will convince you, that these are not the happiest means of accomplishing your purpose. It has been idly said, that a reviewer acts in a judicial capacity, and that his conduct should be regulated by the same rules by which the judge of a civil court is governed: that he should rid himself of every bias; be patient, cautious, sedate, and rigidly impartial; that he should not seek to shew off himself, and should check every disposition to enter into the case as a partizan. Such is the language of superficial thinkers; but in reality there is no analogy between the two cases. A judge is promoted to that office by the authority of the state; a reviewer by his own. The former is independent of controul, and may therefore freely follow the dictates of his own conscience: the latter depends for his very bread upon the breath of public opinion; the great law of self. preservation therefore points out to him a different line of action. Besides, as I have already observed, if he ceases to please, he is no longer read, and consequently is no longer useful. In a court of justice, too, the part of amusing the bystanders rests with the counsel: in the case of criticism, if the reviewer himself does not undertake it, who will? Instead of vainly aspiring therefore to the gravity of a magistrate, I would advise him, when he sits down to write, to place him self in the imaginary situation of a cross examining pleader. He may comment, in a vein of agreeable irony, upon the profession, the manner of life, the look, dress, or even the name, of the witness he is examining: when he has raised a contemptuous opinion of him in the minds of the court, he may proceed to draw answers from him capable of a ludi crous turn, and he may carve and garble these to his own liking. This mode of proceeding you will find most practicable in poetry, where the boldness of the image, or the delicacy of thought, for which the reader's mind was prepared in the original, will easily be made to appear extravagant or affected, ifjudiciously singled out, and detached from the group to which it belongs. Again, since much depends upon the rhythm and the terseness of expression, both of which are sometimes destroyed by dropping a single word, or transposing a phrase, I have known much advantage arise from not quoting in the form of a literal extract, but giving a brief summary in prose of the contents of a poetical passage; and interlarding your own language with occasional phrases of the poem, marked with inverted commas. These, and a thousand other little expedients, by which the arts of quizzing and banter flourish, practice will soon teach you. If it should be necessary to transcribe a dull passage, not very fertile in topics of humour and raillery, you may introduce it as "a favourable specimen of the au. thor's manner." Few people are aware of the powerful effects of what is philosophically termed association. Without any positive violation of truth, the whole dignity of a passage may be undermined by contriving to raise some vulgar and ridiculous notions in the mind of the reader: and language teems with examples of words by which the same idea is expressed, with the dif ference only that one excites a feeling of respect, the other of contempt. Thus you may call a fit of melancholy "the sulks," resentment "a pet," a steed “a nag," a feast "a junketing," sorrow and affliction "whining and blubbering." By transferring the terms peculiar to one state of society, to analogous situations and characters in another, the same ob. ject is attained; a drill-serjeant, or a cat and nine tails, in the Trojan war-a Les bos smack, put in to the Piraus the penny-post of Jerusalem, and other combinations of the like nature, which, when you have a little indulged that vein of thought, will readily suggest themselves, never fail to raise a smile, if not immediately at the expence of the author, yet entirely destructive of that frame of mind which his poem requires in order to be relished. I have dwelt the longer on this branch of literature, because you are chiefly to look here for materials of fun and irony. Voyages and travels indeed are no barren ground, and you must seldom let a num ber of your review go abroad without an article of this description. The charm of this species of writing, so universally felt, arises chiefly from its uniting narra tive with information. The interest we take in the story can only be kept alive by minute incident and occasional detail, which puts us in possession of the traveller's feelings, his hopes, his fears, h disappointments, and his pleasures. At the same time the thirst for knowledge and love of novelty is gratified, by continual information respecting the people and countries he visits. If you wish therefore to run down the book, you have only to play off these two parts against each each other: when the writer's object is to satisfy the first inclination, you are to thank him for communicating to the world such valuable facts as whether he lost his way in the night, or sprained his ancle, or had no appetite to his dinner. If he is busied about describing the mineralogy, natural history, agriculture, trade, &c. of a country, you may mention a hundred books from whence the same information may be obtained; and deprecate the practice of emptying old musty folios into new quartos, to gratify that sickly taste for a smattering about every thing, which distinguishes the present age. In works of science and recondite learning, the task you have undertaken will not be so difficult as you may imagine. Tables of contents and indexes are blessed helps in the hands of a reviewer; but, more than all, the preface is the field from which his richest harvest is to be gathered. In the preface the author usually gives a summary of what has been written on the same subject before; he acknowledges the assistance he has received from different sources, and the reasons of his dissent from former writers; be confesses that certain parts have been less attentively considered than others, and that information has come to his hands too late to be made use of; he points out many things in the composition of his work which he thinks may provoke animadversion, and endeavours to defend or to palliate his own practice. Here then is a fund of wealth for the reviewer, lying upon the very surface; if he knows any thing of his business, he will turn all these materials against the author; carefully suppressing the source of his information, and as if drawing from the stores of his own mind, long ago laid up for this very purpose. If the author's references are correct, a great point is gained; for by consulting a few passages of the original works, it will be easy to discuss the subject with the air of having a previous knowledge of the whole. Your chief vantage-ground is, that you may fasten upon any position in the book you are reviewing, and treat it as principal and essential, when perhaps it is of little weight in the main argument; but, by allotting a large share of your criticism to it, the reader will naturally be led to give it a proportionate importance, and to consider the merit of the treatise at issue upon that single question. If any body complains that the greater and more va luable parts remain unnoticed, your answer is, that it is impossible to pay attention to all; and that your duty is rather to prevent the propagation of error, than to lavish praises upon that which, if really excellent, will work its way in the world without your help. Indeed, if the plan of your review admits of selection, you had better not meddle with works of deep research and original speculation; such as have already attract ed much notice, and cannot be treated superficially without fear of being found out. The time required for making yourself thoroughly master of the subject is so great, that you may depend upon it they will never pay for the reviewing. They are generally the fruit of long study, and of talents concentrated in the steady pursuit of one object; it is not likely therefore that you can throw much new light on a question of this nature, or even plausibly combat the author's positions in the course of a few hours, which is all you can well afford to devote to them. And, without accomplishing one or other of these points, your review will gain no celebrity, and of course no good will be done. Enough has been said to give you some insight into the facilities with which your new employment abounds: I will only mention one more, because of its extensive and almost universal application to all branches of literature; the topic, I mean, which by the old rhetoricians was called it ivavría: that is, when a work excels in one quality, you may blame it for not having the opposite. For instance: if the biographical sketch of a literary character is minute and full of anecdote, you may enlarge on the advantages of philosophical reflection, and the superior mind required to give a ju, dicious analysis of the opinions and works of deceased authors; on the contrary, if the latter method is pursued by the biographer, you can with equal ease extol the lively colouring, and truth, and interest, of exact delineation and detail. This topic, you will perceive, enters into style as well as matter: where many virtues might be named which are incompatible; and whichever the author has preferred, it will be the signal for you to launch forth on the praises of its opposite, and con tinually to hold up that to your reader as the model of excellence in this species of writing. You will perhaps wonder why all my instructions are pointed towards the cen sure, and not the praise, of books; but many reasons might be given why it should be be so. The chief are, that this part is both easier, and will sell berter. Let us hear the words of Mr. Burke on a subject not very dissimilar. "In such cases," says he, "the writer has a certain fire and alacrity inspired into him, by a consciousness, that, let it fare how it will with the subject, his ingenuity will be sure of applause; and this alacrity becomes much greater, if he acts upon the offensive, by the impetuosity that always accompanies an attack, and the unfor tunate propensity which mankind have to the finding and exaggerating faults." Pref. Vindic. Nat. Soc. p. 6. perceive that I have ou no occasion sanctioned the baser motives of private pique, envy, revenge, and love of detraction; at least I have not recommended harsh treatment upon any of these grounds: I have argued simply on the abstract moral principle which a reviewer should ever bave present to his mind. But if any of these motives insinuate themselves as secondary springs of action, I would not condemn them: they may come in aid of the grand leading principle, and powerfully second its operation. You will But it is time to close these tedious precepts; and to furnish you with what speaks plainer than any precept, a speci men of the art itself, in which several of them are embodied. It is hastily done; but it exemplifics well enough what I have said of the poetical department, and exhibits most of those qualities which disappointed authors are fond of railing at, under the names of flip pancy, arrogance, conceit, misrepresentation, and malevolence: reproaches which you will only regard as so many acknowledgments of success in your undertaking, and infallible tests of an established fanie and rapidly increasing circulation. SPEC MEN OF BEVIEWING. L'Allegro, a Poem, by John Milton. No Printer's name. Ir has become a practice of late with a certain description of people who have no visible means of subsistence, to string together a few trite images of rural sce nery, interspersed with vulgarisms in dialect, and traits of vulgar manners; to dress up these materials in a sing-song jingle, and to offer them for sale as a poem. According to the most approved recipes, something about the heathen gods and goddesses, and the school-boy topics of Styx, and Cerberus, and Elysium, is occasionally thrown in, and the com position is complete. The stock in trade of these adventurers is in general scanty enough, and their art therefore consists in disposing it to the best advantage. But if such be the aim of the writer, it is the critic's business to detect and defeat the imposture; to warn the public against the purchase of shop-worn goods, and tinsel wares; to protect the fair trader, by exposing the tricks of needy quacks and mountebanks; and to chas tise that forward and noisy importunity, with which they present themselves to the public notice. How far Mr. Milton is amenable to this discipline, will best appear from a brief analysis of the poem before us. In the very opening he assumes a tone of authority, which might better suit some veteran bard than a raw candidate for the Delphic bays; for, before he proceeds to the regular process of invocation, he clears the way by driving from his presence, with sundry hard names and bitter reproaches on her father, mother, and all the family, a venerable personage, whose age at least, and staid matron-like appearance, might have entitled her to more civil language. Hence, loathed Melancholy; Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, &c. There is no giving rules, however, in these matters, without a knowledge of the case. Perhaps the old lady had been frequently warned off before, and provoked this violence by continuing still to lurk about the poet's dwelling. And, to say the truth, the reader will have but too good reason to remark, before he gets through the poem, that it is one thing to tell the spirit of Dulness to depart, and another to get rid of her in reality, Like Glendower's spirits, any one may order them away, But will they go when you do order them?" But let us suppose for a moment, that the Parnassian decree is obeyed; and according to the letter of the order, which is as precise and wordy as if Jus tice Shallow himself had drawn it, that the obnoxious female is sent back to the place of her birth, «Mongst horrid shapes, shrieks, sights," &c. at which we beg our fair readers not to be alarmed, for we can assure them they are only words of course in all poetical instruments of this nature; and mean no more than the "force and arms," and instigation of the devil," in a common indictment. This nuisance then being abated, abated, we are left at liberty to contem plate a character of a different complex ion, buxom, blithe, and debonair," one who, although evidently a great favourite of the poet's, and therefore to be received with all due courtesy, is not withstanding introduced under the suspicious description of an alius. In heaven ycley'd Euphrosyne, And by men, heart-easing Mirth. Judging indeed from the light and easy deportment of this gay nymph, one might guess there were good reasons for a change of name as she changed her residence. But of all vices there is none we abhor more than that of slanderous insinuation; we shall therefore confine our moral strictures to the nymph's mother, in whose defence the poet has little to say himself. Here too, as in the case of the name, there is some doubt: for the uncertainty of descent on the father's side having become trite to a proverb, the author, scorning that beaten track, has left us to choose between two mothers for his favourite and without much to guide our choice; for, whichever we fix upon, it is plain she was no better than she should be. As he seems, however, himself inclined to the latter of the two, we will even suppose it so to be. Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic quind that breathes the spring, Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As be met ber once a Maying; There on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, &c. Some dull people might imagine, that the wind was more like the breath of spring than spring the breath of the wind; but we are more disposed to question the author's ethics than his physics, and accordingly cannot dismiss these May gam bols without some observations. In the first place, Mr. M. seems to have higher notions of the antiquity of the May-pole than we have been accustomed to attach to it. Or perhaps he thought to shelter the equivocal nature of this affair under that sanction. To us however, who can hardly subscribe to the doctrine that "vice loses half its evil by losing all its grossness," neither the remoteness of time, nor the gaiety of the season, furnishes a sufficient palliation. "Violets bluc," and "freshblown roses," are to be sure more agree able objects of the imagination than a gin-shop in Wapping, or a booth in Bartholomew-fair; but in point of morality, these are distinctions without a difference: or, it may be, the cultivation of mind which teaches us to reject and nauseate these latter objects, aggravates the case, if our improvement in taste be not accompanied by a proportionate improvement of morals. If the reader can reconcile himself to this latitude of principle, the auachronism will not long stand in his way. Much indeed may be said in favour of this union of ancient mythology with modern notions and manners. It is a sort of chronological metaphor-an artificial analogy, by which ideas, widely remote and heterogeneous, are brought into contact, and the mind is delighted by this unexpected assemblage, as it is by the combinations of figurative language. Thus in that elegant interlude, which the pen of Ben Jonson has transmitted to us, of the Loves of Hero and Leauder: wander. Gentles, that no longer your expectations mag like a scarf, For he yet serves his father, a dyer in Puddle Wharf; Which place we'll make bold with, to call it our Abydus, As the Bank-side is our Sestos, and let it not be denied us. And far be it from us to deny the use of so reasonable a liberty; especially if the request be backed (as it is in the case of Mr. M.) by the craving and imperious necessities of rhyme. What man who has ever bestrode Pegasus but for an hour, will be insensible to such a claim? Haud ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco, We are next favoured with an enumeration of the attendants of this “debonair" nymph, in all the ininuteness of a Ger man dramatis persone, or a rope-dan cer's' hand-bill: Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee The author, to prove himself worthy of from from thence to Action, Passion, Habit, &c. with incredible celerity. Who, for instance, would have expected cranks, nods, becks, and wreathed smiles, as part of a group, in which Jest, Jollity, Sport, and Laughter, figure away as fullformed entire personages? The family likeness is certainly very strong in the two last; and if we had not been told, we should perhaps have thought the act of deriding as appropriate to Laughter as to Sport. But how are we to understand the stage directions? Come, and trip it as you go. Are the words used synonymously? Or is it meant that this airy gentry shall come in at a minuet step, and go off in a Jig? The phenomenon of a tripping crank is indeed novel, and would doubt less attract numerous spectators. But it is difficult to guess to whom among this jolly company the poet addresses himself; for immediately after the plural appellative [you], he proceeds, And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty. No sooner is this fair damsel introduced, but Mr. M. with most unbecoming levity falls in love with her; and makes a request of her companion, which is rather greedy, that he may live with both of them: To live with her, and live with thee. Even the gay libertine who sung, "How happy could I be with either!" did not go so far as this. But we have already had occasion to remark on the laxity of Mr. M.'s amatory notions. The poet, intoxicated with the charms of his mistress, now rapidly runs over the pleasures which he proposes to himself in the enjoyment of her society. But though he has the advantage of being his own caterer, either his palate is of a peculiar structure, or he has not made the most judicious selection. To begin the day well, he will have the sky-lark -to come in spite of sorrow, And at his window bid good-morrow. The sky-lark, if we know any thing of the nature of that bird, must come in spite of something else as well as of sorrow, to the performance of this office. In his next image, the natural history is better preserved; and as the thoughts are appropriate to the time of the day, we will venture to transcribe the passage, as a favourable specimen of the author's manner: While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack, or the barn door, Stoutly struts his dames before; Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering Morn, From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill. Is it not lamentable that, after all, whether it is the cock or the poet that listens, should be left entirely to the reader's conjecture? Perhaps also his embarrassment may be increased by a slight re semblance of character in these two il lustrious personages, at least as far as relates to the extent and numbers of their seraglio. After a flaming description of sunrise, on which occasion the clouds attend in their very best liveries, the bill of fare for the day proceeds in the usual manner. Whistling ploughmen, singing milkmaids, and sentimental shepherds, are always to be had at a moment's notice; and, if well grouped, serve to fill up the land. scape agreeably enough. On this part of the poem we have only to remark, that if Mr. John Milton proposeth to make himself merry with Russet lawns, and fallows grey Towers and battlements, &c. &c. &c. he will either find himself egregiously disappointed, or he must possess a dis position to merriment which even Democritus himself might envy. To such a pitch indeed does this solemn indication of joy sometimes rise, that we are inclined to give him credit for a literal adherence to the apostolic precept, "Is any merry, let him sing psalms." At length however he hies away at the sound of bell-ringing, and seems for some time to enjoy the tippling and fiddling and dancing of a village wake; but his fancy is soon haunted again by spectres and goblins, a set of beings not in general esteemed the companions or inspirers of mirth. With stories told of many a feat, |