Neither would the practice of affixing the writer's name, as recommended by Sir Bulwer

To this instance I am able to add seven others from Junius, which appear to have escaped the notice of Mr. Wade:

"You seem to have dropped the affair of your regiment; so let it rest.”—Letter to Sir W. Draper, No. 7.

"Whenever you have anything to communicate to me, let the hint be thus, C at the usual place; and so direct to Mr. John Fretly."-Private Letter to Woodfall, No. 5.

"Some others of my letters may be added, and so throw out a hint that you have reason to suspect they are by the same author."-Private Letter to Woodfall, No. 7.

but

"This paper should properly have appeared to-morrow, I could not compass it; so let it be announced to-morrow, and printed Wednesday."-Private Letter to Woodfall, No. 24. "I have no doubt of what you say about David Garrick, so drop the note."-Private Letter to Woodfall, No. 43.

“I think I have now done my duty by you, so farewell." Private Letter to Woodfall, No. 46.

"As to other passages, I have no favour or affection, so let all go."-Private Letter to Wilkes, No. 72.

It has been asserted that Sir Philip Francis, in order to encourage the belief that he was Junius, had made a practice of imitating the style of that writer. This assertion is sufficiently futile in itself; but its absurdity is clearly demonstrated by the coincidences which I have pointed out. Junius's "Private Letters" to Woodfall, which are shown to contain repeated instances of the peculiar expression so, were not published till 1813; while the letters of Sir Philip Francis, in which the same expression is of frequent occurrence, were all written several years before that period. In 1790 and 1804, Sir Philip could have no knowledge of the "Private Letters to Woodfall, except as the writer of them; and when, in his correspondence during those years, he made use of expressions and phrases similar to those in the "Private Letters," it is clear that he was imitating (all the while unconsciously) no one but himself. In no other sense can he be said to have imitated Junius.

Lytton, be attended with unalloyed good. Many of the evils of the present system would still prevail, and others, now unknown, would be introduced. Look at any of the remarkable critiques that have been published with the writer's name: what do you find? In every instance great ability, an appreciation of certain beauties, an eye for certain defects, much erudition and research. But the partiality in one case, the personal antipathy in another, the political bias in a third, the want of discrimination in some, the exaggeration of excellences or defects by all, are conspicuous throughout. In almost every instance the reviewer seems to be prompted by a vulgar desire to gratify his partiality or dislike, rather than by the commendable wish to do justice to the author, or to instruct the public taste. This is a deplorable state of things, and the true cause of it is to be found in the prevalence of dishonesty and cant, and not in the publication or concealment of the critic's name. Criticism, in fact, has become a trade, and so long as that lasts, partiality and injustice will be persevered in, whether the critic's name is given or withheld.

Before criticism became a trade, there was some sincerity about it; but of late years it has, like everything else, put on the semblances of cant. One of the best of our modern critics, William Hazlitt, is also one of the most infected with this

disease. His critical acumen was very great, and when he chose to exercise it without regard to his personal or political feelings, he could do so with great power and brilliant effect. In general, however, the tone of his criticism betrays either prejudice or partisanship; and as to cant, he speaks of it with an amusing unconsciousness, like one who is free from it himself. A curious instance of this occurs in his remarks upon Byron :

"There is one subject on which Lord Byron is fond of writing, on which I wish he would not write-Bonaparte. Not that I quarrel with his writing for him or against him, but with his writing both for him and against him.”—Lectures on the English Poets.

What, let me ask, is the meaning of this? At first it has a look of conceit about it, but at bottom it is nothing but cant. Hazlitt was a great admirer of Bonaparte and a small admirer of Byron. He liked the one as much as he disliked the other. According to his notions of poetic justice, because Byron wrote in praise of Bonaparte, he should not have written in disparagement of him. If Byron, like some of Hazlitt's favourite poets, had chosen idiots and asses for his themes, he might have written whatever he pleased. But because he meddles with Bonaparte, he must restrict the exercise of the splendid God's gift with which he is endowed, to such portraiture of him as shall be acceptable

to Hazlitt. Surely, if any great character in modern times has pursued a career of good and evil, alternately presenting themes for censure and for praise, it is Bonaparte and if any modern poet was gifted with genius to do justice to both, it is Lord Byron. But Hazlitt, the king of the critics, has put his veto upon Byron's poetic miracles, and the thing must not be.

"De par le Roi, défences à Dieu

De faire miracles en ce lieu."

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This sentence of interdiction by the king of the critics against the king of the poets, is amusing enough; but still more amusing are the reasons assigned for it. Besides," says Hazlitt, "Bonaparte is a subject for history and not for poetry." A motive so flimsy, so thoroughly cantish, could hardly be assigned for interdicting the exercise of poetic power. Yet so it is: the critic Hazlitt issues his canons, and one of these is that, because a thing belongs to history, it is excluded from the province of poetry. True, history is not always poetry; but why should not poetry be sometimes history? Most of the great poems in all languages are to some extent historical and there is so much poetry in the history of Bonaparte, that almost every poet, from Lebrun to Beranger, has made him the subject of his highest efforts. Moreover, a considerable portion of the poetry of our generation

derives its significance from the history of this very man, Bonaparte; and the chief occupation of after-ages will be to turn to account the poetical materials with which it abounds. How then are we to explain critic Hazlitt's veto in this business? The only possible explanation of it is that we live in an age of verbal decorum.

Another noticeable sample of critical cant in Hazlitt has reference to Moore. Speaking of "Lalla Rookh" he says:

"Mr. Moore ought not to have written Lalla Rookh, even for three thousand guineas. His fame is worth more than that.” -Lectures on the English Poets.

That Moore's fame is worth more than three thousand guineas (the price he received for the poem in question) no one will deny. A poet's fame is worth more than all the gold in California. But how far did Moore's fame suffer by his writing "Lalla Rookh ?" That poem is regarded by some as his best performance, and by all as the one which, next to the "Irish Melodies," has contributed most to his fame. And even supposing that "Lalla Rookh" has not enhanced its author's fame, can it be said, with any sincerity or truth, that it has detracted from it?

The author of "Curiosities of Literature " appears to most advantage when transcribing his anecdotes from their foreign sources; but whenever he ventures upon any "Curiosities "Curiosities" of his