the sug- 
 gestion of a learned friend, that authors ought to 
 have some portion of the profit of every edition 
 secured to them by law." It is thus in France 
 with regard to the descendants of Corneille and 
 Moliere -f. 
 
 * " Tonson, and all his family and assignees, rode in their 
 carriages, with the profits of the five pound epic ! The elder 
 Tonson's portrait represents him in his gown and cap, holding 
 in his right hand a volume lettered ' Paradise Lost,' such a 
 favourite object was Milton and copyright!" — Calamities of 
 Authors, vol. i. We look upon this as a mean and malig- 
 nant assumption of superiority. He was the real Milton- 
 he had got all the money ! Tonson and his ne|)hew died 
 worth 200,000/. 
 
 t We extract these forcible examples, introduced in a note 
 to the same work. 
 
 " The following facts will show the value of Literary Pro- 
 perty ; immense profits and cheap purchases ! The manu- 
 script of Robinson Crusoe ran through the whole trade, and 
 no one would print it, the bookseller, who, it is said, was not 
 
301 
 
 D'Israeli proposes as " a project to provide 
 against the worst state of poverty among literary 
 rnen," that authors should turn booksellers and 
 publishers of the works that belong to their own 
 
 remarkable for his discernment, but for a speculative turn, 
 bought the work, and got a thousand guineas by it. How 
 many have the booksellers since accumulated? Burn's Justice 
 was disposed of by its author for a trifle, as well as Buchan's 
 Domestic Medicine; these works yield annual incomes. 
 Goldsmith's Vicar of "Wakefield was sold in the hour of 
 distress, with Httle- distinction from any other work in that 
 class of composition ; and Evelina produced five guineas from 
 the niggardly trader. Dr. Johnson fixed the price of his 
 Biography of the Poets at two hundred guineas ; and Mr. 
 Malone observes, the booksellers in the course of twenty-five 
 years have probably got five thousand. I could add a great 
 number of facts of this nature which relate to living- writers- ; 
 the profits of their own works for two or three years would 
 rescue them from the horrors and humiliation of pauperism ! 
 It is, perhaps, useful to record, that while the compositions of 
 genius are but sUghtly remunerated, though sometimes as 
 productive as ' the household stuff ' of hterature, the latter is 
 rewarded with princely magnificence. At the sale of the 
 Robinsons, the copy-right of " Vyse's Spelling Book" was 
 sold at the enormous price of 2,200/., with an annuity of 
 fifty guineas to the author ! A Spaniard, kissing the hands 
 of Mr. Vyse, would wish him a thousand years for this 
 annuity! But can we avoid recollecting, that many a fine 
 genius is darning his own stockings." 
 
302 
 
 department ; upon the grounds that " the gene- 
 rality of the publishers of books, unlike all other 
 tradesmen, are often the worst judges of their own 
 wares." This is an admirable idea, and the public 
 would be highly benefited by such a change in the 
 dynasty of literature ; we fear, however, there is 
 one material objection to its practicability :— the 
 want of capital. A spirited and able author (Mr. 
 Ritchie) has nevertheless commenced something 
 of the kind, and we believe he has met with 
 considerable success. We trust this will increase. 
 It is a noble undertaking, and deserves the thanks 
 of every friend to neglected merit. 
 
 But we would have a proper home for men of 
 genius ; one that should be organised upon solid 
 principles. The advantageous effect of such an 
 Establishment would be powerfully felt from the 
 metropolis to every remote corner of England ; and 
 in proportion to her influence, over the whole moral 
 world. It would be giving a conventional and 
 permanent centre of gravity to the efforts of all 
 men of pre-eminent ability, who have not hitherto 
 had any beyond their own self-reliance in painful 
 
303 
 
 perseverance and fortitude. Where they have been 
 without these high qualities i?i addition to their 
 others, a wild and wretched course has been the 
 natural consequence — but a speedy termination. 
 It would be to the working-s of intellect what the 
 re<yulatino; weights are to the horologe : it would 
 turn aside the errating sithe of Time, by giving 
 him a planetary motion, instead of that of a deso- 
 lating and precarious comet ; it would give to Hope 
 a more stable face of truth, for it has ever been 
 the illusive Janus of all men of genius. 
 
 The influence of such an Establishment would act 
 with due and resistless power upon all other insti- 
 tutions and societies in the country, beginning from 
 the first day of its proper foundation. Its bene- 
 ficial results would be practically manifested in the 
 most important directions before it had completed 
 its first anniversary. The Publishers would be 
 compelled, in their own defence, to bring out the 
 finest works they could obtain, in preference to 
 their present unsuccessful endeavours to produce 
 novelties in trash. To this end they would be 
 obliged to engage competent Readers ; men, who 
 
had themselves done something important : or they 
 might send their manuscripts to the above estab- 
 lishment, to be proved, as medicines and metals are 
 to Apothecaries' and Goldsmiths' Halls. The result 
 would be advantageous to all parties. With regard 
 to the theatres ; fine tragedies and comedies at the 
 potent and honest call of the new Establishment, 
 would spring to light, and prove the ridiculous 
 error of supposing that dramatic genius is extinct 
 amono; us. The managers would soon find the 
 advantage of adopting them in the place of dia- 
 bleries and spectacles ! But they need not now 
 trouble themselves to see their many blunders : 
 the withdrawal of the monopoly, and the legal 
 protection of dramatic property, will have more 
 effect than any common sense that we can in- 
 troduce to their besotted minds. The cessation 
 of the monopoly — abused to a degree even as a 
 monopoly, like the old story of the dog in the 
 manger — followed by the influence of such an 
 estabhshment as we propose, would give a great 
 opening and fair introduction to new actors and 
 actresses of ability in all theatrical departments, as 
 
305 
 
 also to Composers; and a very short time would 
 serve to show whether the managerial system has 
 been a false and fraudulent one, or that there is 
 abundance of unemployed merit in the country *. 
 The benefit to the Fine Arts from the establish- 
 ment, would be very great, because it would fairly 
 brino^ forward the claims of any unknown artist of 
 genius whose productions are liung to his de- 
 struction in the Royal Academy ; while if any 
 isolated gentleman of the press, or private indivi- 
 dual, happen to single them out for admiration, 
 he is superciliously accused of " seeing the matter 
 in a wrong light/' by the great men, whose influ- 
 ence, direct or indirect, had so placed them, and 
 whose own paintings being seen in the " right 
 light,"" are not much better off. 
 
 * We see one reason why the monopoly might be per- 
 mitted to reYndhi— provided the Minor Theatres were granted 
 a corresponding one; viz. the exclusive right of performing 
 Operas, Melo-dramas, Farces, Shows, &c. for first pieces. 
 The great theatres would ihen be compelled to maintain 
 legitimate tragedy and comedy, and represent them properly. 
 In any case, the managers would soon find their account 
 in adopting the pieces that had been tried and approved 
 by the above Establishment. 
 
306 
 
 '^I'lie advantage of the establishment to Science, 
 in its highest branches, would be great, for similar 
 reasons ; viz. the due and immediate consideration 
 of all original discoveries, inventions, &c. by com- 
 petent judges, and a reward more beneficial than 
 the mere admission of the fact, or an honorary 
 token. 
 
 We repeat that one twelvemonth would fully 
 suffice to prove which is right ; the old system of 
 conduct adopted by the public and its false mediums 
 towards all men of genius, or the principles advo- 
 cated in the foregoing pages. The question is 
 now left between those who approve or tolerate 
 the former, and those who sympathise with the 
 writer. 
 
 EXHORTATION. 
 
 We have given our opinion, with its grounds 
 that an Establishment for the permanent support 
 and encouragement of all men of genius and supe- 
 rior ability, would attain its ends in the best and 
 
307 
 
 readiest manner by being solely indebted to the 
 liberality of public patronage. We have shown 
 that the funds required for the undertaking are 
 comparatively trifling; the generosity well-placed 
 and far-spreading. Will it be looked upon as a 
 tax ? We have borne others much greater, though 
 of rather less general benefit, with centuries of 
 patience, and are contented to do so still. Slaves 
 are emancipated at enormous cost ; vast sums are 
 expended in Polar expeditions ; and in building an 
 hundred and fifty new churches and chapels. Our 
 requisition is not unreasonable ? While, however, 
 we should prefer founding and carrying on the 
 above purpose by universal suffrages, we should 
 not be the less pleased to see it countenanced by 
 some token from crovernment. We see five hun- 
 dred or a thousand pounds offered as a reward for 
 the apprehension of a murderer, and approve it. 
 We know that this is good, in a political view, 
 though the individual who is destroyed may not be 
 important ; would it not however be a somewhat 
 better thing to give a moderate sum towards saving 
 all men who are of importance, from the mortal 
 
308 
 
 hand of Calamity ? Are we for ever to insist that 
 there are no such men, so long as they remain un- 
 known, and under the still greater draw-hack to 
 sympathy — alive ! Such an establishment would be, 
 with submission — a nobler thing to advance than 
 squandering thousands in race horses — yourself per- 
 chance afflicted with the gout — or losing parks and 
 woods at the gaming table ? Even a ' theatrical 
 hobby' is too dear a purchase at 30,000/., with com- 
 mon sense thrown into the bargain. Might not 
 something be spared to good purpose out of the 
 enormous fortunes that are prodigally sunk in 
 canals, rail-roads, ornamental structures, and " brick 
 and mortar "" buildings of all kinds ? It would be 
 of far more use than building a National Gallery, 
 much as we need such a repository. It would be 
 a better thing than securing Abbotsford to the 
 relatives and descendants of Sir Walter Scott. 
 This is doing justice " in the lump" to the 
 memory of one, to the usual exclusion of all who 
 are living. It is not good as a principle : in an 
 intellectual sense, such men as Mr. Godwin, Mr. 
 Lambe, Mr. Banim, and the spirits of the age, 
 
309 
 
 now and to come, are nearer relatives (palmam qui 
 meruit ferat) to Scott than any others, unless we 
 make the single exception of Mr. Lockhart ; and 
 the world's gratitude and consideration would, we 
 think, be more consistently shown by adopting a 
 different measure. But as a principle, the noblest 
 act of his present Majesty's reign, was his ordering 
 a full-appointed yacht to sail along the sunny 
 shores of the Mediterranean, expressly for the 
 recovery of Sir Walter's health ! 
 
 We confess we can see no permanent remedy 
 for the disastrous worldly circumstances of all men 
 of superior ability, but in the formation of an 
 Establishment expressly conducive to that end. The 
 disinterested generosity of a few individuals of fine 
 feeling, who enter into a subscription for any one 
 of the above unfortunates, damned with a genius 
 that adorns the world, does not suffice. It gives 
 no permanence to comfort, no steady foundation, 
 however small, to support the body and all its 
 domestic contingencies, while the free mind works 
 unalloyed, and imperturbed by gigantic common- 
 places and fears. Besides, a subscription is, in 
 
310 
 
 almost all cases, a painful, galling humiliation to 
 the feelings of the individual ; though it rebounds 
 in fact, upon the heartless, old-established system 
 of ignorance, neglect, selfishness, ingratitude, and 
 meanness, and there remains upon the forehead of 
 that " great baby, the World," like an eternal 
 brand ! 
 
 The intellectual, the magnanimous, the humane 
 Bentivoglio, when reduced to the utmost distress, 
 was refused admission into the very hospital he had 
 himself erected ! Is there no shame in mankind ? 
 It seems to us as though it had only happened 
 yesterday. What tacit cruelties are at this moment 
 being perpetrated by the world upon their noblest 
 ornaments ! Let us exhort the influential men of 
 the present time, to exert themselves to the utmost 
 in the cause of suffering genius ! 
 
 We wish to see an Establishment upon which a 
 man of fine faculties and attainments shall have a 
 riglitful claim, by virtue of his works ; by which he 
 may challenge the judgment of his peers, and 
 obtain a permanent encouragement according to 
 his measure; by which he may have some hold- 
 
311 
 
 fast upon time, in order that he may gaze with his 
 utmost steadiness and strength upon the bourne of 
 immortality. For the primary raising and subse- 
 quent continuation of the funds required for the 
 undertaking, we must rely upon the convictions 
 and best feelings of mankind ; in short, upon the 
 sympathy of the Public with the matter contained 
 in the present volume. If we fail in exciting this, 
 it is far more a misfortune than a fault : though we 
 have not done sufficient justice to the cause, we have 
 done our best In a work that treats of so manv 
 subjects — all the highest we may say — a writer of 
 acknowledged powers might well be excused if his 
 opinions were not considered rock-rooted upon all 
 points. A similar indulgence cannot so properly be 
 granted for inadvertencies of composition. This 
 latter reflection makes us regret a too executive 
 hand (to speak mechanically) and that a very few 
 months only have been devoted to a task that 
 ought to have received the attention of years — had 
 not the imperative call of " the abused time " been 
 too strong to permit further delay. We do not of 
 course offer this in apology for any opinions, or the- 
 
312 
 
 ories contained in the volume, which, in its essential 
 matter, is the product of a long life. As to minor 
 inaccuracies, it is probable that we know more of 
 our imperfections than the Schorodomachi can tell 
 us, though we beg to say, that the supposition is not 
 meant as a challenge to their industry. We bow 
 only to intelligent men of candour, who are generally 
 the best judges, and shall be content to abide by 
 their award. 
 
 In our exhortations for the generous support of 
 a highly advantageous, practical theory, we appeal ; 
 not to the pity, commiseration, or sentiment of 
 men — let them retain those passing sensibilities for 
 their own appropriation or private satisfaction — 
 but to the noblest passions and active affections of 
 human nature. 
 
 To the sentimentalist, we would fain address a 
 few passing words. 
 
 We, who are now reaping the benefit and plea- 
 sure of the great works of those men, long since 
 mouldered in the grave, "of whom the world was 
 not worthy,"' feel grief, indignation, and even, by 
 our common natures, a remorse, for the ingratitude, 
 
313 
 
 cruelty, or heartlesss neglect of past generations who 
 were their cor\temporaries» We may judge of the 
 opinion of future times as to our conduct ! There 
 have been, and are still, abundant instances for 
 the full weight of posterity's reproach against us. 
 In after-years the world, as usual, means to be 
 astonished ! — but then, each of us feel only as indi- 
 viduals in the matter ; and indulging the sympathy 
 and sensibility of the moment, to the untoward fate 
 and fortune of men of genius, we conceive that we 
 have done " all that in us lies^'' and by generalising 
 the idea, we ^'lay the flattering unction to our 
 souls," and escape in sober sadness, upon the old 
 true adage, that " what is every body's business is 
 no one's." Thus — ' why do they (meaning every 
 body) permit it ? How shocking it is to see such 
 a man in distress and w^ant ? Why do they not do 
 something ? What a disgrace it is to humanity ! 
 We are touched and overcome with indignation and 
 pity, at the thought ! ' Well, gentlemen ! — are 
 ye hypocrites to yourselves .^^ — is nothing to come 
 of all this.? — is it no business of yours? — do you 
 button up your pocket and take a settling pinch of 
 
 p 
 
314 
 
 snuff, after subscribing a deep sigh, and a melan- 
 choly shake of the head ? — The fact is, we never 
 identify ourselves with the question, and say, ' Why 
 do not / do something ? ' (however ample our 
 means) for that would be bringing the matter home 
 to us, and the conscience would call upon us for 
 action ; whereas, we are deeply impressed with the 
 perfect sentiment — and this we give with free and 
 feeling liberality ! 
 
 We thank ye ! — Messrs. Dollond and HerscheL 
 in the name of all actual sufferers, beg to acknow- 
 ledge the receipt of your favours. 
 
 To the wealthy and avaricious man, our limits 
 will only permit us to submit a thought for his pri- 
 vate consideration. 
 
 When the accumulation of money becomes the 
 sole, unmixed object of life; or a passion whose 
 only aim and hope is for more, it has been truly 
 designated as ' mistaking the means, for the end.' 
 To any individual, so wretchedly entangled in 
 the workings of abortive desire; whose yearnings 
 through day and night, incessant apprehension, and 
 hungering activity, can only induce a long life's 
 
315 
 
 round of miserable vacuity, we can only sum up the 
 last scene ; point to his body's exit, and show the 
 final condition of his mind. What hast thou got ? 
 — * Money ! ' For what purpose ? ' To gaze upon 
 it — hug it — and get more ! ' You have chosen a 
 pursuit of continual misery, without any human 
 end. Turn back your eye through the dusky 
 vista of feverish years, and what, save gasping 
 struggles and pain, rise to your memory? But now, 
 ga.ze forward a few poor years, and what see you ? 
 Not the good you have done; not the happiness 
 you have created for others ; nor even that which 
 you foolishly fancied you would yourself enjoy in 
 the possession of enormous wealth. You see no 
 temple of Mammon, crammed with sufficient gold. 
 What see you then ? We will tell you. You see 
 your coffin ! — Aye ! the actual black long-box that 
 will hold you, like a crossed-out ledger ! Look well 
 upon it ! — think of it ! — does it not confound all the 
 purposes of your life, showing them to be empty as 
 itself? They cannot be more so, even when you 
 are in it. Is this the sole result of all your 
 thoughts and struggles to amass riches ? The inces- 
 
316 
 
 sant object ends in nothing ! Was it worth the 
 painful task of brooding and fretting, and craving 
 and cuddling up wealth, in order to earn the only 
 true matter of fact epitaph that could be written 
 upon your tomb-stone : ' Here lies a man, without 
 his money ! ' ' 
 
 We have done. To those who are really generous 
 we shall not say any thing. They can well under- 
 stand all that we would wish to say ; and we now 
 leave them to act upon their own feelings. 
 
 We confess, however, it has always appeared to us 
 one of the cruellest, or at best, the most obtuse, 
 anomalies in human nature, that societies, institu- 
 tions, and foundations, have been established for 
 every thing, but the one which is of the greatest 
 importance ; viz. a beacon and a haven for those 
 distressed and tossing barks who are the bulwarks 
 of the moral world, freighted with intellect for 
 posterity. A rich man on his death-bed ; being at 
 length quite sure that he cannot take his wealth 
 with him ; determines upon a great act of generosity 
 and public good : he bequeaths many thousands to 
 endow a hospital. Another, almost at his last gasp, 
 
317 
 
 somewhat less disinterestedly builds a church. A 
 hospital is a humane and valuable institution : but 
 does it not seem hard that only the scars and bruises 
 of the body are thought worth considering ? The 
 founder of a new church — though his real sensation 
 under such circumstances, is nothing more than that 
 of constructing a bridge from time to eternity — 
 would do much better if he gave the sum among 
 the numerous poor country curates, who enjoy thirty 
 or forty pounds a year, and the society of half a 
 dozen children. But although the idea of fame in 
 life and posthumous prosperity of a name, by no 
 means includes the certainty of a corresponding con- 
 ception of the real value or honour attached to an 
 act, still it seems only a question of common sense 
 in such considerations, whether a man would rather 
 have his bust placed in the centre of an Establish- 
 ment that would be known and revered all over 
 Europe ; or squander away thousands in matters, 
 certain to be of the most idle and unimportant na- 
 ture, in the eyes of the world, present as well as to 
 come, however successful at the time ; and whether 
 in after years it would not be bequeathing a nobler 
 
 p2 
 
318 
 
 pride to his descendants, to enable them to point to 
 it and say, ' That was our ancestor who founded the 
 Estabhshment"* — or, ' Our ancestor had some of the 
 very finest horses in England, and on such a day, 
 lost twenty thousand pounds upon the Epsom race- 
 course ! ' 
 
 It only remains, in conclusion, to address a few 
 words to those who are most concerned in the pur- 
 pose of the present work. 
 
 In a number of the New Monthly Magazine, 
 which contains a notice of the distressing suicide of 
 Mr. Fletcher, author of the History of Poland, Sec, 
 there are some prefatory observations to the follow- 
 ing effect : that, ' like the admirable recipe for 
 dressing a cucumber ; which is, to pare and prune 
 it very carefully, slice it with equality, add a due 
 portion of oil, vinegar, salt, pepper, &c., and then 
 throw the whole, dish and all, behind the ashes; so 
 a man of intellect, after labouring for years to form, 
 fit, and prepare his mind, and perfect every supe- 
 rior faculty to the utmost, has then nothing else to 
 do, but to blow his brains out ! ' — Melancholy — 
 monstrous — and true. We are deficient of all 
 
819 
 
 worldly means — we have not a scrap of land, a 
 coin of money, or a real friend — we expected to 
 live by our well-applied intellect — we find, in the 
 end, we can only die in the strength of it. Such is 
 the case with almost every poor and unconnected 
 man of genius. The same writer finishes the notice, 
 by recommending a hardy fortification of the heart, 
 and the relief of the galled mind by manhood of 
 action ; in the ' purchase of a wood-axe and cutting 
 your way to the back settlements of America.' A 
 bold and masculine thought ; and provided a man 
 be not immoveably hemmed in by the claims of a 
 large family, few things could be better. We are 
 not for having an eagle-spirit move on grub-like 
 to disappointment and the grave. The past is a 
 hideous theatre of experience, in which hope has 
 " strutted and fretted its hour " to no purpose, 
 except as a warning ! 
 
 There has been a palpable Fate against all great 
 men and works at their first appearance — generally 
 pursuing them through life, like a graduated rack, 
 to the grave — which nothing but a contingency, 
 involving the present passions, interests, or conven- 
 
320 
 
 tional notions of the moving, temporary mass, has 
 ever been able to surmount. Fate, then, is the 
 infinitely multiplied and intermixed vice, bad pas- 
 sions, prejudice, ignorance, and selfish meanness of 
 mankind, acting with circumfluous pressure against 
 wisdom and the heart's nobility. Thus surrounded, 
 the individual concentrates the idea — even as his 
 own power and fortitude to meet it — and personi- 
 fies the iron-handed Evil. The results of this have 
 been remorselessly proved from time immemorial, 
 and though we have only cited a few illustrative 
 instances of more modern periods, others innum- 
 berable must throng to the "mind'*seye" of the 
 public, like wrecks to the memory of Old Ocean. 
 
 If, therefore, the present anticipation of an es- 
 tablishment to remedy this, the highest of Time's 
 abuses and misdeeds, be negatived by neglect, or 
 quelled and set aside as Utopian and Quixotic, by 
 those whose " reason panders '"* to their own meaner 
 passions and self-interest, or whatever other base 
 cause ; and if it appear that mankind are deter- 
 mined openly and with palpable admission, that 
 men of genius shall be starved or driven through 
 
321 
 
 the waste of life as heretofore, why nothing remains 
 but to direct their fortitude to its best ends, and 
 exhort them to the practical wisdom of forestalling 
 the world"'s dismissal, in the sternest manner. 
 
 We can see no other method so good as this. 
 Let a man, conscious within himself of real power, 
 quietly withdraw himself from the crowded scene, 
 the gross market of common things and thoughts. 
 It matters not to what country ; for with his own 
 free mind and strong heart, and " the army of fixed 
 stars "*"* above him, he may say with Bolingbroke 
 in his Reflections on Exile, " whilst my soul is 
 thus raised up to heaven, it imports me little what 
 ground I tread upon." We should rather, how- 
 ever, recommend some distant parts of England, 
 where the scenery is little inferior in beauty to 
 many of the most applauded spots which travellers 
 only paint during the summer season ; and where 
 communication from the metropolis, when necessary, 
 is prompt, and cheap (and will soon be much more 
 so) to the chief towns that are nearest to your 
 chosen retreat. It is surprising upon how trivial a 
 sum a family may live in the picturesque seclusions 
 
322 
 
 of North and South Wales, Yorkshire, Westmore- 
 land, &c. Who owns those rocks and streams, 
 those smiHng valleys, and mountains with their 
 shifting robe of light and shade ? The man most 
 capable of admiring them ! The pittance in London 
 that will barely procure a little food among a stack 
 of chimneys, will elsewhere provide double the quan- 
 tity of provisions, and a cottage with a " look out '* 
 beyond all manor grounds. We are not speaking 
 upon mere fancy. If no other living instances had 
 come under our actual knowledge, we might vet 
 adduce those of the country curates, many of whom 
 we have known and visited. One of them doinoj 
 " hard duty " in Caernarvonshire, had less than forty 
 pounds a year to live upon ; but whose chief literary 
 occupation was translating fine passages from Homer 
 into the Welsh language ! It pleased him to do 
 it ; he never dreamt of publication ; he was 
 happy. A man might just as well translate or 
 compose an Epic poem in Welsh, as in English, 
 for all the good it will do him in his life-time. Such 
 has been the old, the very old system. If it is to 
 continue ; and we see but the one means we have 
 
S2S 
 
 mentioned, for a permanent cure ; what better can 
 be done than to give up the preposterous hopes of 
 Authorship in time, and leave the brawl of the 
 world altogether. Perhaps some may argue, ' But 
 we cannot live out of the gay and busy throng 
 entirely ; it will seem like a premature interment ; 
 we cannot leave the world outright, with all its 
 liappy faces.' We can only answer with a shrug 
 of the shoulders, ' Oh, very well ; you have not 
 had enough ? then remain w^here you are, in the 
 name of common sense. If you are more happy 
 here than you would be there, adopt your greatest 
 happiness/ It must be seen, however, that we 
 speak chiefly of those who have run the course of 
 the passions, and arrived at a few definite con- 
 clusions. 
 
 The greatest difficulty remains Suppose a man 
 to be unpossessed, even of the most trivial means, 
 how is this to be obtained ? We assume him to 
 have great abilities : he must sink, not the con- 
 sciousness, but the application of his powers, using 
 only the fag end of them in an actual sense, as 
 a lion would his paw or his tail. His provincial 
 
324 
 
 seclusion cannot be entire, except at his leisure 
 hours, and he must set aside all conventional and 
 false pride, and all vanity of appearances. The 
 personal address of any such individual, if in a 
 humble garb, backed by language to the point and 
 suited to " his man," we doubt not in the least 
 would procure him employment in any civilised 
 country, and he would rise in general esteem, and 
 with it his emolument, as his unpresuming ability 
 l>ecame manifest. iVs an instance, and one that 
 stands erect upon the humblest practical grounds; we 
 were very intimately acquainted some years ago with 
 a gentleman in New York, who having transmitted 
 to a relative in England nearly all the money he 
 had received in one of the Patriot services, resolved 
 to make a tour through North America, with a 
 residue that would hardly have sufficed for a fort- 
 night in Bath or Brighton. But he was so much 
 delighted with the various places he stopped at — 
 and at which he stopped but too long (particu- 
 larly on the Catskill Mountains and at Niagara), 
 that by the time he had reached Upper Canada, he 
 found himself fast declining into rather an awkward 
 
325 
 
 predicament. He knew nobody ; be had no letters ; 
 and it would bave been very difficult to " bold 
 out" while communications passed to and from 
 Eno-land, even if he could have compromised his will 
 upon the occasion. He saw bis position and the 
 best means of meeting it, and in a tarpaulin bat 
 and canvass trousers, be partly paid, and partly 
 worked, bis passage up the St. Lawrence ; and when 
 obliged to remain a short time at any place where 
 merchandise was to be shipped, or deposited, he 
 presented himself to the master of the store, and 
 received two and three dollars per day, and upon 
 one occasion, four, for bis services on the wharf. 
 Perhaps this rate of payment would not bave 
 continued beyond the period of the emergency; 
 yet there was scarce a place at which be stopped 
 where be could not have remained had be wished, 
 and done very well. In all this there was not 
 the least compromise of character — a justification 
 rather; and even while it lasted, the individual 
 felt just the same right of being " as proud as 
 Lucifer," as any living man who ever wore clay. 
 He employed bis leisure hours in writing sketches 
 
326 
 
 of travels ; some of which appeared a few years 
 ago, and were much noticed and quoted at large ; 
 and occasional poems, from which we extract the 
 followino; : — 
 
 " Since time devours the petty sovereign * man ' 
 With less reluctance than the forest trees. 
 And our successors crowd the gate of birth, 
 Ready to snatch our power, and with a crown 
 Of starless midnight blank om* radiant brows. 
 And send us thus away ; since earth has borne 
 The mightiest structures which are now mere names. 
 Their site disputed, as they had been clouds ; 
 Tremendous— ruin'd — vanish'd — and forgotten ; 
 Oblivion claiming all imperial rights 
 Of dust primeval and the calm green field ; 
 While barren vastness holds more realms than man ; 
 Why should we waste with unproductive frets 
 For worthless things, appearances and shows. 
 Our heart's brief pulses ; with false current pride 
 Pay tribute to a bloated ignorance, 
 Nor see that man is only really great 
 By measuring life with Nature's other laws. 
 And striving for the harmony of all *." 
 
 ^ This is the common sense of real power. On arriv- 
 ing in Nova Scotia, he made no explanation of his 
 
 * From a poem entitled " Reflections of Peter the Great, 
 while working in the English dock-yards." 
 
327 
 
 odd predicament to any of the officers be had intro- 
 ductions to ; nor at St. John's, where Sir Howard 
 Douglas resided, who was then governor of New 
 Brunswick, and to whom he was personally known ; 
 and finally obtained, for a small consideration, a 
 passage to England in a timber ship, and would 
 have had a very pleasant voyage back if the sailors 
 had not raised a serious mutiny after they had 
 been a week at sea, which was only quelled by the 
 ship taking fire. As it turned out, nothing could 
 be more fortunate. 
 
 A man who has an internal conviction of a thing, 
 has some right to insist upon it ; though this in- 
 cludes no right of insisting upon others having the 
 same. From our own experience, both personal 
 and in extensive observation, we feel assured, 
 that to a man of strong mind and active ability 
 (reserving dreams, and the great ideal for his 
 private amusement and satisfaction) who will sink 
 his false pride in his real, and condense his will to 
 meet his circumstances, sufficient respectable em- 
 ployment in the remoter parts of England may be 
 
328 
 
 obtained. Literature is not only out of the ques- 
 tion ; it ought to be shunned. 
 
 If we are called upon to meet a Jimshing ob- 
 jection, it must be this. ' Suppose/ as one of 
 Job's philosophical friends might say, ' suppose 
 you have a wife and family, and retire into the 
 country without any means of supporting them ; 
 that you are unable to get employment of any 
 kind ; that nobody will give you anything ; that 
 you cannot " borrow,'" and will not " steal " — what 
 is to become of you ? ' Close reasoning Econo- 
 mist, why the man must die, of course, and his 
 family be left to providence. He could do no 
 worse if he remained all his life to be tormented 
 with fertile-futile hopes in the metropolis ; but some 
 moral logicians are for dealing with human nature, 
 as one would with a compound screw, or the piles of a 
 bridge. It is a bitter pass we are come to, beyond 
 the scalding gall of tears, to find it necessary to 
 meet such an objection, and upon such a subject ! 
 But we had to run the question " close home," and 
 there ends the matter. 
 
329 
 
 '* Babylon is dust !" Rome, a ruin of much name : 
 Babel a dream : even as the Pyramids shall be a 
 ruin, and dust, and a dream 1 But if in soHtude, 
 with a keen sense of the desolate end of his youth's 
 aspirations, the self-exiled man of genius, sad as 
 the prophet of old, full to overflowing in heart and 
 in mind, yet lonely as Fortitude, cannot suppress 
 the yearnings of his soul ; let him at leisure hours, 
 set apart from the employment or toil that sustains 
 his body, and in its healthful action leaves no long 
 intervals for the entrance of the world's feverish 
 vanities, ambitions, and their follower. Despair ; 
 let him build up a fabric for posterity, grounded 
 upon his scorn of individual time. Let him work 
 out a deep and broad foundation of elementary 
 truths ; let him dig from the quarries of Nature 
 her antediluvian stores, which ages of human con- 
 ventions, customs, and mutabilities, have reversed. 
 Let the ponderous corner stones and the base of the 
 central pillar, be wrought of sheer and solid huma- 
 nity. Let him fashion his materials to the strong 
 and polished understanding of modern times — 
 avoiding effeminacy as oblivion — according to the 
 
330 
 
 method manifested by her liighest sons ; dismissing 
 from his mind all lower grades of excellence, and 
 all the vague rumours, errors, and temporary admi- 
 rations of the multitude. Let him have firm faith 
 in his heart, as in a God-head ; in hi«! :n;agination, 
 as the primitive faculty of all genius ; but let hhii 
 never forget that his reason and judgment must be 
 their severe examiner and stern artificer. Then 
 from its deep foundations and vast scope, let his 
 firm edifice rise in embattled stateliness ; adorned 
 and replete with power and beauty ; clear as the 
 morning light, and placid as the silent pathos of the 
 stars. A monument of suffering, and a mastery 
 over Fate. The cross — the passion — the divinity ! 
 Seek not its publication during life. Bequeath 
 it jointly to those public men, whom you have 
 long most admired for loftiness in intellect and in 
 honour. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, WHITEFRIARS. 
 (l>ATE T. DAVISOXO 
 
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