Ye young Reviewers! listen to my strain!
Pardon my maxims, if they give you pain.
Accept the mild effusions of my pen;—
Ye are the ducklings, I the guardian hen.
I cannot follow—poor old anxious fool,—
But tremble, while you dabble in the pool.
Your early talents promise very fair,
Use them with prudence, cultivate with care.
Blast not my hopes, nor ridicule my fears;
Nor slight the wisdom of a length of years.
A knack at words you have, some fancy too;
But have you judgment, think you, to review ?-
You read I find,—then, like true men of spirit,
You needs must write, that folks may know your merit.
You pace the room, in fancy dealing terror,—
(There, I must hint, you’re rather in an error).
All are not d——d you happen to dislike;
All turn not marble whom your glances strike.—
When the fierce tyger rages o’er the land,
Then to the chase, ye hunters, in a band!
Or when the crocodile, with treacherous tears,
Seeks to decoy and lead us by the ears,
Then to your task, these ravening foes destroy,
We’ll shout your praises with tumultuous joy.
But where’s the honour, where the mighty feat,
To seize a victim that can only bleat?
Why tinge with red the unassuming cheek,
Or tear a linnet with a vulture’s beak?
Come, prythee do not vaunt, and puff, and swell,
That you can see what others see as well.
Toss not your heads about with happy grin,
Proud when you catch a straw, or find a pin.
Is he a lion who can gorge a rat?
Is he Goliath who can crush a gnat?
Treasure this maxim in your thoughts for ever:
“A Critic must be just, as well as clever.”
Cloud not another’s light, that you may shine,
And some politeness with your wit combine.
You must not be so rude, nor so conceited;
A woman surely should be gently treated.
Her poems, like her form, may catch your eye;
She seeks to please, but claims no ardent sigh.
If dress’d with taste, approach her and admire;
If tawdry, pray be silent and retire.
Don’t snatch her cap, and kick it in the air;
Don’t tear her gown, or thrust her from her chair;
Don’t, arms a-kimbo, labour to affront her,
Nor use her as you use poor Mrs. H- r.1
Let not a doctor’s wig your satire aid;
So poor an ally must your cause degrade.
Patterns you are of style, no doubt, of grace;
Then prythee, let us have each critic face;
To each essay prefix the learned head,
That lines and features may at once be read.
Thus he, whom now we deem or black or yellow,
May prove, if colour’d well, a pretty fellow.
If more than usual sharp his phiz, or fuller,
More clever we shall rate his works or duller.
Mild Doctor Langford2, little did’st thou ween,
When with a fair round face, and placid mein,
Amidst the kind restorers of the drown’d
You preach’d humanity to all around.
Ah ! little thought you that each trope and figure
Should pass the ordeal with so much rigour;
That what made Doctors Hawes and Lettsome weep
Should lull a critic, in the north, to sleep;
Who, though by nostrums and gay friends beset,
Upon my life, seems somewhat sleepy yet.
When the tir’d seaman in his hammock swings,
And dreams of rare fresh beef—ecstatic things!
With vacant grasp he snatches at a bit:
So our reviewer at a piece of wit:
Old jests of Joe his college letch provoke,
And, while he doses, struggles for a joke.
We love not petulance—it sickens quite—
‘Tis nauseous—and although you may be right,
More to our feelings than our judgment trusting,
We fain would have you wrong,—’tis so disgusting.
Touch not on topics you can’t understand:—
Why lug his Lordship3 forward sword in hand-
You read the title and a line or two,
And tell us so—Is this then to review?
Why ev’ry trifle to our notice bring,
Merely that you may say a clever thing?
Your Pegasus, we find, is but a colt:
We see him start, dash headlong on, and bolt
He kicks, o’erleaps all bounds, and scorns all check,
The reins of reason loose upon his neck.
Some plants of vigour deck your work, I own,
But flowering weeds are very thickly sown.
If each contributor had equal powers,
I should not grudge the many tedious hours,
Torn from the pastimes that become your age,
To plod for jests, and blot a heavy page.
To Mounier’s candid critic4 praise is due;
Make him your leader, keep him in your view.
Learn to be modest, in your wit be chaste,
Ye are not, yet, all Chesterfields5 in taste.
I move not forward, with Herculean tread .
And iron-mace, to break each Hydra head; .
An humble friend, I offer hints in season,
Watching with fervent hope your dawning reason.
Prosper your youthful efforts to be known!
Whose swelling fame is dearer than my own.
1. Review of Poems. By Mrs. Hunter [Anne Home Hunter (1742-1821)] in the first issue of the Edinburgh Review, 1802.
2. Review of Anniversary Sermon of the Royal Humane Society. By W. Langford, D.D. in the first issue of the Edinburgh Review, 1802.
3. William, Earl of Ancrum, afterwards Marquis of Lothian, whose observations in relation to proposed improvements in the arms and accoutrements of light cavalry had been inserted in the “Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh.”
4. Francis Jeffrey (1773-1850) was one of the founders of the Edinburgh Review and served as its editor from 1803 until 1829. He wrote a review of J. J. Mounier’s De l’influence des Philosophes..sur la Revolution de France in the magazine’s first issue which was thought exemplary and the benchmark for the Edinburgh Review’s future reviews and articles.
5. Earl of Chesterfield, Philip Stanhope (1694-1773), was considered an arbiter of taste.
From: Boswell, Alexander and Smith, Robert Howie (ed.), The Poetical Works of Sir Alexander Boswell, of Auchinleck, Baronet. Now first collected and edited, with memoir, 1871, Maurice Ogle & Company: Glasgow, pp. 126-131.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=MS0hAAAAMAAJ)
Date: 1803
By: Alexander Boswell (1775-1822)
From Troubles of The World 