VILLIERS, the gallant and the gay—the man of all accomplishments, and no virtue. See where he stands :

In the first rank of these did Zimri stand;
A man so various that he seem'd to be
Not one but all mankind's epitomé :
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong;
Was everything by starts, and nothing long;
But, in the course of one revolving moon,
Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon:
Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking,
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Blest madman, who could every hour employ,
With something new, to wish or to enjoy!
Railing and praising were his usual themes;
And both, to show his judgment, in extremes:
So over violent, or over civil,

That every man with him was God, or devil.
In squandering wealth was his peculiar art,
Nothing went unrewarded but desert.

Beggar'd by fools, whom still he found too late,
He had his jest, and they had his estate
He laugh'd himself from Court, then sought relief,
By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief;

Thus wicked but in will, of means bereft,
He left not faction, but of that was left."

*

It cannot be said that this picture matches nothing in existing public life. In all save two or three touches it is astonishingly like to one public man. The bold dash of the pencil in the last line makes the likeness such as cannot easily be mistaken. But I care not for the personality in this case. The portrait, merely as a portrait, deserves not only the admiration, but the patient study, of every lover of the very highest strokes of genius in this department of art.

225

LITERARY CRITICISM.

I HAVE observed frequently of late, in literary and dramatical criticism, a something like two streams running from one source the one being the judgment of the critic according to his own view of the sense and taste of the subject matter under observation; the other a verdict as it were on behalf of the public, a record of their judgment, and a corresponding award of praise or blame to the author, actor, or manager under review. There may be a convenience in this, and sometimes it is perhaps the only way in which truth may be told without great risk of giving offence both to the persons criticised and to the public. Nevertheless, I take the liberty of positively objecting to this mode of conducting criticism. It is true that a man may

be at once a critic and a historian. I do not object to him for that besides telling us his opinion, and the reasons of it, he also tells us of the different opinion which the public, or the audience, appear to entertain. That is all fair in the way of information. But I do not think it is fair that, besides acquainting us with the fact, the critic should draw inferences, and suggest conclusions, opposed to his own judg ment upon the matter, and thus so mix up right and wrong, or at least one judgment with

II.

its opposite, that the reader knows not how to decide. This is not to establish truth, but to promote perplexity.

When a critic forms his judgment he ought to maintain it firmly against all adversaries. He may say, "I think so and so, and "the public" appears to think very differently; but then he should not shrink from maintaining his views even against the public. If he find the public wrong he should not fear to administer the lash, nor should he spare the author or player who panders to a depraved public taste, instead of manfully following truth and nature -instead of doing right, in short, the standard of right and wrong being something very different from the temporary liking of the crowd.

In a much read weekly literary journal, I have found an elaborate criticism which is the immediate cause of these remarks. This criticism is introduced by a theory relating to the signs of the times, political as well as literary, which I have not had the advantage of comprehending. It then goes on to state what is clear enough, and very important, but, as it seems to me, most erroneously and dangerously submissive to a bad public will, which ought to be severely reproved and steadily resisted.

The book under review is one of a vile class, which, taking up certain gross heroes of low life-highwaymen, housebreakers, and the like, with their trulls-invest them with certain sen

timentalities, and connect them with fictitious circumstances of interest, so as to make a story of more or less interest. This sort of thing, it appears, sells better in the present" enlightened" age, than books of entertainment which aspire to more decency and good taste. Now, what says our critic to the author of the book? "If,” says he, "we consider Mr. A. in the usual light of a mere caterer for the public appetite, and as devoting his talents to the production of a popular work either at his own or his publisher's suggestion, we must freely admit his book to be on a level with the usual specimens of the class, and at least as good as the occasion required. It is not his fault that he has fallen on evil days, and that, like other tradesmen, he must subordinate his own tastes to those of his customers. If, therefore, in the remarks which we are about to make, we appear to bear hard on the publication in question, we do not thereby mean to dispute the author's power of producing better things, or even to reproach him too severely with his submission to the necessity of pandering to the prevalent corruption of intellect; a reproach, by the by, to which we all, in our desire to be read, render ourselves in some degree liable."

I earnestly protest against this leniency of criticism in such a case. It is certainly not the fault of any author that he has fallen upon evil days; but it is his fault if he ministers to the

evil, instead of contending against it. Even a tradesman-and a literary man might take a higher model for his guidance than the practice of tradesmen-is not justified in vending what is deleterious and a public nuisance, because his customers wish to have it. A magistrate will punish a publican for continuing to supply drink to a man evidently intoxicated. It is a shocking disgrace to a man of literature when he "subordinates his own tastes to those of his customers." How can there be “ a necessity of pandering to the prevalent corruption of intellect?" What makes the necessity? If a man cannot obtain employment for his pen, except in pandering to corruption, ought he not rather to dig for the means of subsistence? Ought he not to die through want of subsistence, rather than be the instrument of feeding and spreading corruption of mind?

But, in truth, there are no such demands made upon the virtue of literary men. It is true that if they will not pander to public grossness, they must submit to live in comparatively humble circumstances If they choose to assume a "necessity," for living luxuriously— for imitating the gross profusion and absurd pomp of those persons who have nothing but wealth to recommend them-then they must submit to the work of shame in order to obtain the means. But ought not conduct like this to be reprobated? Is it not enough to provoke the