16 BY WAY OF PREFACE. amiable bard's admirers must chuckle over that so flatly contradicted piece of oracular divination! The public had need be a "discriminating public;" else most strangely would it be bewildered by the contradictory and antipodal opinions so stoutly put forth respecting the same works; for where your commendatory critic is pleased to see all sunshine perhaps is dazzled by excess of lustre, your defamatory one can discern only Cimmerian darkness, and dulness impene trable. The latter was the case when the Blackwood critic deigned to take a survey of that clever satire, The Modern Dunciad: nothing could he behold therein save its censure of Bowles, the reverend libeller of Pope and defender of Byron. Yet, admitting that so far the writer was open to reproof, was that single offence to blot out every merit? Some lenity might have been shown by one who must, at least, have looked upon him as willing to aid in the same general cause, however they might differ upon individual points. But no; so oddly and bewilderingly conflicting are the elements at work in the regions of criticism, that we might very fairly exclaim, "Chaos is come again!" One minute it would seem that party bias is the rudder and compass by which our modern aristarchi steer; when suddenly that notion is quite upset by some striking specimen of the gentle courtesies interchanged between those who establish themselves on the same side of the political equator; such, for instance, as those reciprocally inter LITERARY SQUABBLES. 17 changed between Fraser and Watts I drop the ambiguous initials of the latter personage; or those between those two literary B's, Brougham and Bulwer. Some of his lordship's partisans are, it seems, no great admirers of history and classical legend melodramatised ; whereupon Mr. Bulwer, standing up for his own caste in letters, tells his lordship, sans ceremonie, that it is treatises on natural theology, not novels, which are to be ranked among the fugitive literature of the day. Now, were not all this rather painfully perplexing, it would be highly diverting; nor less instructive, inasmuch as it shows how literature, as at present cultivated and pursued, tends to foster the amenities of life, and soften down all its asperities. Very likely I myself may be here pointed at by some as a forcible illustration of my last remark; the apprehension of being so, however, shall not prevent me from pursuing my present speculations: not that I mean to commit them all in this place to paper; which assurance ought to put the reader in good humour, and secure me some indulgence. At any rate, this truth must begin to force itself upon the most obtuse that either there are no established principles of criticism whatever, but all depends upon individual and personal likings or dislikings; or else there are so many pseudo-critics abroad that a reader need be infallible himself in order to distinguish between the genuine and the counterfeit ones, C 18 BY WAY OF PREFACE. between the sterling man of letters and the Brummagem empiric. And what reliance can be placed on an art so legerdemain in its nature that it can both metamorphose and anamorphose objects at pleasure, making that book black to one which seems all whiteness to another? Surely this is letting the public too far behind their scenes. When, in a ludicrously d'haut en bas style, the noble and notable Slipslop Magazine oracularly assures its readers, in a paragraph of three or four lines, that my book was a volume of "insufferable dulness," and a compound of commonplaces and John Bull prejudices," I ought to be shocked; yet the Slipslop must pardon me if I say, that I was rather amused by the very commonplace phraseology of its own damnatory verdict, which reads just like what is technically called 66 a ready cut and dry." The Slipslop may fancy it is thundering; but it is only "roaring like a nightingale." Again, as to prejudices, whether they be "John Bull " or of any other kind, such folks ought not, in common decency, to say a syllable against them, when they themselves are guilty of substituting prejudices for arguments. That I am free from prejudice is more than I affect to assert, the term being one of considerable latitude, and capable of being twisted very conveniently to serve almost any purpose. It may be presumed that the great Sam Johnson was rather prejudiced in favour of strict morality that Cowper was prejudiced in matters of religion; and when I find almost every other human being in the world entertains a prejudice or bias of some kind or other, I need not be particularly ashamed of having my own, although they be of such a terribly vulgar cast as to deserve the galling epithet of " John Bull." To the small editor of the Slipslop and its petty coterie, who doubtless are not all "prejudiced" in favour of themselves, I resign the praise of being perfectly free from all such weakness—so liberal and cosmopolite in their notions as to entertain no more partiality for the Bible than they do for the Koran; or perhaps some of them would more willingly adopt the creed of the latter than they would of the former, preferring "A luscious heaven, filled with black-eyed houries, I only wish that such people would be, if possible, a little more consistent; for much as they dislike " John Bull" prejudices, they can greedily swallow down those of any other sort, and fancy them exceedingly palatable. The mention of houries very naturally reminds me of Tom Moore whom Little Sneak, by the by, very familiarly claims for one of his friends; and I do not find that the prejudices to which he has given vent in his Fudges in England, have given particular offence, or raised an outcry against him for exciting party or reli C 2 20 BY WAY OF PREFACE. gious disunion, or anywise "nursing violent antipathies or uncharitableness." Tout au contraire, the publication of his book was followed up by even if did not obtain for him—a snug pension from the ministry. True; but a burlesque upon the Protestant meeting at Exeter Hall could of course only be a display of exceedingly innocent wit; nor could there be aught of uncharitableness in representing it as mere mummery, or in insinuating that religious persons, particularly if they be ladies perhaps I should say old maids, a tribe for whom the little bard entertains no great affection are no better than selfish, odious hypocrites; over-righteous towards their neighbours, most forgiving towards themselves; strict Pharisees, yet addicted to all the vanities of the world. This is only pleasantry, well-merited ridicule, the effervescence of a gallant spirit, a homage to the sex from its most devoted champion. Alas! I am afraid there is still a great deal of Littleness of mind clinging to Tom Moore. Never need he fear obtaining the opprobrious name of Saint; unless, indeed, it should please his Holiness to canonise the little man for his services to the Romish Church an event not impossible, although it would certainly appear miraculous. "False fugitive! back to thy vomit flee, * Blow from thy mildewed lips, on virtue blow, And blight the goodness thou canst never know." |